Unless I was thinking about her.
I closed my eyes and buried my head in my hands. I didn't know what to do.
I wanted her to stay. In the hospital, she was the only person who'd been able to push back the darkness. I didn't know a lot about her, but I did know, if I'd met her under other circumstances, I would've asked her out by now.
Which was why she had to go. If she stayed here, she'd spend her time trapped in here with me, and eventually come to hate me. She was probably pissed as hell right now, but I knew it wasn't the same thing. If she stayed though, I'd lose the last tenuous bit of a good thing that I had. Knowing that there was one person aside from the father who didn't see me as a monster...it was all I had.
And I knew she'd see me that way if she stayed. Not just because of how I looked, but because she'd finally realize that I deserved everything that happened. Hell, I deserved worse.
That thought had been circling in my mind for months, that voice in my head telling me that I didn't deserve anything real or good in my life. That who I was in the past hadn't been erased by the good I'd done since then. Father O'Toole had tried to convince me that I could have a new start in the army, and for a while he was right, but then it had caught up to me.
I curled my hands into fists, wincing as it pulled the scar tissue on my hand. Their faces were in my head now, reminding me of how little I deserved anything good. I'd failed them. It didn't matter that I'd managed to save those strangers in the warehouse fire, or even the times I'd gotten my men out of harm's way. Anyone who died under my charge had been my fault. They had just been the first two casualties.
I stood and began pacing the length of my room. Maybe I should get it over with, tell her all about it and chase her away before I found myself wrapped up in her more than I should. Or, at least, more than I already was.
I wondered what would she say if I told her about the times my father had beaten my mother and sister, and I hadn't been able to stop him? Or if I told her about how, after my father had finally left, I'd started drug running for a local dealer to make ends meet? Or how, after I'd been arrested twice by the time I was sixteen, I'd agreed to turn on my dealer, Martinez? Nori would probably say that was good, but the retaliation Martinez had inflicted had negated any good I'd done.
He'd had my mother and sister tortured and killed, bodies left out where the paparazzi could get pictures of them, splash them all over every page so I couldn't miss them, even in juvie.
And it had all been my fault.
Some hero.
Chapter Ten
Nori
The rooms Father O'Toole had set up on the third floor were impressive. After my disastrous reunion with X, the priest had taken me upstairs where he'd managed to convince me to still stay for at least the two weeks I'd promised. I didn't want to believe the father's fears about what X might do if I wasn't there, but I wasn't willing to take that risk.
Once I assured Father O'Toole that I wasn't planning on getting back in my rental and driving back to the airport, he showed me around the place that would, for the near future, be my home.
There was a full bath, as he'd promised, and much nicer than what I'd expected. Not really feminine, it also wasn't masculine, more of a nice in-between that matched well with the rest of the décor. While it had a door into the hallway, it also had an entrance into my bedroom so I didn't have to walk across the hall. With the memory of X emerging from the bathroom naked still fresh in my mind, I was grateful for that.
All of the furniture was quality enough that I knew I didn't even want to ask how much they cost. The electronics were all brand-new and state-of-the-art, even though they weren't ostentatious. Like the television was a flat-screen, but it wasn't massive, and there was no theater-like surround sound. It was comfortable, but not decadent.
The father left me alone after pointing everything out, and I started looking through closets and drawers, making a mental list of the things I'd brought with me, as well as the things I would need to get. Then I cautiously made my way back downstairs and out to the car to get my things. Part of me was relieved when I made it there and back without seeing X again, but I couldn't deny that another part of me was slightly disappointed. My insides were still tense from his words, and I wanted to know if he'd been sincere when he'd said he wanted me to go.
If he didn't want me here, honestly and truly wanted me to leave, then I didn't think I was the person the priest needed after all.
The thought that X might not have been thinking about me as much as I'd been thinking about him bothered me more than I cared to admit. Father O'Toole had been so sure that X would care about what I had to say, about my presence, that I'd believed I hadn't imagined the connection we'd shared back in Texas.