Page 35 of Sin With Me

Though it grates on me to say it, I force her name from my lips. “You have Mary.” I swallow a gag, keeping my face blank.

“She’s not you,” he grumbles, rolling his eyes. “No one else helps me the way you do.” He smirks, and I tamp down the wave of inappropriate warmth from his words. “Come on, sweetheart. You’ve been my helper since you were fourteen. You’re the perfect assistant. You know how organized I need things. You anticipate what I need before I even have to ask. You’re so good with everyone, and they all adore you. We’re a team.”

Guilt pulses through me at his words.

We are a team. We’ve been a team for a long time. After Mama died, and Roman left us, it’s just been the two of us. Isaac and me.

But—

I shake my head, a small laugh slipping through my lips even as my heart cracks painfully. “But I don’t make any money at the church. I can’t help out around the house if I’m not making any money. We need—”

“I said no, Evelyn,” he snaps, shoving to his feet. The chair clatters loudly against the wooden floor behind him and I flinch, my eyes going wide. He leans forward, gripping the edge of the table, his gaze angrily locked on mine. “I said no,” he repeats. “If I can’t pay you, what makes you think I can pay anyone else?”

“That’s what I’m saying,” I whisper, forcing myself to trudge forward. I want to reach over and grab his hand. I want to hug him.

I know this hurts him. I know he’s worried about me. About the house and the church. Money. He’s always so worried about everything, and I just want to take some of it off his shoulders. If I wasn’t here, he’d have one less thing to worry about, but I don’t say that. I can’t.

“If I could get a real job, I could contribute and you wouldn’t have to work so hard,” I say, my voice tight. His face shudders, and his head drops heavily forward.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he groans. Pushing away from the table, he closes the distance between us. His finger reaches up and softly skims across my cheek. “I am the man of the house. I am. It’s my responsibility to take care of you. To keep you fed and sheltered and warm. It’s me that needs to worry about you, not the other way around.” My nose scrunches, and he chuckles, his finger still stroking my cheek.

“I can take care of myself,” I say.

His fingertip slides down my cheek to my jaw, and I barely suppress a shiver as he glides it to my chin. He grips it between his thumb and forefinger, tilting my head back to meet his stare.

“Where’s the fun in that?” he murmurs.

His eyes drop to my lips. His thumb ghosts over my bottom one, and this time, I can’t control the way my body reacts. A breathy sound leaves me without thought as I lose myself in his touch. His scent.

Familiarity. Comfort. Consistency.

“I appreciate you wanting to help out,” he says softly, pressing down harder on my lip and it takes everything inside me not to dart my tongue out to feel him, taste him. “But the answer is no, and I’m done talking about it.”

Everything inside of me deflates and I no longer want him touching any part of me.

I look away, and he sighs heavily, dropping his hand to my shoulder. He squeezes it gently, and I grit my teeth, forcing my anger and disappointment down, knowing it won’t do any good right now. When he’s done, he’s done.

“Keep it down while you clean up,” he murmurs. “I have an early morning. I’m leaving at six.”

He bends down and I turn to give him my cheek like I do every night before bed, but he misses, his lips landing softly on my jaw instead. I expect him to move right away, but he doesn’t. Instead, his lips ghost against my skin as he whispers, “Be a good girl while I’m gone.”

I suck in a sharp breath. Whether it’s from his proximity or his words, I’m not sure. I don’t care. Because of him, I’m molten lava as anger and unexpected arousal collide inside of me.

Before I can try to figure it out, he drops his hand and steps back. Seconds later, he’s turned away and is heading upstairs.

“Have a good week,” I whisper to his retreating form. “Without me.”

The early morning balmy air sticks to my skin as I tuck my legs under me, clutching my cup of sugary sweet coffee tightly in my hand. I stare out at Barry's Pond, watching the sun slowly rise over it, reflecting off its surface. It halos the cross on the church’s roof across the lake, and I stare at it, transfixed.

Isaac was already gone when I woke a few minutes ago. I knew he would’ve been, but going into the kitchen and knowing he wasn’t coming down for breakfast was bitter sweet.

I’m still upset about last night. I need a job. I need freedom. I need to get out from under his thumb, but I can’t do that when all my time is spent at the church or taking care of him and the house.

And it’s not that I don’t love the church and all the people in our congregation, I do. Does it make me a bad person to want more from my life than following in my mother’s footsteps? Is it such a terrible thing to want to travel, and live, and just experience life outside of Divinity Falls?

To be tied to a man who is more than just my stepfather. One who only keeps me around due to some sick sense of obligation to his late wife. He didn’t have to keep me here. He had a choice. After Mama passed, Grammy Jean offered to take me in but Isaac declined. It was the same week Roman left and part of me has always believed that had Roman stayed, Isaac wouldn’t have felt so alone. He wouldn’t have needed me.

Does he even need me now?

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