Page 19 of Sanctuary (Deviant Hearts #0.5)

I don’t know why I’m here.

I can’t figure out the logic behind my coming over to The Deviant’s bus.

Alcohol, I tell myself in the privacy of my mind as the cold wind scrapes my skin. But as soon as Cruz steps out of the bus, the truth becomes strikingly clear.

I wanted to see him.

I wanted to be in his presence, wanted to feel that solid warmth of his. That reassurance.

And for a moment, I just stand there, staring at him, into those eyes as dark as midnight.

"Wendy," he says. There's a whole sentence in that single word. He slips out of the shadows, almost like a dream. He's a wall of damp black hair and tattoos. His jacket is slung casually over one shoulder, and I forget to shiver.

"You look cold. And drunk," he says, moving to stand in front of me.

I don't answer. I just pull him into focus, closer, and keep him there. Past his shoulder, I see his band’s lineup of buses and trailers. It looks like the spine of some broken monster.

Cruz gives me a soft smile and carefully places his jacket on my shoulders. I'm drowning in leather that smells like him. Like music.

"I was looking for you," he says. "After the set."

"Left halfway through," I reply. "Jett was blowing up my phone."

"What are you doing here so late?" His voice hangs in the air, and I let it. I have to stretch out the moment, to catch up.

"Jett's drunk again," I finally supply. "Didn't know where else to go." I hold my breath so that my answer sounds steady.

He raises an eyebrow. "I told you… You can always come here."

"I know." I feel stupid all of a sudden. Stupid and pathetic.

"Come on." He reaches out to grab my hand, and when his skin brushes mine, it’s all spine-tingling heat. I can feel the thunder in it, distant but getting closer.

I glance away. Don't tell him how badly I want that storm.

"You’re shaking," he whispers. "We should get you something warm."

"Didn't know you cared," I toss back, bright and sharp like sparks from a fire. He says nothing, but the way he looks at me—I almost start believing him.

"You hungry?" he asks.

"Maybe a little." My voice sounds distant.

Cruz adjusts his grip, intertwining his fingers with mine, and I feel almost weightless, swept along by his quick and steady pace as he leads us toward the last bus in the line of The Deviant tour convoy.

"I'm not offering you much," he says as we walk. "I don’t know what they have left." He motions at the vehicle ahead and we stop. Here, the fairground lights hardly reach, like even they're too afraid to look.

"I'll take it," I say, barely knowing what I mean. Only knowing I mean him.

The heavy curtain of his hair lifts in the wind slightly. "Then keep watch," he instructs as he yanks the door open. "Tell me if someone's coming."

I nod, shivering less, grinning more. "Who are we stealing from?"

"Our crew." Cruz moves inside the bus, half dissolving into shadows and steel. I follow him onto the step and look around.

One of the guys on a top bunk turns over but doesn't wake up as Cruz moves toward the kitchen area.

I keep watch, my eyes sharp as he bends to the fridge and grabs a few things.

Two beers. Some sandwiches. From the shelf above the fridge, he grabs a soda.

I trace the curve of his inked arms with my gaze, let my mind fill in the rest.

He throws a smirk over his shoulder and slips the sandwiches in the microwave. We get out quick, faster than we got in.

"Guy on the top bunk didn't wake up," I say. I'm short of breath but laughing.

Cruz hands me the soda, cool and stinging in my grip. "Old Mark.” He lets out a chuckle. "Dude’s been touring all his life. If he's tired, he'll sleep through an earthquake."

"You think they’ll notice stuff is gone?"

"Nah."

We round the bus and walk some more until we get to the band's collection of trailers. There, Cruz grabs an abandoned folding chair, secures it into the ground, and then sits me down.

"Now eat." He pops my soda open for me.

I draw a deep breath and take a small sip. It's room temperature and I'm glad. Then I remove the wrapper from the sandwich and bite into it. It’s something with pesto and tomatoes and mozzarella cheese, and it tastes divine. But more importantly, it’s warm.

"Good?" Cruz asks, munching on his own food.

My mouth is full, so I nod my approval and take another huge bite, wanting to fall into the night’s open arms and disappear. That way, I don’t have to face tomorrow. Face Jett.

"You need that many vehicles to haul all your gear and props around?" I ask, motioning at the buses and trailers looming around us.

"You saw our stage setup," Cruz replies, watching me and sipping his beer. The edge of his mouth curves upward. "Sorry, I’m not offering you beer, because you look like you already had one too many."

"Yeah. I did." I lift what’s left of my sandwich in the air. "But this is helping me to sober up."

"I’m glad."

We eat and drink in silence for a while, just exchanging glances and taking our time to chew.

Finally, he says, "Why can't you walk away from Jett?"

"Ummm… It’s not that easy."

"Just pack and go."

"Well, truth be told, I'm a little stuck," I say, the words prickling my throat, cold and hard. I swallow them down, chase them with a gulp of soda.

"Stuck?" Cruz echoes, letting it stretch like an old, painful scar.

"When we met, I was in a bad place," I explain. And I typically don’t talk about it to anyone, but I suppose the alcohol is making it easier tonight. Besides, after tomorrow, we’ll go our separate ways.

So I feel like sharing won’t really hurt me or my pride.

"I didn’t have anywhere to live. I stayed with some friends while trying to get into a beauty school and working two jobs.

Things happened pretty fast between us, and he asked me to move in. Said I didn’t need to work so much."

"So he’s supporting you?"

"Not exactly. He doesn’t give me money, if that’s what you’re asking.

But I was able to quit one of my jobs to concentrate more on school and looking for clients.

And I don’t need to pay rent. If I leave him right now, I don’t know how I’ll make it work.

And I’m not going back to living with my mother.

" I'm not sure if I want him to hear this, but his dark eyes are steady and understanding and soaking it all in.

Cruz leans back against the trailer and holds my gaze for the longest time. "Is that the only reason? Money?" he asks gently.

His voice stays with me, smooth and low, even as his body pulls away an inch.

"What do you know about it?" I try to tease, but my mouth has too much truth in it. And too much sandwich.

"I know a little. Don’t forget I was born poor too. I’ve got what? Five, maybe seven years on you? You’ll be fine on your own. Get a room somewhere clean and quiet. Don’t let him treat you like shit. It’s not worth it."

"How do you know if he treated me like shit tonight?"

"Seeing that you showed up drunk and shaking, I just do. I’m not going to ask. It’s your business. But he doesn’t deserve you. Just my two cents."

"I'll have to give up school if I have to pay rent. And how many guys would want me if I wasn’t someone? I want to marry and have a family sometimes in the future. I don't want to be just an arm piece. I want to be independent. I want to bring something to the table too. School's my ticket out."

"There are definitely more than one guy who'd want you," Cruz replies. "But don’t forget, I’m the first one in that long line of potential husbands." He grins, turning it into a joke.

I laugh. "Suuuuuure."

"I’m very serious. Whenever you’re ready to settle down with a normal dude, I’m at your service."

I laugh again, then take another bite of my sandwich because my cheeks heat up and I need to occupy myself with something. "You really think that being a rockstar and all, you’ll get married and have kids and just tour in between family gatherings?"

"Why wouldn’t I?"

"Just sounds insane."

"Nothing insane about it. I want a big family. At least three kids."

"Three kids?" I say, watching his face for something to give away.

Cruz gives nothing, but I can feel him anyway.

He smiles like he already knows. "Who would be stupid enough to give you three kids?

Have you seen your band? You guys literally twist everyone's brains by talking about sex in a confessional. "

"Hey, I don’t write the lyrics." He raises both hands in the air defensively. "I just play bass."

"You’re still complicit."

"Does that turn you off?"

"On the contrary. It’s sexy." I tilt my head and watch the sky unfold like a map of stars, uneasy and easy at the same time.

"But you get it, right? It’s all a metaphor? The songs. The lyrics."

"Yes."

"So then what’s wrong with three kids?"

"Nothing… I think when I’m ready to have kids, I’ll just settle for one. If I fuck up, at least it’s one and not three."

We both smile at this like it’s just another joke. But in every joke, there’s always some truth.

"Hey, Wendy." His voice drops to its lower register, like he’s about to whisper some secret. "I meant what I said. If you have nowhere to sleep tonight, my bunk is available. No strings."

"No strings, huh?" I say, my pulse in my throat. The way he looks at me, like I’m the sun.

He nods. "No strings."

Pause. Because I have nothing to say to that.

"One of these days," Cruz adds, his words so harsh, they could bruise me, "Jett will do something he can't take back, something you won’t be able to erase from your memory.

" He throws his empty beer can at the trash container nearby.

It misses. "You won't be able to run away from it.

" His eyes hold mine until the ground tilts beneath me, until my pulse stutters. "I just hope you’re safe is all."

I want to breathe him in forever, to catch his words and keep them. "Maybe I need a few strings," I blurt out. Could be just my reckless girl brain or this sick need to attach myself to a man because I can’t be alone. I have no explanation.

I give it one second, two. Then I'm on my feet, breathless, crazed, pulling him down by the T-shirt. I press my lips to his, wanting a taste, wanting to know what it’s like to kiss a man who respects me, to kiss a man who’s unattainable to most women.

It’s a slow burn at first, but it catches fast. My heart is fire and fury, brazen and wild, desiring more than it should. His surprise is sweetness. His arms are gravity, heavy and hard as they wrap around me. I'm flying, scarlet against the black. Then I'm falling, and it's breaking me wide open.

I push away before I break for good.

He reaches out a hesitant hand.

"I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that," I murmur, spinning around.

I don't look back. I start running, holding his jacket to my chest so I don’t lose it, so I don’t lose the scent and the warmth he’s given me tonight.