No Saint (Wild Men, #6)

by Jo Raven

  So much horror in her voice. It cracks something inside me.

  She’s going to leave. I knew I couldn’t trust her kindness. It broke me, took away the last of my stubborn strength, plowed through all my walls and razed me to the ground. I don’t even think she knows what she’s done. I’m stripped bare, inside and out, laid wide open, flayed and bleeding.

  Vaguely I register the fact I’m dropping, falling, my strings cut, the strings that held me up for so damn long, and find myself on my knees in the shallow water, my pulse in my throat, ready to drown in the mud.

  I’m shivering so hard I think my teeth will break. I can’t fucking do this anymore. I’d hoped... that was my mistake. Hope can cut you to pieces.

  I swear I feel every single lash falling on my back, every gouge left behind by the belt buckle. It’s not only the scars. They’re on the surface, but below... below it’s every fear I’ve ever had, every hurt.

  I’m the reason my mother left. I’m the reason she died. I’m the cause of my father’s anger. The cause of his aggression. I’m a disappointment, a burden, a fucking dumb shit, an open wound on the face of the world.

  And now I’ve gone and done the one thing Dad always beat into me—not to let my guard down, not to give an opening to anyone. Never even realized when it happened, when she took hold of my fucking heart.

  Takes me more than a moment to realize she’s right there, in the water and mud, hugging me tight.

  “You’re not all that,” she’s saying, her voice hoarse as if she’s been talking for a while. “You’re not all those things, Ross. You’re a good person. You’re not your dad. It’s all right, you’ll be all right. I’m not leaving. I won’t leave you. Are you listening?”

  “I am,” I whisper, though her voice coming in echoes. “’S the truth.”

  “Ross. Look at me.” She lifts a hand to my face, strokes my cheek. “You’re a good man, Ross Jones. You just have to believe it, let it happen. Let yourself be who you can become. The war you lived through in this house,” she glances back the way we came, “is over. You deserve to be happy.”

  I’m shaking so hard my teeth are clacking together—then I realize she’s the one shaking me.

  But she won’t let go. “Ross, repeat after me: I’m a good man. I’m a good person.”

  I can’t say it. I shake my head.

  “I believe in you,” she whispers, her eyes wide and dark with emotion. “You’ve shown me who you really are.”

  “I’ve hurt you,” I manage to say.

  “And you’ve made up for it. I wish I’d known why back then, but I do now, and let me tell you this: you’re the strongest person I know, to have survived this. Your childhood here. That man you grew up with. I had to see, Ross. Had to see the scars, to understand how bad things had been.”

  “So fucking ugly. Inside and out.”

  “You’re beautiful,” she says quietly, “inside and out. It took a while for me to open my eyes, but I see you now.”

  I stare at her, but her eyes seem clear, honest. Warm.

  She looks at me like I’m the one she wants, like I can be the guy she’d like to have beside her. Can’t I change, start again? Others do it. If she’s giving me the chance, hell... I’ll take it. Nobody else ever expected me to be better than I am, to become a better person.

  Or maybe I never cared what anyone else thought of me—but I sure as fuck care now.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Luna

  “I’ve hurt you.”

  The way he said it, voice raw, eyes haunted, tells me beyond the shadow of a doubt that I’m right about him, about this decision.

  Because yes, I’ve made up my mind. Through thick and thin, in sickness and in health, I’ve made my own silent promise in the shallow, cold water of Little River, kneeling in front of him, that I won’t let go. I try not to think ahead, to the murkiness that is the future, to whether we will be together then, whether he feels something more for me or not.

  He needs me now, and I’ll be there for him, like he’s been there for me these past weeks.

  I don’t give up on people I care for. Not anymore, not when there’s a chance I could pull him back from that ledge he’s permanently hanging from. Maybe it’s me, that I am so scared he will let go.

  And maybe... Just maybe, I want to hope he wants more from me than to hold him now. That I’m not a crutch. That this connection I feel between us is strong enough to last past the Summer.

  I tug and pull at him until he’s on his feet and lead him back to the house. He seems so lost today, it’s putting new cracks in my heart. I don’t know why the breaking point came for him today, what dreams he had before waking up this morning, what memories surfaced because he talked to me of the past. It’s painful to think I caused this—but I have to hope that lancing the wounds helps them heal.

  Those scars... dear God. Has anyone else ever seen them? School teachers, schoolmates, doctors, the cops? When my dad told me that Jasper used to hit Ross, it was news to me. He managed to hide it so well all this time, I doubt anyone ever suspected just how deep the damage went.

  Too deep, a little voice in the back of my mind warns. He’s too damaged, Luna. He may be trying to change, he may be sorry for hurting you in the past, but you can’t come back from this kind of childhood, not whole.

  No, I don’t accept that. He may have lost himself for a while, had to hide to protect his mind from the pain, but he’s still in there. I’ve seen it. He’s shedding his savage, nasty armor day by day, and it’s killing him, but it’s also bringing him closer to me. To who he really is. He’s struggling so hard to get there, he’s won me over so completely that my infatuation with him seems like a faint distant dream. What I’m feeling for him now... it’s so much more, so much bigger that I wonder how my heart can contain it.

  ***

  The day is cloudy and hot. He’s been quiet all morning, distracted, his eyes lighting up whenever I touch him, but then darkening again. He keeps rubbing at his chest, and I don’t know if the scars bother him, if they pull with the changes in the weather, or if it’s something else he’s trying to soothe.

  I talk to him about my dad, Josh, Aunt Emily, how it was living with her. How I have this idea about leaving again, this crazy belief that I can do and magically transform and then come back strong, like a vengeful spirit. I blab on and on, to fill the strange silence, not half sure what I’m saying.

  “Don’t go,” he says at some point, interrupting me and hauling me against his side, hugging me close, but eventually time runs out.

  Leaving him is hard. I put it off as long as possible, going as far as to call Dena and ask her to cover for me because I’ll be late for work. When it’s time for me to go, he doesn’t even warn me against hanging out with Jenner this time.

  I’m so late I don’t even pass by the house and hope my clothes pass inspection. Dad calls me on the way, and I can tell he’s getting worried about my long absences. He wants to know who I’m spending time with, but how can I tell him? Josh will have kittens.

  I want to tell them, though. I want them to meet Ross, the real Ross, the one I spend every day with, who’s kind and thoughtful and funny and gentle. I think Dad would see what I see. I think Josh would come to understand once he got to know him a little. Ross is starting to mean... a lot to me. Though I have no idea where we’re heading with this thing between us, I’d love my family to know that, not to hide anymore.

  It’s a good thing I’ve left my uniform at the diner, so I put it on quickly and run to help Dena, my mind going a thousand miles an hour. Am I going crazy? Going too fast? Wanting it all at once? Not even knowing how Ross really feels... All I have is clues, so many clues, pointing in each and every direction, and I’m supposed to make sense of them, and take my chances.

  Then again, what’s life if not risk, right? I can’t keep a safe distance forever.

  Stop running, Luna. For God’s sake, stop, and take a gamble. You can feel it deep in your hea
rt that it’s worth it.

  He’s worth it.

  “Luna, good Lord, where’s your mind at, girl?” Dena whips by me, carrying empty trays and a faint scent of... perfume? “Grab some orders for me, will ya? Lots of people today.”

  I stare after her. She’s wearing make-up. And high heels. And her hair is straightened, though in this humid heat I wonder how long her effort will last.

  What’s going on here?

  “Did you get a boyfriend while I wasn’t looking?” I call after her, grabbing my notepad and pen, and get an unintelligible reply from inside the kitchen.

  “Whatever.”

  There’s too much work to linger on that thought, and Mike, the owner, is there, which puts more pressure on us. Today of all days he had to be here, when I came in late, and my uniform is wrinkled, my thoughts certainly not on the job but on a certain handsome, scarred boy in a house by the stream, his mother’s pendant and photo in his pocket, a swan inked on his chest, and the weight of a lifetime on his shoulders.

  Yeah, no time to wonder why Dena struts around like a moonstruck hen, or even why, when I grab the dishes from the kitchen in a hurry, I think I see Mike talking to someone who looks like Ed—and is that Fred with them?

  Why would Mike be talking to the bullies? But it’s a small town, everyone knows everyone, and you never know what sort of connections there might be—family, neighbor, business, they could be talking just about anything under the sun.

  It makes no sense, though, during this busy time when I can’t spare a moment to talk to Dena, or to question properly Mike’s connection to Ed and Fred, that I should have my head filled with Ross.

  Ross in the water, his scarred back bowed, golden head bent, as if expecting more punishment from the world.

  Ross teasing me, that bright grin on his face, his eyes hooded and happy.

  Ross kissing me, tasting of smoke and bitter pain.

  But my mind keeps going back to the scars, and what he’s told me of his dad. I get why he hates that house, why his nightmares hit him harder there. So many bad memories.

  It’s all starting to make sense—why he can’t be bothered with long term plans, why he lives like he’s camping—because he learned to live for the moment and that any moment it can all be over. And he may not have run away like me, but he hid instead, behind alcohol, behind his words and fists, sinking inside himself like a man in a maze, unable to find his way out.

  I’ve had an epiphany, you see. We’re similar, Ross and me, in this at least: we both were bullied growing up. And sure it matters that he was the one who bullied me, but let’s face it: what his dad put him through is nothing compared to the words he used on me. Having your only family destroy you so completely isn’t something I can imagine. But I can believe it must have hurt a lot.

  Enough to destroy a man. But he’s still here, and I love him.

  ***

  The end of my shift is finally in sight, some centuries and millennia later and I got to ditch my uniform and put on my own clothes to go.

  Is it going to get worse? Can it get worse? Already being away from Ross since this morning feels like a lifetime. It feels like I can’t breathe properly when I’m not near him.

  Holy crap, this is bad. If he pushes me away...

  I should stop thinking like that, stop expecting it. Yes, it would mean his rejection can hurt me worse, but it doesn’t matter. I said I’d believe in him from now on, and maybe I should stop expecting him to say he loves me. Just be there for him, and if it’s not what he needs, then... then life will go on.

  Fighting past the ache of that thought, I grab my purse and turn to leave the diner via the back door, and stop in my tracks, my heart like thunder in my ears.

  What in the world?

  My first thought is that Dena is kissing Ross.

  She’s in the corner of the kitchen, kissing a tall, blond guy with Ross’s general build, the same spiky pale hair, dressed in a black T-shirt and worn jeans.

  But as the seconds tick by, I become aware of differences. The set of his shoulders is wrong. Narrower. More sloped. His jaw is just not that square. His hair is a different shade of pale. And the way he’s holding her... not the way Ross holds me.

  “Seriously, Dena?” I blurt out before I realize I’m doing it. “With Jenner? Wow.”

  They jump apart so fast they overturn a tray with dishes and they crash to the floor. The silence that follows the crash is deafening, while Dena’s face goes through several degrees of red, settling on dark crimson.

  “And why not Jenner, huh?” she huffs in the end, while Jenner stares at me, something like pleasure in his eyes.

  Weirdo.

  “Dena... can we talk? Privately?” I want to remind her of the things we discussed, about him being creepy and mimicking Ross.

  But she only plants her hands on her hips and glares at me. “There’s nothing to talk about. You chose Ross. You can’t expect to have all the guys in this town at your feet.”

  I gape at her, doing a great imitation of a fish. “At my feet? That’s what you think? That I want both Ross and Jenner?”

  “Don’t you? Well, you can’t have them all. You took the hottest of them all, so I’ll take Jenner, thanks very much. Not many options left.”

  “So you went for Ross, huh?” he said, speaking for the first time, making us both jump. “For a while there, I thought you’d go for me.”

  He doesn’t seem disturbed by the fact that the girl he was kissing considers him second choice, doesn’t mention it, doesn’t even look at Dena who’s frowning at him.

  “You’re sick,” I inform him. “Nuts. Trying to look like him. Why are you doing this? Why can’t you be yourself?”

  He shrugs, doesn’t deny any of it. “Ross gets all the girls. The more I look like him, the better chances I have.”

  I whirl on Dena. “That’s the sort of guy you want?”

  “Oh, because dating a bully is so much better?”

  “He’s not a bully.” I wince. “Well, not anymore.”

  “Let’s talk about who’s weird. Remember what he told me? That kindness doesn’t do it for him, that his dad always said you had to beat everything into him. He’s the weird one. I bet that means he likes it rough in bed. With whips and shit.”

  “Shut up.” I’m angry on his behalf, and get angrier still when I think of the scars on his back. “That’s not how it works. You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “And you do? Because he kissed you? Or because you slept with him? He magically transformed into a rainbow farting unicorn, is that it? Or did your kiss turn him from a frog into a prince?”

  “No.”

  It doesn’t work like that, either. There’s no magic. He didn’t change overnight. What changed is the way I see him. The way I understand him. And probably the way he sees himself, too, after a childhood of trauma, his rough time in prison, finding out his mom is dead and his dad trying to kill him, well... that can change the angle from which we see the world.

  I bet it did for Ross, bet it shifted on its axis one day and he started to drown.

  I’ll never forget him falling off the garage roof. Maybe that was when my world shifted on its axis, too. or maybe it’s a process that started long ago.

  “You can have Ross. All yours,” Dena mutters with a disdainful sniff. “I’d much rather take a normal guy. Come, Jenner.”

  He lets her take his hand, and shoots me an amused little smirk—not malevolent, or hostile in any way, just... empty.

  I swear I don’t get this guy at all.

  I watch them go back into the restaurant, then I fish my phone out of my purse and check the time. Just enough to run home, shower, have dinner with my family, and escape later to visit Ross. I shoot him a text to let him know of my plans, and I get his reply almost instantly.

  ‘I have a surprise for you.’

  A shiver runs through me. ‘Good or bad?’ I write, my fingers shaking. Lately, it’s mostly been bad surpri
ses all around.

  ‘You’ll see,’ he writes back, the tease.

  Sounds like he’s feeling better, and that makes me relax. Hadn’t realized how tense my shoulders had been all day.

  But what can the surprise be? All sorts of things run through my head as I walk home, even as I realize that it can’t be anything bad... right? He’d tell me if something was wrong, wouldn’t he?

  Oh boy. I sure hope I’m right, and it’s a struggle not to take off and run all the way to his house. No way, it can’t be anything bad. He wouldn’t be so cruel.

  He’s not that cruel anymore.

  Lost in thought and doubt, I almost jump out of my skin when I lift my head and find him standing right in front of me, just at the edge of the town.

  “Ross. What are you doing here? Scared the crap out of me.”

  He takes my hand. “I was waiting for you. Can’t trust Ed and his goons not to come after you again.”

  “And what about my surprise?” I ask breathlessly, so absurdly absolutely happy to see him. He has a baseball cap on backward, tufts of white-blond hair escaping, a dark-blue T-shirt stretching over taut pecs and powerful shoulders, his ever-present jeans, and God...he’s gorgeous.

  Excuse me while I hyperventilate for a moment, thinking I get to hold his hand, kiss his lips, caress his body.

  “The surprise, huh? That’s what interests you, not seeing your boyfriend?” He cracks a grin. “It’s waiting for you, too. You’ll see.”

  But the rest of his words are lost in a roar—did he just say “boyfriend”? He did, right?

  Be still my heart.

  I mean, I did the bold thing and asked him yesterday but he never replied, not outright, and I had made it my goal not to ask again and bury my insecurities deep. What do you want me to say? A guy like him, handsome like a god, with a chubby, self-conscious girl like me... I know he says I’m pretty, and I’m over my anxiety-riddled teenage days, I hope, but it still doesn’t feel real.

  Despite knowing he is unsure of himself, too, that he doesn’t think I’d want him.