I awoke to another day without Saint. Without opening my eyes, I rested in bed for a long time and remembered him. The feel of his hands on my skin, soft at times, commanding at others. The rough tickle of his stubble on my neck when he kissed me. The little lines around his eyes when he smiled. Those perfect teeth nipping at my flesh. The sound of his dark rich voice. I missed every damn thing about Saint. He made me stronger and weaker than anyone I’d ever met. He was mine, but I feared I’d never see him again.
My fingers caressing my bare forearm, I pretended Saint was touching me. He always woke up in a great mood. My grouchy morning self improved quickly when I opened my eyes to that smile. Now I only had memories to soothe me.
Crawling out of bed, I cleaned up in the bathroom. The face looking back at me wasn’t fooling anyone. I felt lost and only Saint could help me find my way.
Wearing my giraffe pajama bottoms and a loose white tee, I was a sloppy mess. Jace glanced at me as I passed him on the way to the kitchen. He shook his head and returned to reading a book. Pouring a cup of coffee, I stared out the back window.
I heard my dad talking to someone on the back porch. Based on his tone, our visitor was a guy. When Dad spoke to mom or Winnie, his voice was soft, harmless even. With another man, his voice held an edge. It was funny to hear his voice fluctuate while talking to Winnie then Dylan. In fact, we often teased him about that stuff.
Since Dylan wasn't visiting, I sat at the table and let Dad have his privacy.
I thought about Saint while running my finger over the back of my left hand where he had a long thin scar. The white mark contrasted against the warm shade of his skin. I always wanted to ask where he got the scar, but never had the courage. Now I might never know.
“Harlow, are you up?” Dad asked, sticking his head into the kitchen. “Come out and join us.”
Feeling a mess, I didn’t want to talk to a club guy. No matter my feelings, I left my coffee cup and walked outside to play happy daughter.
“Have you met Bob Robertson?” Dad asked, giving me a weird smile.
Turning, I prepared to put on my fake smile. Then my breath caught.
“I came back.”
Saint was a vision before me. A dream I couldn’t believe was real. He wore a blood red tee and faded jeans with a pair of old tennis shoes. His dark hair was covered by a red trucker cap.
I reached forward to embrace him then paused and stepped back. Glancing back at Dad, I smiled.
“Can we have a few minutes alone to do inappropriate things you won’t want to see?”
Dad rolled his blue eyes. “Just keep it PG rated, okay? We don’t want Jace seeing anything that’ll scar him for life. Or get him talking about cooties again.”
Grinning, I waited until my father was inside the house before lunging for Saint.
“There it is,” he said casually while wrapping me into his arms. “I missed this bed head.”
“You came back,” was all I could think to say before my lips met his.
Saint didn’t respond with words. He stole my breath and three days worth of fear. I forgot where we were for the next few minutes. Hell, I forgot my own name. All I thought was, “Saint came back.”
Resting on the bench, Saint held me while stroking my messy hair. My fingers pushed off the cap and dove into his thick hair. I hadn’t even realized I’d straddled him until his hands grabbed my hips and held them still.
“We’re moving into R-rated territory,” he murmured before sucking at my bottom lip. “I don’t need your dad threatening me again.”
Pressing my hands on his shoulders, I pulled back and frowned at Saint. He grinned at my expression.
“If your daddy didn’t threaten me, what would that say about him?”
I lost my frown and nuzzled my lips against his neck. “I missed you more than is healthy.”
“Fuck healthy.”
Laughing, I nipped his earlobe. My lips skimmed his cheek before reaching his mouth. He kissed me quickly then cupped my face.
“You looked so shocked to see me.”
“I was.”
Saint lost his smile and sighed. “How could you think I wasn’t coming back when I gave you my mom’s number?”
I shrugged. “I have issues, okay?”
Saint caressed my cheeks. "You need to see yourself the way I see you. If you loved yourself half as much as I do, I wouldn’t see that look in your eyes.”
My gaze locking on his, I replayed his words in my head. He didn’t say he loved me. I only misheard him.
“Yeah, I said I loved you,” he said, reading my thoughts. “You don’t have to say it back. I’m not an insecure manchild. I can deal with rejection. I promise I won’t cry at all. You watch.”
Laughing quietly, I didn’t know what to do about all the feelings raging inside me. I only knew what words I needed to say.
“I love you too. I was a frigging whiny bitch the entire time you were gone,” I said then added, “As compared to being a cranky bitch like usual.”