Page 139 of Sinful
I'm covered in blood I can still feel even after I scrubbed my body until I was almost bleeding, but Helle's here beside me.
Safe. Alive. Mine.
And tomorrow we start building the life we fought for.
Tomorrow we start healing.
EPILOGUE
Helle
One Month Later . . .
I wake up to sunlight streaming through the curtains we hung last week and the smell of coffee drifting in from the porch.
The cabin is quiet except for the sound of Bravos moving around outside—boots on wood, the creak of the porch swing we installed three days ago, the clink of his coffee mug against the railing.
The type of sounds that remind you you’re home.
I stretch, feeling the pleasant ache in my muscles from yesterday's work at the garage.
My hands still smell faintly like grease even after scrubbing them twice last night.
I pull on one of Bravos's t-shirts and head outside.
He's sitting on the porch swing with his coffee, watching the horses in the distant paddock.
His cut is hanging on the hook by the door—he got back from a four-day run to Oklahoma yesterday afternoon.
Four days. Not three weeks. Not months.
He's coming home now, always coming home.
"Morning," I say, sitting beside him.
He pulls me close, kisses my temple. "Morning. Sleep okay?"
"Yeah. You?"
"Better now that I'm not on a motel mattress that felt like sleeping on concrete."
I laugh, steal his coffee for a sip.
He's made it the way I like since we’ve been together—black.
A month ago I was sleeping in his bunk at the clubhouse, terrified he wouldn't come back from the Los Coyotes run.
Now I'm stealing his coffee on our porch while wearing his shirt and complaining about work schedules.
Normal. Domestic. Ours.
"Elfe called last night while you were in the shower," I say. "They're coming this weekend. All of them."
"Your parents too?"
"Yeah. Dad's doing well enough to travel. They want to see the cabin. See us. Make sure I'm—" I pause. "Make sure I'm happy."
"Are you?" He always asks. Like the answer might change.
