Page 177 of Sinful Desires
My parents were hugging, sunburnt and smiling. I stood beside them, grinning so widely it hurt to look at.
That day, he’d taught me how to surf. We’d spent half the day in the water, and had come back burnt to hell. Couldn’t sleep on our backs for days.
My mom had asked the hotel for a surfboard-shaped cake. And they’d made it. Lopsided. Stupid-looking. Perfect. We tore into it on the beach with our fingers, laughing with mouths full of sugar and happiness.
Growing up, my birthday traditions were always the best time of the year. Every one of them had felt more special than the last.
More love. More warmth.
But after what I’d done, birthdays had turned sour, and I couldn’t stomach the thought of mine.
I never celebrated again.
Every year, that day had come with the same curse, the flames creeping closer, licking at my neck, burning through whatever was left of my soul.
We stepped closer, Scarlett’s thumb tracing slow circles over the back of my hand. We stopped by his bed.
He was freshly shaved, eyes forever shut, breathing steadily.
“Bonjour, Monsieur LeRoy.”
Scarlett’s voice slipped into the silence as she rested her hand gently over his, both lying still on the bed.
“His name’s Marc,” I said, my voice hoarse.
She looked up at me, but I didn’t look back. My eyes were fixed on him, on what remained of the man I once believed to be untouchable. Now he looked small and weak, lying still on his deathbed.
With a heavy breath, I let go of her hand and sat down in the chair beside him.
“Salut, Papa.”
His chest rose and fell in that steady, mechanical rhythm. The kind that wasn’t life, but something pretending to be.
“You look just like him,” she whispered.
My mouth lifted into a shape that almost resembled a smile, but the pain in it betrayed me.
“I do. I’ve got the LeRoy eyes too. Grey.”
She hummed softly, her gaze drifting over his face, as if memorizing it.
“Your son saved my life,Monsieur LeRoy. Again and again, in ways words will never hold. He reached into the darkest parts of me and pulled me back when I was already halfway gone. I wouldn’t be breathing if it weren’t for him.”
Her voice wavered, then steadied.
“And wherever you are?…?I know you can hear us. I know you must feel proud of him. Of who he’s become. Even though the weight of hurting you has nearly destroyed him.”
A tear slipped down my face, burning the skin it touched.
“When I was little,” she went on, softer now, “I had that same kind of love. The kind you gave your son. Unconditional. Overwhelming. Until it turned. Until kisses and hugs became slaps and screaming. And I still mourn it.”
A small sigh left her lips.
“I still grieve the version that once felt safe. I wish I could go back in time and appreciate what I thought was universal, but was actually something rare. Something most people never even get to experience. Love.”
She paused, eyes meeting mine.
“I think Théo does too.”
