Page 155 of Never Die for a Sinner
“Think love, for instance. I’m grateful for my wife’s unwavering love and support. Those are things that resonatewith me on a deeper level than the material objects in my life that any act of God can take away at any moment.”
The mention of love makes my skin bristle. Love’s a bullshit excuse for two people to stay together even if they’re miserable.
“I’m not in love.”
“No?”
I don’t like the way the fucker smirks at me.
“No.”
“Well, perhaps one day.”
“Perhaps not.”
Proctor eyes me, challenging me. “So, thismystery girl . . .She means nothing to you?”
Fucking hell.
“You like to make shit difficult, don’t you?”
He chuckles. I don’t because I’m serious.
“I think it’s important to note that this hatred for your father has built a wall around you. You’ve closed yourself off from what you think you can’t have, which is the idea of love.”
“Well, I think you’re reading too much into it.”
“Answer this for me. If she were gone tomorrow . . . Would you care?”
Possession burns in my chest.
Of course, I’d fucking care. I’d rip the world to shreds until I found her.
But . . . I’d do the same for Mila. Doesn’t mean anything.
The buzzer dings, signifying our time is up. I stand, fixing him with a look, needing him to understand before I leave.
“I’m not in love.”
He smiles, though I can see the challenge behind it.
“Whatever you say, Levi.”
“You don’t have to do this.”
Ava’s voice is barely above a whisper, taut with nerves. She pulls me to a stop outside her grandmother’s door, glancing around nervously. Her face has gone a shade paler, like she might be physically ill right here in the hallway.
“Why wouldn’t I?”
She opens her mouth, like she might argue, but nothing comes out. Her throat bobs, and for a second, I think she might bolt. But I don’t give her the chance. I lace my fingers through hers and gently push the door open.
The room smells faintly of lavender and something sterile, like antiseptic and old cotton. A heart monitor beeps quietly in the background, the only sign of time passing in a place where it feels like everything is frozen. The woman in the bed looks up as we enter. Her skin is paper-thin and spotted, her body so frail beneath the covers that she barely seems to make a dent in the mattress.
She smiles kindly when she sees me, but her face doesn’t light up until she sees Ava come in behind me.
“There’s my girl,” she says, her voice thin but warm. Ava moves past me, going to the side of the bed, and leans in to wrap her arms carefully around the small, fragile woman.
“I missed you,” Ava murmurs, her voice caught somewhere between joy and guilt. “How are you feeling?”
