Forbidden With Me - Leigh Lennon Page 0,20
here? We’ve had such a mild summer. We’re pretty much in fall, though it’s technically not autumn yet,” I begin. Stopping at the rails, I look over the Puget Sound and the Pacific wheel. We don’t have to move because eventually, the deck will rotate us around, and we’ll see every beauty the city has to hold. “So, you mentioned the letters you wrote to me. And I can sense that when I stopped writing to you, I caused you pain even though I thought we talked about this when you visited two years ago.”
She doesn’t turn her attention to me, but does answer, “Yes,” in an almost whimper. My hand itches to sweep away the raven hair covering her face to catch every little glimpse of her beauty, but I don’t own this right. She’s not mine to touch, not in the way my body has wanted to since I’ve reunited with her.
“Like I told you two years ago, I read things in your letters, things that would not have been appropriate for a man thirteen years your senior to reply to, at the age you were, then.”
With a slight bob of her head as the dark waves fall in her eyes, she tells me she understands.
“I wanted to write you back. Your case never left my mind or my desk. When I was assigned to homicide, I asked for your case, especially since the detective in charge of it was retiring. I had this need to give the little girl who clung to me a reason to live, to truly live. I may not have solved the case yet, but do you know how proud I am of you, Malia? From the moment you appeared at my front steps, I knew you were determined, and you would do anything you set your mind to.”
She stares passively out into the Queen Anne area now with the rotation of the deck. “I don’t think of you as a stranger, sweetheart. Between the stories from Jules and Gail, the letters you kept sending me even though I couldn’t respond, and the work I’ve done on your case, I know you.” Her gaze finally turns to mine. “I know you used to love purple, but now, only consider black or gray and dark blue your favorite colors. I know you and Georgia text back and forth every day, sometimes hundreds of times. Briana is still a part of your life, but she’s no Georgia. You’re a beautiful artist, and you prefer watercolors, though I think your talent really lies in acrylic paints. You love candy corn and Skittles unless there’s cake, then you may eat the whole thing in one sitting. You hate ice cream, pretty much anything food-wise that is super cold, but you’ll eat ice cream on that piece of cake you love so much. You’ve never met a sandwich you don’t like. You hate high heels but feel because you’re on the shorter side, you have to wear them, and you’d dress in shorts every day of the year if it weren’t for things like winter.”
A tear cascades down her ivory skin, and she won’t look me in the eyes. “I know when you’re uncomfortable, you avoid eye contact.” I wait for her gaze to return to me, but it doesn’t. I’m not done. “See, I know quite a bit about you, and believe me, I’m on a roll.”
A small chortle chokes from her lips. “I forgot how many letters I wrote to you until I gave up.”
“Yeah, and I read all of them, sweetheart. As I told you two years ago, I didn’t want to give you false hope that we could be more than just this.”
In a gasp and the small gaze we share, I’ve wounded her. “And what are we, besides virtual strangers, Wells?”
She’s attempting to hurt me as I’ve unintentionally upset her. “That’s the thing, Malia, and you know it. We aren’t strangers. We have a connection, and as far as who I am to you, I’m the man who will protect you with my last breath.”
On the car ride to my precinct, she’s quiet. “Are you hungry?”
“Nah, not really.” Every question I ask, she answers with no emotion in her words. I don’t push, only watch her from my peripheral. She bites her bottom lip and rubs her temples.
“Do you have a headache?”
“No, it’s just...”
“You’ve dealt with a lot more shit in your life than one person deserves,” I begin with the obvious, “and