The Sins That Bind Us Page 12

  Faith grabbed her hand. “I’ll get a job, too. We’ll make it work.”

  They could make it work, Grace told herself. What other choice did they have? And Faith was home. Grace would make this work if it killed her. Her sister deserved a real second chance, and together they could make that happen. Maybe after a few months straight, they’d both be in school. If they split costs, it was a real possibility. And even if Grace never made it back to school, she had something more important now.

  She had her sister back.

  At first she thought Faith was going through withdrawal. Despite her promises to get a job, she slept odd hours. Several times a day Grace would hear her through the bathroom door. After a few weeks when it got worse instead of better, she knocked on the closed door and let herself in. Grace gathered her sister’s hair at the nape of her neck and waited for her to finish.

  Faith sat back on her heels and wiped her mouth. After a few moments, she folded her shaky legs under her. “Sorry.”

  “I’m just glad it’s not me.” Grace dug around in the cabinet until she found a hair tie and handed it to her. Then she sat down on the chipped, blue tile. “For when I can’t be here.”

  “Look, I know I suck. I keep thinking I’ll kick this and then I’ll get my shit together.”

  “It’s just withdrawal,” Grace said soothingly. “We’ve been through this before.”

  And this time it’s going to stick, she added fiercely. She didn’t trust herself to say this out loud. Having Faith back still felt tenuous as if the smallest amount of pressure might scare her away. She would see her through this, because now she knew what she was dealing with.

  “Not this,” Faith whispered.

  “No,” Grace admitted, “because last time I fucked up. I didn’t understand. We didn’t understand. I didn’t know you were…”

  She couldn’t bring herself to say addicted. It felt too harsh.

  “An addict?” Faith said it for her. “A fuck-up? A loser?”

  “Don’t say that!” It hurt worse to hear her say it then it had when Grace had finally admitted it to herself years ago.

  “It’s the truth, sissy. And I’m cool. Trust me. I’ve been called a lot worse.” But despite her claims, Faith’s voice cracked at the edges.

  She wasn’t okay with who she’d been, and Grace couldn’t blame her. It was something they both had to come to grips with someday, but that wasn’t what bothered Grace. “Who called you worse? You must not have told him about me.”

  “Him, huh?” Faith raised an eyebrow and smiled weakly before she grimaced and clutched her stomach.

  “You haven’t always picked winners.” Grace spoke in a flat voice afraid to betray anything. Her sister had never brought up that night with Derrick. As far as Grace could tell, she didn’t even remember what had happened. Grace hoped that she didn’t.

  “Tell me about it. I’m done with all that though.”

  This time Grace raised an eyebrow.

  “Hard to believe I actually dated a nice guy for a bit, I know,” Faith said defensively.

  If he was so nice why did he let her keep using? She kept the thought to herself. Those guys were in Faith’s past. Grace simply had to make certain they didn’t make another appearance.

  “Of course, I fucked it up,” Faith continued when Grace didn’t speak. “He didn’t know about the drugs and when he found out…...”

  “You don’t have to tell me.”

  “It wasn’t bad. He tried to help me, but I wasn’t ready. I didn’t even say goodbye. I just called an old friend.” Faith swallowed hard and clamped a hand over her mouth. A moment later, she was back over the toilet.

  Grace rubbed her back while she vomited. There was no point to dredging this all up not while her body was under this much stress. “Maybe we should see a doctor. They might have some advice on how long it will take to, um, clean out your system.”

  “Doctor seems like a good idea.” Faith didn’t release her hold around the bowl. “But I know how long it’s going to take. About seven more months.”

  “Seven?” Grace repeated in disbelief. “I don’t think it will take that long.”

  “Grace,” Faith said her name softly, and realization dawned on her in slow, agonizing horror.

  Somehow pregnant seemed an even dirtier word than addict.

  “Don’t worry. I’ve been considering my options. I think I should keep it,” she started to ramble. Her words tumbled out as swiftly as the questions in Grace’s mind.

  “Who’s the father?” Grace blurted out.

  Faith snorted as if this was somehow a ridiculous question. “I have no idea and believe me, that’s probably a good thing. This kid is never going to be part of that world. Cross my heart.”

  Grace sucked back the rest of the questions she wanted to ask. Faith was right. It didn’t matter how this happened or how they were going to make this work. This kid wasn’t going to be part of that world. This baby was going to be their salvation.

  Chapter 16

  On Sundays we eat Chinese.

  It became a thing before I realized it was happening. Jude arrives with Lucky Dragon bags for the four of us, and we sit like one big happy family.

  “Maybe I should say something.” I grab a stack of plates from the cupboard and pass them to Amie.

  "He feeds you, don't over-analyze it. It's not part of a conspiracy." She grabs the plates and disappears into the living room.

  It feels like a conspiracy, though. Maybe because it's becoming impossible to resist the pull of him. Jude is becoming a constant. Days without him are out of the norm. Somehow we're sitting down to family dinners. He snuck into my heart, and now he's making himself at home.

  When I round the corner of the living room, I find him opening cartons. He looks up, and his mouth splits into a wide smile. My heart lurches. I want to be his home.

  We eat Moo Shu Pork and eggrolls, passing cartons to one another as Amie cracks jokes. She sits on the floor next to Max while Jude and I occupy the sofa.

  "We have a dining table." I point toward it with my chopsticks.

  "Chinese food, pizza, these are not formal foods." Jude spears a chunk of sesame chicken and holds it to my lips. I narrow my eyes as I accept the bite.

  "I'm raising a child, remember? He already leaves crumbs everywhere."

  "He knows Sundays are special," Amie reassures me, leaning over to kiss Max's head. My heart is full despite my earlier misgivings. Being here with the three of them only sends more love racing to it, until I feel swollen with the joy of affection. Jude leans over and whispers in my ear, "Thank you." I turn to face him, and the look in his cornflower blue eyes sears the fullness of this moment in my memory.

  Jude returns his attention to the feast, but I fade into the background. Time slows as I commit tiny details to memory, Amie's sweeping laugh sparkling in her gray eyes, Max fumbling with a pair of chopsticks, the warmth of the man next to me, his body, his smile, his soul. I don't deserve any of them, but I'm never letting them go.

  "Like this." Jude leans across the coffee table and brings me back to the present. He adjusts Max's grip on the chopsticks, but they immediately splay out of his control.

  "Hold on, little man." Jude grabs my wrist and tugs the hair tie off of it. His thumbs linger for a split second, as if he just needs to touch me. It's an innocent gesture that Max doesn't pick up on, but Amie waggles her eyebrows across from me. One of us is definitely in love with the idea of Jude Mercer.

  He wraps the band around the top of the chopstick, then he folds up the wax bag from the eggrolls and wedges it towards the top.

  "Spring-loaded," he announces, as he shows Max his invention.

  Max lights up, but it's not the chopsticks making him glow. If Jude leaves tomorrow, this little boy will never be the same. None of us will.

  I push the thought from my mind and focus on this moment. Max only spills half the carton of rice on the floor with his new chopsticks.

  "Are w
e drawing straws for who is cleaning this up?" I point to the rice littering the carpet.

  "Life is messy, Sunshine. Some of those messes are ugly, but this is a beautiful one," Jude says in a soft voice just like the man himself.

  He passes out fortune cookies as I clear the emotion from my throat. By now, we're all versed in the ceremony. Even Max waits until we've each finished our cookie to pass his fortune to Jude.

  "A dream you have will come true," Jude reads. "That's a good one, little man."

  Max looks from Jude to me with an impish grin.

  Uh-oh.

  I trade mine with Amie and quickly read hers, “You are talented in many ways."

  "In bed," she adds. "Tell me something I don't know." She blows me a kiss, and I toss the scrap of paper back at her.

  "I'm keeping mine," Jude says, but I snatch it from him.

  "You will get a second chance."

  "In bed?" Amie tacks on, feigning shock. I stick my tongue out.

  "When happiness knocks, unlock the door," Jude reads mine, ignoring the both of us.

  Hearing it from his lips sends my heart knocking against my rib cage.

  Max begins to sign, Why do Aunt Amie’s fortune cookies always talk about being in bed?

  “Speaking of bed,” Amie jumps in mouthing an apology over Max’s head, “Why don’t we get ready to go to sleep, little man?”

  Max presses himself to Jude’s thigh. Admittedly I’ve found myself wanting to do the same thing: hang on to Jude and not let go, especially when it comes to bedtime. But my maternal side perks up, shaking her head and reminding me that this is classic attachment. The more I allow behavior like this, the more it will hurt both of us when Jude leaves.

  But before I can pry the little boy from his god, Jude scoops him up. “I got this. You two relax.”

  His smile reaches his eyes, crinkling their edges, and it reaches inside me, plucking at my out-of-tune heart. I ignore the alarm bells in my head in favor of that glorious sensation. Watching Jude carry Max to bed is like seeing a piece of a puzzle that has been missing. It just fits.

  Next to me Amie sighs heavily and leans her head in my shoulder. “Do you think he’ll get you pregnant before the wedding? We might have to find white maternity dresses.”

  Moment over.

  “Oh my God.” I pull away from her and throw all my focus into clearing cartons and chopsticks. I leave the fortunes in their places, not really wanting to throw them away. “I’m not having his baby or marrying him.”

  Amie crosses her arms and purses her lips. “Are you sure? I think just watching that got me pregnant. How do you stop yourself from humping him all the time?”

  Despite how hard I work to hold it back, laughter spills from me. I toss the trash in the garbage bin and then lean into the counter, clutching my stomach as it cramps from the exertion. Amie joins me and I know she’ll never drop this whole marriage obsession now.

  “I’m…not…certain why that’s so funny.” I manage to gasp between peals of laughter.

  “Because it’s true,” she says breathlessly. “Don’t try to tell me that you didn’t spontaneously ovulate just then.”

  I throw a kitchen towel at her head and abandon her to finish up the cleaning. Tiptoeing down the hallway, I peek into Max’s room.

  “The elephant was too afraid to say hello.” Jude’s lips move carefully and even though Max can’t hear him, his voice moves rhythmically. It’s a soothing sound: listening to him read a bedtime story.

  But inside emotions crash in on me, and I can’t deny that I want what I see for myself. For my son. I want Jude. I want this impossible life with him.

  Pressing my shoulder against the wall, I try to center myself. But the peace I seek can’t be found. Instead there’s only this raging need that I’ve never felt before. The missing pieces Jude shows me aren’t part of a picture, they’re part of me.

  I ache for him and it’s strange that this incredible sense of comfort-of belonging- he’s given me sparks such a fiery hunger. It builds inside me, Jude’s voice becoming oxygen to the blaze until I think I might actually combust.

  I don’t move when Amie brushes past me. She doesn’t stop until she reaches her bedroom door. “I’m turning in for the night. I figure you two might want some time alone.”

  This time I welcome the none-too-subtle implication in her words. Her door clicks shut and I close my eyes. I listen until I know he’s near the end of the story, then I force myself to walk away. She’s collected the actual leftovers and placed them on the counter. Do I pack them up or put them in the fridge? I don’t even know what’s inside them, but it doesn’t matter since Jude likes everything. Picking them up, I decide I want the leftovers.

  Because I want Jude to have them here. Because tomorrow I want to call and offer to heat them up.

  Because I want to see him tomorrow.

  “Not going to let me take any home.” He leans against the counter, his strong hands gripping the edge. It should be a totally innocent move but the gesture makes his muscles tense until every carved sinew is on display.

  I really didn’t need to see that. Tearing my eyes from him, I pause and hold it out to him.

  “I was kidding, Sunshine.” He takes it from me and puts it back on the counter. Neutral territory.

  “Don’t you want it?” I manage to ask.

  I see the slide of his throat as if he’s swallowing my question whole. The tension in his arms moves across his body until he’s poised to strike.

  Maybe he was already as tightly wound as me, but I can’t help but squirm under his possessive stare. I ignite that ferocity. I’m the storm that unsettles the peaceful blue pools of his irises. And realizing that vanquishes my fear.

  Because I’ve undone this man.

  I want to say something but my mouth is empty. Before I can find words his lips find mine instead. He crashes against me, and I’m powerless against his force. He’s washing me out into the unknown and I don’t care if I drown.

  My body shapes to his as his hand slides under my ass, lifting me from my feet. I coil around him, instinctively pressing the core of my want against his groin. A low growl vibrates through him and his arms bind me closer.

  I want as much of him as he’ll give me. It’s the only need I’m capable of processing and I open to him, allowing his tongue to stroke across my teeth and then massage over mine. It’s an invitation and I RSVP by tangling my fingers into his hair. I grip it tightly, desperate to possess him as fully as he has me.

  When he backs into the kitchen table, we both spring into action, unbuttoning and unbuckling as quickly as our impatient fingers allow. Wiggling off my jeans, I return my attention to his body. I trail my palm over the swirling black ink and then I lunge forward and sink my teeth into his skin.

  “Christ, Sunshine,” he grunts, but before I can register it as a complaint, he’s pushed me flat against the table and unsnapped my bra. I move to slide it off and my wrist knocks over a box of crayons.

  Our eyes lock as they scatter to the floor and before I can raise the white flag, I’m back in his arms. Jude kicks open the door leading to the garage.

  “I’ll fix it later,” he promises, sweeping me out the door. Twirling me around, he barricades it with our bodies. “Hold on.”

  I wrap my arms around his shoulders and cling to him as he frees his dick. I feel its heat prod against my belly. His whiskers scratch against my cheek as his mouth slants toward my neck. “I can’t be patient,” he warns me.

  “Don’t be,” I beg.

  He doesn’t need coaxing. His hand slips between my thighs and shoves my panties to the side. My bare back smacks against the wood as he thrusts into me. Jude’s chest smashes against my breasts as his weight overwhelms me. I lose myself to the rhythm. To the crash and the ebb. There is only each stroke, and the glorious, violent inevitability of being abandoned and filled.

  I am whole in his arms. He completes me, and this terrifying revelation overloads my nerves
. The wave building inside me breaks and I shatter over him.

  Jude catches me as I break and captures my lips. He anchors me, holding me firmly to him; firmly to this moment.

  He kisses me as he finds his own release. Reassuring kisses. Promising kisses. Desperate kisses. I want to taste all of them. When I feel his warmth spill inside me, our mouths break apart even as we stay joined together. His breath is hot on my face as his forehead rests against mine.

  I don’t speak. Instead I savor the pulse of him inside me and the sweet taste of him lingering on my tongue.

  When he finally breaks the silence, it does nothing to undermine the magic. “God, I want to stay, beautiful. I want to carry you to bed and make love to you all night.”

  I allow myself to imagine it: that impossible life he keeps dangling out on a string. I want to go to bed with Jude and I want to wake up to him.

  “We can’t.” I don’t hide the regret from my words. It’s not a feeling I indulge often, and its bitterness settles in my heart.

  “I know, but it doesn’t mean I can’t wish,” he murmurs, nuzzling against my ear. “I won’t sleep tonight without you. I’m too wired. So let me pretend for a minute that I don’t have to put you down, get dressed, and go home to an empty bed that doesn’t feel like it’s mine anymore.”

  “You’ve never even been in my bed,” I whisper and I can barely hear it over the pounding of my heart.

  He pulls back to look me dead in the eye. “It’s where I belong, because I belong to you.”

  The hammering in my chest begins to hurt and I avert my gaze.

  “And in the morning, when I can’t drag my ass out of bed, you’ll change your mind,” I joke weakly. I can’t let myself turn my game of make-believe into reality.