Page 85 of Forbidden Love Still Blooms

“None of this was supposed to happen.”

“But it did,” he whispers back.

“If you hate me, it's okay. I hate me, too.”

He swerves out of my arms. It's too sudden for me to react, my grip falls away, my weight shifting forward. I'm about to drop to the floor; I see the glints of sea glass and pottery fragments that linger as reminders of the assault.

Jordan catches me before I collapse.

His arms wrap around until I'm in a cocoon. Cupping my chin, he compels me to stare into his acid-green eyes that dissolve me with each passing second. “You think Ihateyou? That I'm even capable of such a horrific thing? Sweet bird …mysweet bird … you forgot everything I confessed to you.”

I try to turn away, he grips me in a vice.

He says, “Whatever awful things you've done that make you believe, wrongly, that I could hate you? They don't matter to me. Nothing can reach the place in my heart I've walled off for usandonlyus. I love you now. I'll love you tomorrow. If I could reach through time, I'd love you before we ever met."

The pressure on my tongue makes it impossible to move it. I try anyway, manage a whimper that becomes a crackling groan that becomes a sob. They keep coming after that.

For a long time, Jordan simply holds me. It's more than enough. He's done the impossible. He’s made me believe I'm worthy of being loved. If hearing I'm capable of murder doesn't budge the compassion from his heart, nothing will.

“I love you,” I whisper.

He kisses my forehead, my eyelids, then my lips. The taste of my blood reminds us of the scene in the shop. Jordan pulls away, surveying the mess. “Dezmond is a menace. I can't believe … no. I guess I can believe he did this. I tried so hard to guide him the way my father guided me, but he's never wanted it. Where did I mess up?”

“It's not your fault,” I say, lying my cheek on his. “You're not responsible for what he does. He's not Deena.”

Jordan twitches his jaw, grinding his teeth. “But I see her in him."

"How? Was she cruel, too?"

"No!" He lets out a breath. "Deena was sweet to a fault. Acknowledging the depravity inside of Dezmond felt like I was giving up on her legacy, but no one who would do this,” he brushes my bloodied mouth, “to someone I love with my whole heart deserves anymore sacrifice from me.”

“But you can't hurt him,” I remind him quickly. Jordan frowns, looking at the remains of the ceramic bowl. I follow his eye. “I hit Jake and Dez with it.”

His chuckle, although bittersweet, puts me at ease. “I'll figure something out, Lorikeet.”

“No. I will. This is my mess.”

“It's not something you have to fix alone.” He smooths my hair, tucks it behind my ear. Looking into my eyes, he allows himself a feeble excuse for a smile. “I won't let him hurt you ever again. There's a way out of this, I promise, but we have to work together. Do you believe me?”

I hesitate, then slump in his arms. “Yes.”

“Good.” Kissing my temple, he runs his fingernails over my arm, summoning goosebumps. He traces up and down multiple times, and each trip makes my muscles relax further. But then he says, “How did Dezmond know about your father?” and my body becomes cement again.

I look over at the rows of plants along the wall. It's easier to talk about heavy things when I have something beautiful to distract me. Shutting my eyes, facing nothing but my own dark memories, would make telling him impossible. “He saw me bury him. I guess he followed me from the bonfire we were at that night. I'd insulted him, humiliated him really, so he was riled up and looking for a way to cause me trouble. He got what he wanted.”

“Your dad is under the roses, isn't he?”

I jerk my eyes to him; he looks pensive. “Yes.”

“And that's why you won't go to the kiln and craft new art. I'm so sorry,” he whispers, hugging me until I can hear his heart through his chest. “All this time you've been hiding what happened from the world.”

Something is bothering me. I push against him, worming free, arching my eyebrows. “You haven't asked me why.”

Jordan tilts his head. “I don't need to know why.”

“Of course, you do. You can't just shrug it off when someone says they killed someone.”

“I can if it's you,” he says. His eyes narrow a hair. “But I have my guess as to why. You told me about the holes in the wall, and how paranoid he was after winning the lottery. I read between the lines. He was abusive, correct?”

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