Page 135 of The Sinner's Sanctuary

Brush rustles to my right, and I see him as a shape in the haze. “Gibson?” His voice is softer.

“I’m right here, Chris.”

He gets close enough that I’m able to make out his face, and he joins me on the log, straddling it. He’s got a scratch on his cheek and a twig in his hair, which I reach up and remove before smoothing the now tangled strands off his forehead.

Concern and confusion are etched on his perfect face. “What the hell is going on?”

38

CHRISTIAN

Gibson doesn’t answer my question, instead once again asking me how I’m feeling. I give him a flat stare. I stopped throwing up last night once the Dramamine kicked in and made it all the way through breakfast and a game of chess with Drew without a single wave of nausea. He’s in the middle of the woods with tears on his fucking shirt, and he wants to know howI’mfeeling?

“Did Ollie say something shitty?”

He wipes his face and shakes his head. “No. Nothing like that. I just…”

I rub his upper arm, trying to be patient and let him tell me in his own time, even though I want to reach down his throat and pull the words out myself.

“It’s pathetic. I just started feeling bad.”

“A, you’re not pathetic, and B, what were you guys talking about?”

“Marianne,” he says darkly, making me instantly uneasy.

Is this guilt?It sure as fuck feels like it. I would know.

I take my hand back and start fiddling with my necklace, trying to look at anything but him, but the fog is so thick, he’s allI can see besides the log we’re on, which I’m not sure is stable enough to hold two men.

“I don’t know if I realized how fucked up my marriage is,” he says.

“No?” I’m not sure I buy that, or whether it’s the whole truth. He didn’t necessarily shy away from the topic when it first came up, but he didn’t sound proud of it either. I know he’s not happy. We’ve talked about that more than once.

“I mean, I worry about her a lot—all the time—but this has gone on for years, not changing…” He takes a deep ragged breath that seems to require every muscle in his body. “Am I selfish for wondering whether she’s worried about me at all?”

“No,” I say. “It’s not selfish. And for the record,Iworry about you plenty, in case you thought no one does. Why is this coming up now?”

He gives me a searing look with his dark, bloodshot eyes. “BecauseI knowyou do.”

I’m still confused, but I want to give him a chance to say what’s on his mind without putting the words I want to hear in his mouth.

“And you barely fucking know me,” he adds.

“I bet I know you better than she does,” I mumble and immediately wish I could take it back. It’s not my place, and there’s no way it could possibly be true.

“You’re right,” he whispers. He lifts his shirt to wipe his face, and I notice his abs in all their tanned glory from being shirtless on a sailboat all afternoon yesterday.

Now’s not the time, obviously, but I’ll keep the image on the back burner.

“I was crying,” he says, stating the incredibly obvious.

“Yeah, I caught that.”

“It felt weird.”

“Good weird or bad weird?”

“Can it be both?” he asks.

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