Page 215 of Sinful Like Us
Not afraid of anything.
“I belong here,” I start. And then I look at her on instinct.
Jane smiles up at me with sky-high confidence.
My chest rises, and I look around at her family who I hope will one day be mine. “I belong here,” I say again, “because I love deeply and I’m learning to feel deeply too, and I make no apologies for who I am.”
Jane is beaming, glassy-eyed with hands to her lips.
I continue, “And at the end of the day, the people I care about are the ones I would die for. No questions asked. I’m standing at the battle line.”Say more. Say what you feel, and I just go. “You’re a family of warriors—I’m a warrior too. We just have different weapons. You use words. I use a gun. And ever since I was a young kid, I wanted to be that Spartan hero for someone. I belong here. Not anywhere else.”
Not because of Jane. But because when it comes down to it, I’m a fucking lion.
I’m a shark.
For the first time, I really believe I’m the same as them.
Not saying a word, Charlie stretches forward and plucks the card from my hand. He extends his arm across the table. Passing the thing to Eliot, who holds the card over Tom’s lighter.
A flame incinerates the paper.
I thought I’d want their applause or approval at the end of this. But standing here, I realize, I don’t need that recognition or their validation. I feel good about who I am and what I completed.
“That’s it?” I ask Charlie.
He nods. “Congratulations. Some of us still hate you. Some of us like you. Others don’t give a shit. And yet, you’re still here.”
I’m still here.
My mouth curves upward, and I nod once. The game was never designed for me to win them over like I thought.
It was designed for them to push my limits. To tap into unapologetic confidence. To survive a battle.
I’m still here.
I’m back in my seat next to Jane, and she gathers my hand in hers. “You’re amazing, you realize.”
I kiss her knuckles before wrapping an arm around her shoulder, and I lean in to whisper, “I love you, Jane Eleanor Cobalt.”
I hear her sharp breath. She’s about to reply, but Tom points at me with a steak knife. “What’s its name anyway?” He means the kitten.
I watch the tabby stretch a paw mid-sleep. “Jane usually picks the person who’ll name her cats.”
She rests her chin on her knuckles. “Ourcats.”
Our cats.
I hang onto that declaration.
Looks like I’m a father of six—nowseven—cats. This is bigger than Jane asking me to marry her. These cats are her babies, and she’s sharing them with me.
Happiness isn’t in the same stratosphere to the raw emotion that’s balled up inside my chest. I block out the mental image of my brother ribbing me about being a cat dad.
Jane rubs the top of the kitten’s head with her thumb. “And you found each other. You should pick her name.”
I already have a name for her, and everyone here will give me shit for it. So I just say, “LJ.”
“LJ?” Jane frowns for a second.
