Page 170 of Sire
How?
As a lonely little girl, I’d belt the song, but I swore, if I ever had love like that, I’d never say goodbye. I’d never let go.
I rub my belly. I sit on my pew. Staring at the baby in the manger scene beside the pulpit, I’m not alone in this empty church.
I will always have love like that.
I understand the song now.
You don’t keep love.
You give it away.
That’s Sire. He gave everything to me. He gave me a love so great, something some never get to feel; how can I be anything but grateful?
The Christmas Eve service is over. The parishioners haveleft. Evelyn, the Minister Emerita who married us, told the staff to leave the lights in the apse on for me.
She knows I won’t stop praying for him.
Tucking my earbuds in, I tap the song to loop on my phone and close my eyes, praying. I can’t help it. Lowly, I sing the song with Dolly.
Maybe because it’s a holy day, I sing through tears, smiling. Or maybe it’s because I just felt the baby move.
Or maybe … that was gas. I had bean enchiladas for dinner.
A tap touches my shoulder. I don’t even jump.
Goddammit, sweet, Jace. He’s supposed to wait for me outside.
I yank my buds out, whip my gaze to the side…
And freeze.
The man is huge. The shadows around him, even larger. His ribbed, cable-knit grey sweater clings to his muscles, the ink on his neck peeking out from its thick, rolled collar. His dark jeans look worn. His black tactical boots, brand new.
The diamonds piercing his ears catch the nativity light. Same for the diamond in his nose.
His hair is cut and styled, but darker, as if it hasn’t seen the southern sun in months. His beard, neatly trimmed, frames his lush lips. He licks them at the sight of me, a slight smile crinkling the tattoos on his high cheekbones, while his blue eyes look like they’re ready to murder the months we’ve been apart.
Sire says softly, “I’ll always love you, too, Angel.”
I can’t stop my sobs. I can’t bolt up fast enough. I can’t fling my arms around his neck—he’s too tall and I’m too tiny—so he wraps his arm around my waist and lifts me to meet his lips.
“I’m heavier,” I warn, sighing into our kiss salted by happy tears.
“I should fucking hope so.” His smiling lips brush overmine. “You look so goddam beautiful having my baby, Mrs. Rutledge.”
His kiss. “Fuck, I love you, Angel.” His voice. “Fuck, I missed you.” His smell. His warmth. “Goddamn, I’m never leaving you again.” Sire takes me with it, and I lose time to his lips on mine, his breath finding mine again.
But then I remember…
“Put me down.”
Quickly, he sets my feet on the floor. “Did I hurt you? The baby?”
He gazes down at my emerging bump. At five feet tall and in a white sweater dress, I look pregnant from my chin to my ankles.
“No. You,” I rush, gently touching below his waist. “Your kidney. You shouldn’t lift anything heavy.”
