Talking Dirty(16)

They make me feel good.

They make me feel alive.

My eyes trail over the piece slowly. It’s beautiful. To me, it’s the most important work I’ve ever completed.

I drop to the chair, my paint-covered hands resting on my thighs, and I let that warm feeling in my chest consume me. It’s been so long since I’ve felt this.

Fulfillment. Pride in myself. And gratitude for what I’m capable of creating.

I hear the faint tapping at my door, but it takes me a moment to comprehend someone’s outside. I tear myself out of my thoughts, my heart racing. I push myself to my feet, the tarp underfoot crinkling much too loudly as I tiptoe across it. As soon as I step onto the carpet, I hurry to the window, peering through a crack in the curtains. My held breath expels in a rush and I flip the lock, pulling the door open.

“I know it’s late,” Link says quietly. I wait for him to go on. To explain why he’s here, but he doesn’t say more. He just takes me in, his warm gaze moving over my discolored skin.

After his confession tonight, I should be scared of him.

But I’m not.

I step back, opening the door wider. He moves inside, hesitating in the entryway as if he isn’t sure he should be here.

“You’ve been painting.”

I nod. But we both know he isn’t here to discuss artwork. “What’s going on, Link?”

He closes the door and leans heavily against it. His eyes close and in this moment, he forgets to hide his emotions. Or maybe he’s allowing me to see them.

He’s in pain. That’s evident from the crinkle in his brow, the tightness in his jaw, and downturn of his lips. I don’t like it.

We barely know each other. But we know each other so well.

I move closer, touching my hand to his cheek. The blues and reds stand out on my skin against his. I think of how this paint represents him. How I captured him on my canvas. How freeing it is to be able to do this again. And how he’s the reason.

Link’s eyes open, meeting mine. He places his hand, warm and strong, overtop of mine, holding me in place.

I want to ask him what’s wrong. I want him to talk to me. I want to help him. But I don’t say anything. I give him time. I give him the silence he needs, just offering him my touch until he’s ready for more.





Thirteen

Link



I can’t look away. I can’t let her go. I haven’t needed someone like this since…

I’m cringing inside with the thought. Rocky isn’t filling the void of Livie. That will never happen. It can’t. But there’s something about her that feels true. Right.

And there’s something about her that feels overwhelmingly wrong.

I know that’s the part of me that holds onto Liv. I’ll never be willing to let her go, so this will never work with Rocky. It will never be more than whatever it is now. Yet here I stand, soaking up her reassuring touch, ready to tell her all of my secrets.

“The detective assigned to my case found one of the men that attacked me and Livie four years ago,” I say hoarsely. “He stumbled across him when the guy was brought in on another charge.”

Rocky drops here hand, waiting for more.

I maneuver around her, heading to the couch. I need to sit down. I need her to sit down with me.

“Byers called me in to identify the guy, and I lied. I said it wasn’t him. And then I followed him home.” I drop my head into my hands. “I tortured him. I made him give me the names of the other men. And then I killed him.”

I raise my head and force myself to look at her. To see her reaction. She gives away nothing, holding my gaze as she waits patiently for me to continue.

“Tonight, I visited one of the men. I loaded his gun and told him to kill himself.” I turn on the couch, facing her. I need for her to understand. To understand me. “I can barely live with myself right now. The guilt is eating at me. But the shame I feel isn’t enough to make me stop. I won’t quit until they’re all dead. Until they’re all punished for what they did.”

She nods gently. “And I won’t stop until I make Garrett pay for what he did,” she says. “If you don’t want to help me anymore—if it’s too much for you—I get that. But please don’t try to stop me. I won’t stand in your way. You don’t stand in my way.”

I shake my head. She doesn’t get it. “You can’t come back from this. You can’t kill a human being—no matter how evil they are or how much they might deserve it—and walk away unscathed.”

“It doesn’t matter. Whatever happens is better than how I am right now.”

I think of Morrison. Of the anguish in his eye as the tears fell unendingly. “It’s not. I promise you that. It doesn’t get better or easier. You’ll still have all the pain you’re already carrying. And then you’ll have to bear the burden of guilt. It’s not worth it, Rocky. It’s not.”