My boots make almost no sound on the steps. I shouldn’t be here. In her bedroom with its happy yellow duvet and framed photos of her and Mateen with Noele, her parents, even Ford and Joey. In the kid’s room with bright blue walls, a poster of France’s national football team, and a Red Sox cap hanging from one of the posters of his bed.
A foot-tall robot sits on his desk, a little lopsided, with one “hand” dangling from a pair of wires.
“He builds model robots now.”
Fuck. I wish I could stay. Get a little place of my own nearby and be a part of their lives. But I can’t. I’m too broken. My darkness would block out her sun.
“Stop. This is a life you can never have.”
“Why not?” Her voice startles me, and I drop the robot hand back onto the desk. She stands in the doorway, a towel clutched to her injured palm. “That is Henri. He talks. Ten different phrases. Mateen says the next one he builds will be able to pick up his socks so he does not have to.”
“He’s a smart kid,” I manage.
Lisette’s smile lights my entire world. “He is. But the socks. He leaves them everywhere.”
I holster my weapon and take a single step toward her. I’d give anything to hold her again, but I haven’t earned that right. She doesn’t retreat, but the fear and uncertainty return to her eyes.
“Why is this a life you can never have, Nomar? What did we do that was so terrible—”
“Fuck, sweetheart.Youdidn’t do a damn thing. Is that really what you thought? That I didn’t want you?”
“Why else would you refuse to call? To return any of my messages? You talked to Ford. So…the problem must be me.”
I surge forward, wrapping my arm around Lisette’s waist and pressing her to the wall. My free hand tangles in her short, silky locks, tipping her head so I can slant my lips over hers.
She tastes like coffee and cookies and the promise of home. Her tiny moan sets me on fire. The new jeans don’t give my dick an inch to breathe. I hope she can feel how much I want her. How much I need her.
“It was never you, sweetheart,” I whisper against her mouth. “You were—are—perfect.”
“Then why?” She touches her lower lip, fingers shaking.
“I’m not…who you need. I can’t be. Everything I’ve done in my life—hell, in the last three years—I’ll never escape it. You deserve a good man, Lisette.”
I drop my gaze. To the soft swells of her breasts under her striped sweater. To the bracelet clasped around her wrist. The one I returned to her.
Taking her hand, I press my lips to the silver.
“Il n’est rien de réel que le rêve et l’amour,”I whisper.
Lisette rests her cheek against my shoulder. “Nothing is real but dreams and love. I dream of you, Nomar. Almost every night. But my bracelet is wrong. Dreams are not real. If they were, you would have come back to me.”
We stay locked together for several long moments. I can’t let her go. Not yet. Not when this is all we’ll ever have. But every second I spend with her makes it harder to walk away.
“As long as you stay inside, you’re safe. My car is parked across the street. I’ll keep watch from there,” I say, my lips brushing over her soft locks.
She pulls back with a frown. “You do not need to sleep in your car. I have a sofa.”
I don’t tell her I wouldn’t besleepingin my car. I’d be sitting in it. Watching her front door all night long. Taking a lap around the block every hour to check for surveillance. Drinking too much coffee. Pissing in an empty water bottle.
“If you’re sure…” She’ll be safer if I’m inside. And maybe, I’ll have a few more memories to carry me through once I’m gone again.
With a nod, she turns and heads down the stairs. I’m frozen watching her go. The sway of her ass in the fitted red pants. The tilt of her head. The light brush of her fingers over the railing.
Stop staring, idiot. Follow her.
When I force my feet to move, I find her in the kitchen, setting a wedge of brie on a plate with fresh bread, a bunch of grapes, and fig jam. “Have you eaten?” she asks.
“No. But I need to get my bag from the car and walk the perimeter first. Lock the door behind me. I’ll knock four times when I’m back. Do you have a weapon?”
