Page 148 of Kill for a Kiss

After a breath, I carry her to the bathroom, kicking the door closed behind us with more force than necessary. The water hisses to life under my hands, steam thickening the air in an instant.

Elle watches me silently. Eyes wide, breath uneven, hands still locked in my shirt.

I peel the soot-stained clothes from both of us. My hands stay steady. Even as everything inside me screams to claim her. To prove she’s alive. That we both are.

Our clothes hit the floor wet and heavy. The water is hot, almost too hot, but she follows me in anyway, skin to skin.

I cradle her head against my shoulder. Let the water run through her hair and down her shivering spine. Her hands move over me, tracing the lines of my chest, like she’s relearning every part of me in search of the comfort I know she needs.

“I’m here with you, Elle,” I murmur. “I’m not going anywhere.”

She nods. Her lips press to my chest, right over my heart.

We stay like this, locked under the water, until everything else washes away. Until all that’s left is us.

***

Days slip by like smoke. The safe house stays silent around us. The world beyond here fades, leaving only the hush that holds us together.

The others hover at a distance. Kaye checks in with care. Damon watches and supports her. Stan cracks jokes for all of us. But they know better than to intrude.

Elle lies against me in our bed. She’s wearing one of my old flannels, the fabric swallowing her, sleeves hanging past her fingertips. The hem brushes her thighs. Her skin is soft where it meets the fabric, warm beneath my hands. The scars along her legs catch the light now and then. She looks like a dream despite the nightmares we keep surviving.

Her cheek rests over my heart, her pulse keeping up with mine. I hold her closer, one hand stroking slow over the curve of her spine. My other hand holds up one of my journals as she smiles tenderly at me.

“Read it to me,” she whispers. “I want to know everything.”

So I do. Even when the words feel raw in my throat, I give them to her. “Friday, April 13th,” I read. “The day I made my first mistake. The day I decided never to harm a woman or a child ever again.”

She nuzzles her cheek into my chest, listening. I read a few more lines, trying to keep my breath even. Time passes slow. My lungs hurt. But I keep reading for her.

“When my fingers brushed the back of her, she wrenched forward, faster than I expected,” I continue, my mouth dry. “She wasthathorrified of me when all I wanted to do was say sorry. Her and the little boy in her arms had nothing to do with why I was there, to kill—”

I stop, the words cutting off sharp in my throat.

Elle lifts her head to look at me. There are tears in her eyes, but her expression is open and patient.

I close the journal carefully, letting it rest on the nightstand. Then I pull her tighter into my arms and hold her.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper into her hair.

It costs me more than anything else I’ve ever said.

“I’m so fucking sorry, Elle.”

She shakes her head, pressing her forehead against my jaw.

“You didn’t hurt me,” she says carefully like she knows how easily I could shatter right now. “You tried to protect me. Even if you didn’t know it.”

Her hand drifts up, fingers tracing over my heart.

“I don’t remember everything all that clearly yet,” she says, her voice almost a hush, “but while you were reading, a memory came to me. I remember more about the first time I saw you.”

A tiny, broken smile pulls at her mouth.

“You had the same haircut,” she murmurs. “Faded on the sides. Your bangs falling over your mask. I could see the silver-white back then, even with your hood on. Wearing all black, trying to blend into the night.”

I can’t breathe for a second. I drink in the sound of her putting pieces of her broken memories together. I remember it all like it was yesterday.