Page 67 of Sinful

I paused, feeling like a damn hypocrite. I was anything but strong.

I’m not the greatest at advice. I’m sorry.

She stared at the words for a moment before writing back to me.

What are you afraid of?

Fuck. Same answer, siren.

I’m afraid I’ll never be good enough for anyone.

I exhaled and decided to give her a little story about my past.

When I was younger, I had this necklace. Well, it was a rosary. I’d pray with it. It brought me peace during my parents’ divorce. The divorce was ugly, and I was raised on God. So I’d pray with this rosary every night. I’d say my novena. Begging God to save my family. To make my dad a better man for my mom.

My hand shook.

Church found me with it once. Asked me what it was for. I told him. He asked his mom for one, and she got it for him. Then Asher got one. Then Stitches. It seemed we all needed a little extra help in our lives. I lost mine, though. When my dad took me, I’d prayed with it that day. I begged God, the saints, and anyone who could hear my terrified prayers to save me. Maybe they did hear me because I’m still around. But the rosary is gone. I wish I had it because sometimes I think I could use the prayers. So I could have hope. Maybe God would hear me if I had it.

She read my words and didn’t move for a long time before she got to her feet and went upstairs, leaving me alone in the living room.

I felt like an idiot telling her that shit. I wasn’t the type to open up like that. My stomach twisted with the embarrassment of it.

Thinking she wasn’t going to come back, I sat there, wallowing in my self-pity. It was when she came back downstairs and sat beside me again that I perked up.

She took my hand and turned it palm up before placing her hand over it. Something cool dropped against my skin. Her eyes met mine for a moment, making my heart skip before she pulled her hand away.

I stared down at what she’d given me, my throat tight.

A rosary.

Blue and silver. A cross.

She took the pen and paper and quickly wrote another message.

For you. So you can have hope again.

The words became blurry as my eyes filled with tears. My inner thoughts pleaded with me.

Don’t fucking cry. Please, don’t fucking do it, Sinclair. Hold it in. She doesn’t need to see that shit. God, why did she have to be so perfect?

I rolled the beads between my fingers, trying to keep the tears at bay. It had been a long time since anyone had ever given me a gift, and this gift hit home for me.

Her warm fingers brushed along my jaw before she gently lifted my head to look at her. As hard as I tried to contain it, a tear worked its way down my cheek.

She cocked her head, her pretty plump lips parted, and leaned into me.

I held my breath as she placed a kiss on my cheek, taking the tear with her. I exhaled a shaky breath when she pulled away, everything within me telling me to just take the moment and kiss her lips. Tell her how sorry I was. Tell her I wasn’t worthy.

Fuck. I’m not worthy.

I can’t. I want it, but I can’t.

“Sinful,” she whispered. “Pray.”

I nodded, my throat tight, wanting to say so many things to her. Instead, the front door opened. Ashes and Stitches came into the room, ending our conversation. Quickly, I wiped at my eyes before tucking the rosary into my pocket. I glanced at our note before grabbing that, too, and stuffing it down beside the rosary. No sense in leaving it behind.

It was proof she gave a shit about me.

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