to sex with Edward. Where he had size, I had finesse. Where he was athletic, I was creative, which made total sense. Clay was my thing. I knew about kneading and shaping. I knew about fingering rough spots and smoothing others. I loved texture, and earthiness. I loved the beauty of the male form.
“Say it,” he whispered when he was on the cusp of climax.
Right there with him, I could barely think the words, much less breathe them, so my plea was as internal as not. “Pull out.”
That wasn’t what he had in mind. “Say you love me.”
I simply dug my fingers into his hips to keep them moving. I was close, so close.
“I love you,” he gasped with one thrust, and with the next, “You love me. Say it.”
I couldn’t, not yet. And then it didn’t matter, because he did pull out, and still we came together, and when he lay exhausted in the notch of my legs, he told me he loved me again.
It was an illusion, for sure. I was as flawed as a person could be. But it was what my damaged heart wanted, so for those few hours in the dark, I believed.
* * *
Morning arrived. After sleeping alone for more than four years, I should have felt a visceral alarm at the smell of a man in my bed. But my familiarity with Edward was so ingrained that from the first moment of awareness, I thought nothing of the soft snoring just above my forehead. We hadn’t moved much during the night. My cheek was on his shoulder now, but the whole front of me hugged his side, and our legs remained entwined.
I didn’t move at first. Having another beating heart with me was precious. With the forest sky starting to brighten, and the house quiet save the rush of heat through the vents, I listened to it until the reality of it brought back the reality of the night before. My reality was about being flawed, and it always returned.
Taking care not to wake Edward, I removed my cheek first, then my leg, and rolled slowly away. Easing open a dresser drawer, I lifted out clean clothes, then crept to the door, slipped into the hall, and reclosed the door.
In the bathroom, I removed my makeup. There was my scar, and, inside the medicine chest, taped right there behind the makeup remover, my mug shot. I had the lightest heat of whisker burn on my inner thigh, but if it was a contest for my attention, the scar and mug shot won hands down. Whisker burns went away. These did not.
Resigned, I took a short shower. Not knowing how much time I’d have until Edward woke up, I quickly put on my new face. For a split second, it occurred to me to let him see the scar—no, not let him, but force him to see it. Easy to say I love you when there were no reminders around.
But I couldn’t. It was enough that I see the scar myself.
Once it was hidden, I redid my hair and quietly, very quietly went down the stairs.
My brother was slouched on the sofa. It was the first morning since he had come that he wasn’t in the kitchen making breakfast. The presence of all three of my pets crowding in on the cushions with him would have been a tip-off, had his dejected face not said it first.
I approached. “Not good?”
“Nope.”
“What happened?”
“Nothing much.”
I waited for him to go on. It wasn’t like Liam to be stingy with words. “And?”
“No chemistry.”
It took me a minute. “Ah.” Erica Kahn must not have wanted sex, which meant he’d been hit where it hurt.
“Yeah. Ah.” He glanced toward the stairs. “You, obviously, do not have that problem.”
“No, but I have so many others—” I stopped. This wasn’t about me. Compassion wasn’t a competition. I touched his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Liam. It’s her loss.”
He grunted. “That doesn’t really help, y’know.”
“How about breakfast? How about I make it for you this time?” I wanted only to make him smile.
He didn’t smile. But he did show interest. “That depends. “What are you making?”
“Fried eggs.”
He raised his brows. “And…?”
I tried to think what I had. “Ham?”
“That’s supposed to cheer me up? Fried eggs and ham is so Dr. Seuss.”
“It’s Green Eggs and Ham,” I corrected on a wave of nostalgia. Lily had loved that book. She had “read” it to me before she even learned how to read.