Page 88 of Breaking the Sinner

He jerked his head into a nod.

“Yeah, well, that’s kinda what Gen is for me.”

Cobra’s brows lifted higher than she’d ever seen. She got the sense that she’d surprised him, maybe more than anyone else had. “Are you fucking serious?”

“Yeah.” She licked dry lips. “I picked the name Genevieve when I moved out. I mean, I always loved the name. I always wanted it to be my name.”

Cobra’s gaze shifted toward the house. “Fair enough. So what will they be calling you?”

She squeezed her eyes shut. “Prudence.”

Cobra shook with silent laughter. “Oh, man. You really were a prude before.”

She rolled her eyes. “Very funny.”

“You’re lucky you didn’t go to public school with that name. Prudie.”

“Okay, that’s enough.” She shoved his shoulder, and he captured her hand between his. He brought her knuckles up to his lips.

“You’ll always be Gen to me.” He pressed a kiss to the knuckle of her index finger. “And Genny.” A kiss to her middle finger. “And Red.” A kiss to her ring finger. “Most of all Red.” His lips landed on the knuckle of her pinky finger.

A grin blossomed across her face. How could she ever step away from this man when he doted on her like this? “Don’t tell anyone at work. You ready?”

Cobra nodded, and she didn’t waste any more time avoiding the inevitable. She led the way toward the front door, feet crunching over gravel, balling her fists in determination. Even though anxiety churned through her, every inch of her was excited at the same time. How could such conflicting emotions be present at the same time?

Before they reached the wooden wraparound porch, American flag–painted stars hung on the railing, the front door flew open. Mary stood there, her strawberry blonde hair pulled back in a simple ponytail, eyes wider than dinner plates.

“It’s Prudence!” she screeched into the house, and then Mary leapt forward, barefoot as always, bolting for Gen with her arms outstretched.

Happiness overcame her, and then tears arrived next. Sweet, innocent Mary. Whose simple, pale pink blouse hung too large on her gangly frame, the khaki skirt always falling too short against her long runner’s legs. Her sister’s arms cinched around her, which felt a lot like a lightning bolt from the heavens, zapping her to this spot, allowing all the memories and the grief and the repressed longing for home to come springing out. Gen buried her face in Mary’s hair, trying not to cry but failing.

“I missed you so, so, so, so much,” Mary said, rocking back and forth as they hugged. “You’re going to stay now, right?”

A few tears slipped out. She pulled back, smiling wide at Mary. Best not to get into that right now. “Mare-Bear, I brought a friend I’d like you to meet.”

Gen sniffled, turning back to look at Cobra. He shrank back into the shadows of the night, as if he’d rather disappear into them altogether. A sliver of the moon overhead and the golden light spilling from the porch lights glinted off him. Mary clutched Gen’s waist, stiffening against her.

“Hi,” Mary said in a very small voice.

“Hi, Mary. I’m Cobra.”

Gen could almost feel the name traveling through Mary’s synapses as she sought to understand it. “Cobra?”

“Yep.”

“He’s my very best friend,” Gen said, squeezing her sister. “I wanted him to meet all of you. Show him where I come from. What our life is like.”

“You’re really gonna like it here,” Mary said, relaxing a little. Her gaze drifted down Gen’s body, and she jolted. “You’re wearing shorts?”

Gen rolled her lips inward. A sign of the comments to come. “Let’s go inside, Mare-Bear.”

When she turned, the rest of the family had assembled on the front porch. Silent and in formation, they created a stoic, expressionless human wall blockading the house. Gen slowed, her heart rising into her throat.

Her father and mother stood closest to the steps. Her mother wore what she wore most days: a featureless, conservative top in any shade of blue, pink or green and a dark khaki skirt that nearly reached her ankles. The entire family, minus their father, dressed this way, since the Ginghams had tried for nearly a decade to have a son but instead had produced five girls. Each Gingham girl dressed the same as their mother. Gen now stood out worse than a sore thumb—totally busted and bleeding.

“My Prudence.” Her mother cracked first. She rushed forward, pulling her into her arms tightly. Her mother’s familiar, soft body against hers only provoked more tears.

“Hi, Mother.” Gen tilted her head up. The soft lines of her mother’s face seem to have deepened since she was gone. Now she looked older in a way she didn’t remember from before. Maybe Gen’s leaving had provoked it. Guilt crashed through her, following its familiar trails inside her. “I’m home.” She wiped away some tears. “I brought a friend.”

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