Page 105 of Kings Fear No One
25
TEYSHA
I’m like a new woman come morning. The fever I was running has broken, and my stomach’s as settled as it can be after spewing up its contents. I open my groggy eyes to Logan asleep at my side, our legs intertwined. The sight makes my heart thrum an extra beat.
For a few seconds, I don’t move at all, savoring the moment. How peaceful and at ease he looks, his muscled chest rising and falling with every breath. His expression’s vacant, like he’s entrenched in faraway dreams. His features look no less strong—his nose a large, straight slope, his chin prominent and defined, but it’s his mouth I’m stuck on. Lips that are soft and commanding, wielding the power to make my head spin. That feel so good on me, it’s unreal.
I stretch out my hand and touch his cheek like he’s done to me so many times.
Even now, it’s crazy to think how much my life has changed in such a short period of time. This man lying beside me is my husband, who I’ve made a union with under the eyes of God, and who I’ve come to care about.
Just the feel of his warm flesh reminds me I’m safe. I’ve found the person I’ve spent my lifetime wondering if I ever would.
It happened under dark and disturbing circumstances I never imagined possible, but sometimes life is a contradiction in that way. Sometimes, the most beautiful bond can emerge from the ugliest trauma.
Logan might not see it yet, but I do. He’s fought it every step of the way, but on some level, he senses the truth. We’re meant to be together.
His breaths deepen. His head jerks to the side, his steely blue eyes opening at once. I don’t shy away from smiling good morning at him, my hand still resting on his cheek.
“Sleep well?”
He blinks a couple times, coming out of his sleepy state. Then rasps out, “I should be asking you that question. Feel better?”
“I do. Thanks for being there.”
He grabs hold of my hand that’s on his cheek, tucking it inside his own. “It never should’ve happened in the first place.”
“I didn’t choose?—”
“What I mean is,” he chimes in, cutting me off, “I never should’ve let you leave. What happened—what almost happened—it’s all on me.”
“I don’t blame you.”
“That’s the problem. You’re too good. Too damn pure-hearted, baby.”
A pleasant warmth spreads over me at his rasp, his words. It’s like being wrapped up in a blanket of love and comfort, even if he’s unaware the effect he has on me. I soften against him, scooting closer, wanting to be as close as someone can be to another human being.
For a while we lay silent and still, both aware it’s the final moment we’ll have for a while. The entire day’s ahead of us, and we’ve got to make our journey back to Pulsboro.
Logan strokes his thumb over each small swell of my knuckles as if he’s counting them up. He’s really in deep thought. Probably thinking the same thing I am.
This feels nice. It feels safe lying together like this.
Intimate.
We’ve often shared in these moments at the apartment. Late nights and slow mornings.
Something tells me Logan secretly treasures them as much as I do.
He finally brings my knuckles to his lips for a kiss of the back of my hand. His last second indulging in the quiet moment before moving on. He gets up to check the time and use the bathroom.
I do the same, sitting up, realizing I’m still in his shirt. He’d offered it to me to sleep in. After I’d shed my dress during my vomiting marathon. I’ve changed back into my dress when the toilet whooshes and he emerges from the bathroom.
“Where’s Ozzie?”
“You don’t remember much from last night, do you?”
“Sort of happens when you’re running a fever and about to cough up your insides.”
