Page 86 of Speak of the Devil

He deserves all the credit. Maybe this place plays a significant role, which he’d already know from growing up here. The fresh air gives a new perspective, and leaving most of our troubles in LA allows room to recuperate from what the universe has thrown our way.

He says, “Do you really want to know?” I’m briefly mesmerized when he scrapes his tongue over the center of his bottom lip.

I catch myself and pull my gaze to his arm again. The design is innocuous enough, but now I’m more curious than ever, especially since I haven’t been able to figure it out when I get glimpses. “I wouldn’t have asked, silly.” I laugh, but then stop, starting to wonder if I don’t want to know. “Why does this sound so mysterious? Do Inotwant to know?”

“I wasn’t trying to freak you out. It’s just . . . It’s personal.” Lowering his arm with my hand still held in his, he shifts his elbow so I can see the design.

We only have the moonlight and light drifting from a lamp hanging over the front door, allowing us to see anything. It’s enough, but I release his hand and lean closer for a better look.

With his finger, he runs along the gentle line with soft shading that flows like a river down his arm. “It’s the curve of a neck, hair captured at the base of the head, and loose strands of hair falling over the back.”

Angling my head, I can see it now. A woman, personal to him . . . my heart sinks as I sit back. I nod unable to speak. After all we’ve been through, after the storms calmed, giving us smooth water to sail—ten months. He fell in love in the ten months we were apart, fell hard enough to memorialize her on his skin.

I feel sick, sitting back and covering my stomach with my arms.

He says, “This is what guided me to a new life.” I can only look at it before my eyes dare to look into his again. “A freckle on her back was my North Star. I’d look at it to tide me over until I could return to her again.”

Redirecting my gaze to the water, his words sting, my heart barely repaired before broken again.

Shane reaches for my hand, but I slide away from him so he can’t reach me from his chair. “Don’t be like that, Cat.”

“Like what?” I shoot a glare in his direction. “Like you’re talking about the love of your life, so much so that she’s immortalized in a tattoo that covers your entire forearm while being here with me? Is that what you don’t want me to react to?” I sit forward on the edge of the chair and drop my head in my hands. “What am I doing?”

“Look at me.” His voice is so even, so smooth that the command feels like it was my idea even though it was his.

I look, but then stand, dropping the blanket in the chair. “And you made me be the one to ask about it.” I shake my head, keeping my eyes on the lake and him at my back. Crossing my arms over my chest, I say, “You could have just told me you were in love with her.” I look over my shoulder, feeling worse than thefirst time we broke up. It figures. “And to think, you could be here with her.”

“I am.” His low voice is unwavering.

His answer has me questioning what I said though. Running the words through my head, think . . . could be . . . here with her. He said I am. I am here with her. I am with her. The full picture comes into focus. I turn around and stare at him. “What are you saying, Shane?”

Taking hold of my hand, he’s fast, pulling me into his lap before I can protest. He knows I won’t. My legs fly out from under me as I land hard in his lap. His arms wrap me in a vice grip that won’t loosen for me to escape.

“I’m saying that this, right here,” he replies, tapping the dot on the design. He then runs a warm hand over my sweatshirt and circles a space on my back. “Is this. My North Star, my guide through the hard times when we were apart, a reminder that lives on my skin that nothing is impossible if you love them enough. I needed something of you with me always.”

Tears rush the corners of my eyes as I stare at his arm and into his eyes again. “This is me?”

Caressing my cheek, he says, “I stayed away for me, but I came back for you.”

There’s no way for me to keep the tears at bay. They spill over, running down my cheeks and over my lips. The salty water reminds me of the beach and how we should have been so much more after that bonfire. I kiss him. Tired of taking things slow, I kiss him in need and desire, in loyalty to this man who has given me everything I could ever ask for—unconditional and everlasting love. “I love you.” I kiss his lips. “I love you.” Lowering to his chin, I place one there as well. “I love you.” Leaning my head against his, I say, “I love you, Shane Faris. I always have.”

That’s the last time we go slow. Why bother when it feels this good to be in love?

He stands with me scooped in his arms. Our lips melding, our tongues caressing, our body raw with need. I’m set down but held by the comfort of his arms around me. Pressed to the inside of the front door, he says, “I’ve loved you since that bonfire. I came back from tour to tell you I didn’t fuck around on the road. I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

“And I was gone . . .” I feel sick all over again. Knowing I could have had a life with him, maybe a family, that I wouldn’t have been so alone. It’s gutting.

“We weren’t meant to be together then.”

Through a stifled sniffle, I ask, “We’re meant to be this time?”

“I’m never letting go, Cat. Not again.” He kisses me so hard that I melt to the wood behind me.

Throwing my arms around him, I kiss him right back, and whisper, “Make love to me, Shane.”

29

Shane

---