Page 114 of False Start

The more I wanted him—all of him—the more I needed to know why I couldn’t have him. Why he would be the second loss capable of devastating me.

With the water finally giving out, he lifted me out of the tub and dried us both from head to toe, squeezing every last bit of water he could from the strands of hair along my back.

“Stay,” I said quietly. “Just for a little while.”

He didn’t say a word, just led me to my bed, laid me down, stacking pillows in front of me to prop up my hand, and climbed in behind me.

Lying there peacefully—his chest against my back, his hand skimming over my hip—I finally asked, “You lost your mother, but your father…where is he?”

His hand stilled at first, his chest swelling with his deep breath. “Jail.” One word jagged and raw. Four letters like a cap on a soda bottle. If you twisted carefully, success. If you weren’t careful…explosion.

“Is he the reason you’re a cop?”

“One of them,” he said quietly.

“What did he do?” I whispered, my heart beating thick and heavy in my chest.

“He tried to turn his kids into drug mules in a low-level drug operation.”

I bit my lip, my sharp intake of breath turning into a hiss. His answer…the way he said it—holding himself apart as though his father was just another case—nothing more, nothing less.

As though Priest wasn’t one of those kids.

My heart pinched. “And he’s paying for it now?”

“If you want to call it that,” he said, his voice taut with bitterness.

“What would you call it?”

“Getting off easy.”

“Why?” I whispered.

“Because he left in a patrol car. My twin brother left in a body bag.” The slicing bitter edge in his voice revealed a well of pain still holding so many secrets.

But I wouldn’t go there. Not tonight. When he’d have to go to the farm soon and be alone in his bed with tortured memories and no one to hold him.

I reached back, forgetting about my sprained hand, but he caught it and stopped me.

“No, keep it on the pillow.”

“But—”

“No. No more talking about my brother,” he said, his voice ending in a low growl as he took a ragged breath against my skin as his palm locked over my thigh.

He was going to bury his pain in me, with sex. I could feel it…and I was going to let him.

“Why?” I gasped out as the head of his cock slid against me.

“Because all I have left is his memory.” He shuddered against me then, his breathing labored. “It’s the only part of him I can keep safe now.”

One brother survived, one didn’t.

And he’d protect his brother from everyone, including me.

I had more questions than answers.

“You’ve only ever had your mother.” He whispered the words along the shell of my ear as he lifted my leg and draped it over his own, exposing me.

“Yes,” I said past my thick throat as we resurrected the people we lost to this sliver in time—the people we missed.

The people who still had so much control over who we were today.

“How did you move on?” he asked quietly, his fingers flexing on my thigh as if I had the secret to ending his pain if only he held on tight enough.

“I live for both of us now.”

With his arm sliding around my waist, his fingers going straight to my breast, he thrusted inside me, our twin sighs of pleasure chasing away the pain.

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