Page 105 of My Fallen Saint

I can’t believe I’m arguing against staying, but I don’t understand. Yes, anyone poking around about our time here and at The Phoenix and at the track might have a chance at pulling together a juicy story, but so what? It’s not like they know about our distant past. If I go back to New York it will all fizzle away, just like it has for every other woman he’s been photographed with, and I’ll be perfectly safe.

But when I tell him as much, he rubs his hands over his face and shakes his head.

“Dammit, El, don’t you get it? I want you because I want you.”

“Oh.” The word feels small against the fullness of the emotion that fills me, but at the same time, I need to understand what’s going on here. I need to know what’s changed.

“Why?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady so he won’t hear the hope that colors it. “I mean, we’ve had fun, yes. But—but you’re calling me El again, and it fills my heart to hear that, Devlin. It really does. Only I’m not the girl I was. So if this is about what used to be—”

“Are you suggesting I’m that boy? I’m not, and you damn well know it.”

There’s an edge in his voice, and I nod, but say nothing.

“The man I am now wouldn’t have wanted that girl.”

“Right.” I want to curl up inside myself at these words. “I get it.”

“You don’t,” he says, taking my hand. “The girl you were was everything to Alex Leto. She was his dream, his fantasy, his salvation. She was his best friend, and his only love. And while you may not believe it, something in him died when he left, especially because he knew that you would hate him.”

I say nothing. Just let the words pour over me.

“But Alex Leto is dead. I’m a different man now, and Devlin Saint is fascinated by the woman you are. I want you, El. I want that sharp mind and quick wit. I want your loyalty and persistence and that irrepressible curiosity. I want the rest, too. Your fears and insecurities and the way you hide them by flirting with danger. All of you, El. Every part of you.”

He shifts, taking my other hand, too, and I melt under the power of his words as he continues, his eyes both intense and soft, and never once wavering from my face as he continues. “Don’t you get it, baby? I want to hold on to you because you’re like living flame, and if I can do that, then I can do anything.”

“Devlin—”

“You’re a writer, dammit. Write from here. If The Spall isn’t cool with that, then write a book. Hell, write a book about what you saw in Nevada. Write one about Peter. But stay, Ellie. I know it won’t be easy—”

I laugh, the sound remarkably, wonderfully freeing. “Fuck easy. Easy bores me.”

He takes a step toward me. “So now it’s my turn to ask. What are you saying?”

“That I want you, too,” I say, tasting the salt of the tears that stream down my face. “And that I want to stay more than anything.”