Page 8 of Salacious Devotion

I wipe my tears again. Fucking tears. I’ve cried more in the past three years than anyone should cry in a lifetime. “I have a master’s in computer science, Dane. Do you remember how much time I spent in front of my monitors? Do you remember how many computers I owned? Do you remember how excited I was to start my dream job working for the biggest credit card company in the world as a professional hacker?”

His face is stern. He’s breathing heavily.

“I haven’t touched a computer in three fucking years, Dane,” I scream. “Not once. I’m working for a fucking florist putting together fucking flower arrangements for fucking weddings and birthdays and goddamn anniversaries.”

He winces.

“Do you remember my boyfriend? He was this wonderful guy I met at a local club. We had so much in common. It seemed like a match made in heaven when he walked up to me one night and asked me to scene with him. Do you know how fucking right it felt when he spanked me that first night? It was like I’d found my home.” I’m shaking so violently, and I can’t stop—not the shaking nor the word vomit. It has to come out.

He swallows. His eyes are watery.

Suddenly, he slaps his forehead. The lights come on. “Fuck.”

“Yeah, fuck.”

“You didn’t die.”

“Apparently.” Sarcasm oozes from me.

“You’ve been in witness protection.”

Finally. The man has found a working brain cell. I know he’s brilliant. But it sure has taken him long enough to figure out where I’ve been. He rubs his chin. Tears start to fall down his face. I’ve never seen Dane cry.

I scoot closer and reach up to wipe his cheek with my thumb. It feels so good to touch him.

Sobs tear out of him, and he grabs me with both hands and pulls me onto his lap. He hugs me so close that it hurts. I don’t care. His face is buried in my neck, and he cries.

I cry, too; so much pent-up emotion coming out of both of us. I wrap one arm around him and fist his shirt with the other. Questions race through my mind while he sobs against me.

Why is he dressed like this? He’s wearing dress pants, a starched white shirt, and a tie. I’ve never seen him so formal at a club. He looks like he came from his office. Maybe he did.

My stomach clenches as I wonder if he’s married or has a serious girlfriend. Both are possible. Likely even. He’s thirty-five now.

What is he doing in Seattle? I never expected to run into a single soul I ever knew in Seattle. That’s why I moved here.

Dane finally pulls back and reaches over to grab a box of tissues from the end table. He hands a few to me and grabs several for himself. His face is red, and his eyes are bloodshot. I’m sure I look the same.

“Why?” he whispers.

I’m not sure what he’s asking. “Why what?”

“Why did you leave me? Why not take me with you?”

My breath hitches. I’m shocked. “You had a life. A job. Friends and family. I couldn’t ask you to give all that up. It didn’t seem fair or even reasonable. We… We weren’t married. We weren’t even engaged...” I swallow. “I wasn’t sure what we were or how serious you felt. I couldn’t take the risk of anyone knowing I was alive.”

He’s breathing heavily. His hands grip my hips. “You were my everything,” he murmurs. His jaw tightens as he closes his eyes. “I was going to ask you to marry me that night.”

I gasp. My eyes go wide. My heart races. My lips tremble, and the tears start again, falling hard. I sob again, sounding like a dying animal.

Dane tips his head back and lets a frustrated scream leave his lips.

“You…” I can’t form words. It’s so hard. “We… You never so much as told me you loved me.”

His pained face is killing me. He has more tears, too. He doesn’t even bother to wipe them away. “I was a fucking fool. I wanted to say those words so many times. They just never came out. I don’t think I ever heard my father say ‘I love you’ to anyone. Not even to my mother. But I’ve regretted not saying them to you for three years. I hated that you died without me telling you how fucking much I loved you.”

My heart hurts for all the loss. “I loved you, too, Dane,” I whisper. I still do. I never stopped.

He sets his forehead against mine. “Fuck.”

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