“How are you going to keep me from leaving?” Before I could reply, she kept speaking. “Will you hit me to make me stay?”
Her words cut me deep, and for a moment, I lost the ability to speak. “I may have once been an abuser,” I said, shame squeezing the fuck out of my heart. “But I will never raise my hand to you or anyone else who is good ever again.”
An emotion I couldn’t read flashed across her face, wiping away the rage-filled expression she’d been sporting only seconds before.
“You think I’m good?”
The hurt in her voice made my gut twist. Apparently, she hadn’t listened to a word I’d said during our last encounter. Needing her to understand, and unable to stop myself, I lowered my face until it was nearly touching hers.
Heavy breaths mixing, I breathed her in.
“Carmen, listen to me,” I whispered, heart nearly convulsing. “I’ve met a lot of bad people in my life, and sweetheart, you aren’t one of them.” Chin trembling, tears welled in her eyes, but I didn’t quiet. “You are nothing but good.”
“I—”
“Want to know something, beautiful girl?” Hand cupping her non-busted cheek, I caressed her cool skin with my thumb.
She hesitated, seemingly unsure of whether she wanted to hear what I had to say or not.
Couldn’t really blame her.
“Si,” she replied a moment later, surprising and pleasing me simultaneously. “I do.”
“When I saw you in that drugstore with your wounded eyes and bruised skin, my soul recognized you, and without knowing your name, my heart realized exactly what you were meant to be.”
I sounded more batshit than Grandmama.
Didn’t matter though.
I felt how I felt.
And that was the end of it.
Grasping the front of my shirt with shaking hands, she held on as tight as her weak grip would allow.
“Well then,” she snapped, sarcastically. “Since you’re obviously a psychic, how about you tell me what I’m meant to be?”
I smiled as she tugged on the fabric as hard as her weakened state would allow, commanding me to come closer.
It was a demand I obliged.
Chests nearly touching, she narrowed her gaze. “Spit it out.”
Feeling sweat bead along my back, I moved my mouth next to her bow-shaped lips. “Mi salvacion,” I whispered, confessing the truth I’d known all along. “You’re meant to be my salvation.” Her breath hitched. “And in turn, I damned sure intend to be yours as well.”
It was the first time I’d said those words.
It certainly wasn’t the last.
Fourteen
Carmen
Mi salvacion…
The tears—ones of both anger and frustration—that had blurred my vision minutes before spilled down my cheeks as James’s declaration repeatedly echoed through my mind. A declaration, which I might add, that was pure insanity.
I wasn’t anyone’s salvation. How could I be when I’d spent most of my life damning and failing the ones I loved most?
Their spilled blood will forever stain my hands.
Unable to stop the hurt that washed through me at the heart-wrenching thought, my chin trembled as his unmoving lips remained a hairbreadth from the corner of my own.
Though I wanted to smack his handsome face for making me feel like such an emotional nutcase when I was already mentally reeling thanks to withdrawal, having him so close brought inexplicable momentary comfort. It was a reaction I didn’t understand and a feeling I wasn’t accustomed to.
I felt as though I were losing my mind.
More so than I already had.
Chest wrenched tight as my lungs fought for air, I shoved against his chest in a silent plea for him to move back. Thankfully, he did as my unspoken words begged and pushed up, adding some much-needed space between us.
Even if it was only inches.
I swallowed as rivers of unending wetness streamed down my swollen cheeks. “Your words are beautiful,” I whispered, the whirlwind of emotions that surged inside me breaking free of the battered barrier working to hold them back. “But they are untrue. I am no one’s salvation. If anything, I am the opposite.”
His eyes narrowed. “Bullshit—”
“It’s the truth,” I interjected, shame burning my throat. “My entire life is proof that I bring others nothing but pain and misery.”
First, Mamá.
Then, mi hermanito.
Now, mi chicas.
A sob that I could no longer hold back jolted my body, bringing my shoulder blades clear off the bed as more than one memory assailed me, chipping away at what little mental stability I possessed.
Pity flashed in James’s eyes. “Carmen—”
“Don’t you dare.” Throat on fire, it was a miracle I continued to find my voice. Yet somehow, I did. “I don’t want your p-pity,” I stammered before drawing in a quick, much-needed breath. “Just as I don’t want your help.”
“Tough shit,” he shot back, teeth clenched. “I won’t give you pity, but me helping you isn’t up for debate.”
Barreling toward my breaking point at warp speed, I shook my head. “You can’t,” I cried, drowning in the agony and deep regret that crashed inside me, threatening to one day pull me under for good. “I don’t deserve it. Not after”—another sob—“all that I’ve d-done.”
I flinched, more than prepared for a strike that never came as James closed the small space between us once more. Chest to chest, he cradled my jaw in his shaking hand.
His hold tight and unwavering, he forced my frantic gaze to remain on his hard one. “You deserve more than you’ll ever know, and I aim to make sure you get every bit of it, no matter far I have to go.”
Before I could say anything—not that I could’ve responded to his unique brand of loco even if I’d been given the chance—he trailed his fingers up my cheek. Palming the side of my face, he wiped my falling tears away with his thumb.
“I haven’t always been a good man, sweetheart, but I’m fighting with everything I have to change that,” he said, his whiskey-smooth voice causing my toes to curl. “And when it comes to you, I want to do right. I just need you to let me.”
I exhaled as his face dipped
