Spinning from his touch, I resumed the position he’d placed me in, my breasts flattened on the hard surface and my legs spread. Craning my neck, I looked back. “Do it, and then I will have more reason to hate you.”
Instead of taking my dare, Patrick reached for my arm, spun me, and pulled me back to standing. My motion didn’t stop until I crashed against his hard chest. I sucked in a breath of relief as his arms encircled my waist, and he pulled my naked body against his clothed one. The hardness of his contained erection probing my stomach alerted me that he was capable of doing as I’d said. However, within his gaze, the ice from earlier was shattering before my eyes, crack by crack and fissure by fissure. Heat returned, a flurry of flames crackling as his blue orbs swirled with emotion.
“I fucking hate you,” he said, “and God help me, I still love you.”
My body melted against his as new tears filled my eyes. With a blink, one escaped and rolled down my cheek. “I never stopped...loving you. I did it every day through Ruby.” I laid my cheek on his chest, too overwhelmed to continue our stare as I confessed, “I didn’t know if you ever came back from the war.”
With his heart beating in my ear and the scent of cologne in the air, Patrick stood taller.
Pulling my face away, I again sought his gaze. “Yes,” I said, “I looked for you. It was only once. You see, I had a rare opportunity. All I could find was that you’d enlisted and gone off to fight.”
“After I lost you, I wanted to get away from here.” His arms loosened their grip until he took a step away. “How could you not tell me about her?”
I shrugged. “How could I? I didn’t know where you were. I didn’t know until I saw you Thursday night.”
“It should have been the first thing you said.”
I shook my head and again covered my breasts with my folded arms. The loss of his warmth left me chilled, reminding me of my lack of clothes. “I better get dressed.”
One side of his lips curled upward. “I’d rather keep you like this.”
“Whether you love or hate me, I’m begging you to please help me get to Ruby. I want to believe Andros isn’t capable of doing what he said.” I swallowed, debating my next words. When I looked back up, I concentrated on the eyes the color of our daughter’s. “She’s sixteen. I was eighteen.” I inhaled. “He’s capable.”
“How do I know I can trust you? How do I know this isn’t a ruse to bring down Sparrow? It could all be a trap. She might not exist.”
“She does. If only I had my phone—”
My words were cut off by a loud banging as the door to the hallway rattled on its hinges.
Patrick nodded as he scanned from my hair to my toes. “Get dressed.”
Maddie
Seventeen years ago
Quietly as possible, I turned the knob and pushed the door inward. Soft snores filled the warm air of Patrick’s and my apartment. That term was deceptive. The space we had to call our own wasn’t much. Like others in the mission, our apartment consisted of one room. Our furnishings were second- or thirdhand, but they were ours. We had a bookcase, a dresser, and a small table with two chairs. The sides folded down to a rectangle or came up for a circle. Our bed had a simple metal frame, mattress, and bedspring. The sheets and blankets were clean and soft. Once a week I’d take the sheets and our towels to the basement laundry room along with our clothes.
Despite its simplicity, it was more than we’d ever had and exceedingly more than I’d expected. At this early hour, the lights within were turned off and the large windows were covered with plastic blinds. While it was the middle of the night, the blinds helped to limit the illumination of streetlights below.
As I opened the door, a triangle of golden hue highlighted the bed and the man sleeping.
Unaffected by the hallway light or the opening of the door, Patrick lay stretched out on top of the blankets. His legs were covered by gray sweatpants and his widening chest was bare. The work he’d been doing with the pastor was affecting his body. Physical labor brought definition to his muscles. Regular, healthier meals also aided in our transformations from too skinny to healthy.
Even though he was eighteen, Patrick was still growing and maturing. With his one arm cast over his eyes, I couldn’t help but notice that Patrick’s biceps had grown as part of his transformation. Since our placement in the mission he was even a few inches taller. The change was increasingly noticeable in his jeans. Thankfully the mission received donations of clothes and household items. Kristine was generous when needs were brought to her.
It didn’t matter that it was still winter in Chicago; the man before me was a furnace, radiating warmth. In his arms or simply in the same room, that warmth filled me in a way I was coming to recognize. Since our first meeting, there was a calm about him that kept me anchored.
In our world it was easy to get led astray. Patrick was my tether.
As I watched him, I contemplated climbing back in our bed, sliding under the covers, and curling up next to him. I didn’t want to wake him by disturbing him. I also didn’t think I would. Recently, he’d become a sounder sleeper. Within the safe walls of the mission, no longer did he need to protect us as we slept.
Oftentimes when I woke during the night, I enjoyed moving close, placing my head on his shoulder, and running the tips of my fingers over his toned abdomen. The memories brought a smile to my lips.
Closing the door, I waited in the dimness for my husband to stir.
Patrick was my husband.
I was his wife.
The titles broadened my smile.
After my parents died, I never thought I’d again be part of a family. The foster-care homes were filled with people, yet they weren’t a family. Even this mission wasn’t a family. To me a family was about acceptance and security. The concept had been elusive until now, but by some miracle or maybe stupidity, it was within my grasp.
Patrick, me, and our child could be a family.
My hands went to my stomach.
It had been four days since I spoke with Kristine. During that time my nausea had persisted. The waves hit me at all times of the day. Morning seemed to be the worst, but that didn’t mean it went away later in the day. I’d found that keeping some small bits of food in my stomach helped. It didn’t need to be a lot; even a few crackers would help. Surprisingly, I’d also been able to keep the news from Patrick. While having the bathroom down the hall from our apartment had its disadvantages, lately I’d come to appreciate the distance.
Taking a seat at the table, I pulled a packet with two saltines from the pocket of my robe. It was still too early for others to be awake, and yet I’d awakened with the urge to race to the bathroom and vomit. After I brushed my teeth and donned a robe, I tiptoed to the kitchen in search of what I now held.
The cellophane wrap crinkled loudly in the quiet darkness. I held my breath, again waiting for Patrick to wake. It wasn’t that I was afraid of his ire. It was that I wasn’t ready to tell him about our situation, not until I was confident.
Once I freed the crackers, I lifted one to my lips. My mind told me to eat, but my body wasn’t on board.
Having food in our rooms was a violation of the rules, yet I hoped that Kristine would understand. Barely opening my lips, I nibbled on the salty edge. Bit by bit I ate, taking very small bites and waiting for the rebellion to rage within my stomach.