Page 19 of Legions

When he lifted his eyes to meet mine, he didn’t hand me back the note. “How is your mom?”

I let out a hard, short laugh. “Destroyed.”

He glanced past me toward the house. “Do you trust me?” he asked.

I narrowed my gaze. “You know I do, but why are you asking me.”

He folded the letter and then held it back to me before taking a final step and pulling me into his arms. “Don’t leave me again without a word. I’d have come with you.”

“I was in shock. I came here on autopilot.”

He pressed a kiss to my head. “You scared me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” he said, inhaling my hair. “But let me help her.”

I leaned my head back to look up at him, confused. “My mom?”

He nodded his head once.

“How can you help my mom? I do not want my dad killed, no matter how stupid he is or how careless his actions were. I still love him.”

He smirked. “I’m not going to kill him.”

I studied him a moment. “And Maelee is a homewrecking slut, but she also does not deserve to die.”

He leaned down and pressed a kiss to my lips. “I’m not offering to kill anyone. Just help your mother to move on sooner. Giveher some pride back. And if she wants it, some revenge.”

I thought about it. Not sure I could let Thatcher offer anything. His actions could be questionable.

He ran a hand through my hair. “Just hear me out. Let your mom decide.”

If there was an answer to all this, then I would be relieved. I hated thinking about how my mom felt right now. The pain she was enduring. The wasted years she had given to my dad and the church.

“Okay,” I agreed.

“That’s my girl,” he whispered, then nodded his head toward the front door of the house.

I turned to open it when he reached around me and did it instead. Walking inside, Esther’s eyes widened at the sight of Thatcher so close behind me. The appreciation for the beautiful god that he looked like was evident. Even if she didn’t approve of him.

Thatcher let the door close behind us, and my mom’s eyes bore into him with distaste. He had taken me away from her. He was the reason for me being a sinner.

“Mrs. Jewel,” he said in greeting.

She stiffened but said nothing, her eyes shifting to look at me accusatory. I’d brought someone she hated into her home while she was suffering and at her lowest

“Mom, all I ask is that you listen to whatever he wants to say,” I told her.

She looked back at Thatcher.

He was so out of place in the living room. Throw pillows with scripture sewn into them, a painting of the Lord’s Supper above the sofa, different uplifting promises from the Bible in frames, and sitabouts that cluttered the place. Mom wasn’t one to leave a spot bare. She covered every surface with things.

“What is it?” she asked him, appearing as if she wanted to tossher cup of hot tea at him rather than hear anything he said.

Thatcher walked over and sat in the recliner that faced my mother. His worn jeans, black combat boots, and tight gray t-shirt smelled of the cigarette he’d had on his drive over here with the spice and woodsy mix that always clung to him. I was momentarily distracted by the sight as my thoughts went to waking up this morning with him over me, sliding his hard length inside me. His bare chest flexed with each thrust, and his eyes never left mine.

“What if I told you not only could I give you back your pride but a new start, your chance to decide what it is you want to do? Not what he wanted or needed you to do?”

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