“I love you, Donovan… I…” I never thought I’d say those words to anyone, but they spill freely from my lips as I lean into the blade. “You can cut my heart out right now if it means you’ll believe me when I say it. If it means you’llkeep it.I just know I can’t keep breathing without you now that I know what it feels like to know you. I’ll do anything… I’llbeanything… Please, let me stay.”
My head drops to his shoulder and he pulls the knife down so I don’t slit my own throat on it. I can feel him shaking, his ragged breath. I can see his pulse jumping through my hazy vision as I glance to the side… and I’m lost in the feel of his warm fingersas they smooth up my bare skin and catch in my hair, tilting my head back.
He looks at me, and he’s all wide eyes and pupils. That ocean that threatened to flay me open before is finally here to drag me under. It’s okay, though. I’m ready to drown.
I’m ready when he brings the knife up and presses it to the smooth skin just below my throat. I think if Donovan kills me, it would be okay. I’d be okay, because his hands would be warm while he did it.
It takes a second for me to realize he’s pressing into the same place where I first marked him—that spot on his shoulder where my teeth sank into his skin. He’s delicate, though. Deliberate, small lines deep enough to leave a scar against my collarbone.
It’s crude when I look down, but it’s there.
A little heart.
“You’re mine, Shiloh. For keeps, if you’ll have me.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
DONOVAN
I putthe knife down on the counter as Shiloh’s chest heaves, the weight of his confessions bearing down on him. He slumps, his knees threatening to give out on him, and I step forward, scooping him into my arms. His cheek hits my chest and his shoulders start to shake, soft gasps like he’s struggling to keep himself together escaping from his mouth. Finally, he lets go, and a sob leaves his mouth as he presses against me, tears soaking into the soft fabric of my T-shirt as I wrap myself around him so tight, carrying the burden with him.
My heart fucking aches.
The air hurts to breathe.
Shiloh is a trembling leaf in my too-large hands, and I don’t know if holding him this tight will mend or break what little of him remains. All I can do is rest my cheek on his head, inhale the soft citrus scent of him into my lungs, and breathe. I have never heard such devastation as the sounds falling muffled from his lips into the safety of my embrace.
I shouldn’t be holding him like this, I know.
Not with what he’s done. But how can I let go?
How can I possibly let him go?
“No more,” I whisper, as he quiets and settles into my body, melting into me. “You can be someone else, Shiloh.”
He sniffles, and I’m not sure he believes me but I have to trust that he does. I can’t be with someone who has killed people. It’s absolutely batshit to even consider that this is the situation I’m in, but I’m doing the best I can.
Should I turn him in to the authorities? Probably.
Can I bear to do that? No.
“I won’t hurt you,” Shiloh whispers, lifting his head off my chest and craning his neck back to look into my eyes. “I won’t, Donovan. I can’t. Not you.”
“I know,” I whisper back, lifting my hands to brush tears off his cheeks. “I know you won’t, baby.”
He lets loose a tiny noise of surprise, followed by a fresh spate of tears that trickle down his face like rainfall. I do my best to catch them with my thumbs, smoothing them away from his warm skin as his lips quiver and his body trembles. His eyes meet mine, the gray somehow not shining as it usually does, and his face gaunt and pulled tight. He’s stained with dried blood and paint, the remnants of his attempts to make himself feel whole clinging to his precious skin.
“Come with me?” I ask, letting him go and taking a small step away from him. He wobbles on his feet like he’s about to fall, but I catch him and scoop him up into my arms. He makes another sound under his breath, but he doesn’t protest as I cradle him in my hands and head for the bathroom.
I settle him down on the closed toilet seat, because the counter feels too high and he seems ready to topple over at any moment. He slumps where he sits, and I do my best to make sure he’s stable before turning to start the shower. While that heats up to a temperature that doesn’t resemble the chill outside, I kneel and reach for the jeans he wears. Piece by piece I undress him, moving his body as I need to, undoing buttons and zippers,sliding down pants and underwear until he sits naked, shivering and exhausted on the lid of the toilet.
Heat fills the room as I make quick work of shucking my own clothing, letting it all fall to a heap on the floor with his. I extend a hand toward him when I’m naked as well, and he gently places his fingers into my palm as he stands up on wobbly knees. When he looks at me, his eyes are filled with a sort of awe that takes my breath away. I don’t know what he expected to happen when he arrived here, but he’s looking at me like I’m some kind of god who hung the moon and stars just for him.
“You okay?” I ask, offering an opening in case he has something he wants to say but can’t quite get it out.
“I’m so tired, Donovan,” he confesses into the steam-filled air.
“I know,” I say as I guide him to the bathtub. He climbs in carefully and I follow, pulling the shower curtain closed behind us. Hot water touches my skin, sending warmth through me, which soothes some of the lingering ache away. Shiloh stands to the side of the stream, his hand turned upward as he catches droplets in his palm. It’s like he’s in a daze and doesn’t know what to do with himself, but I’m sure a shower will go a long way toward helping.
