Page 29 of Savior

Heknows I’m hovering at the edge of my faith.Heknows I’m one step away from jumping into the world head-on, turning away from the thing I’ve been clinging to my entire life when things got hard:Him.

Sloane’s cries claw out of her throat, and I reach for her before I can second guess the action, wrapping my hand around hers that’s gripping the sheets like they’re going to save her.

“No,” she breathes, and I pull my hand back, thinking she’s speaking to me.

“Shh, Sloane. I’m here. You’re not alone.”

She doesn’t wake. Doesn’t answer.

But she settles as I cover her once more with the fallen blankets.

Because if her silk shirt rides over another inch, her perfect nipple will be on display once more, and I don’t know if I have the strength to keep myself from running my touch over it.

I want to know what she feels like.

Fuck, I want to know what she tastes like.

I’ve never felt like this toward anyone before. Sure, I’ve lived a life of celibacy. I’ve kept my vows to the best of my ability.

That has to be why I’m so drawn to her. It’s only because I’ve never truly tested myself in this way.

Letting my head press into the mattress beside her, I pray for my own strength. I get the distinct feeling that God is glaring down at me from above, his lips pursed as he watches me flounder, already knowing the outcome of this situation.

When I get back to my feet, I give Sloane a backward glance before grabbing my towel from the end of the bed and using every ounce of strength I have to leave her alone. In her own bed. Untouched. When all I want to do is slide into bed beside her and hold her tightly and be the one who stands between her and the entire damned world.

“Thank you, Father,” she whispers through the dark, and I stop, turning back to look at her, my hand gripping the door frame tight in my hold.

I don’t say another word before forcing myself to return to my room. What would I say?

This was the stupidest decision I’ve ever made. I know I need to tell Ardesia to find somewhere safe for her to lie low because I can’t handle her. This. I can’t…

She feels like a storm that will test my resolve—one I need to weather to emerge from the other side, knowing I am strong enough.

What worries me is that I don’t want to weather her. I want to lie down in her wind and let her carry me away.

And that, that feeling, that’s weakness.

Something I didn’t know I had before Sloane Collins and her honey eyes entered my life.

Dinner boxes surroundus on the coffee and side tables, and Sloane yells at the television, cursing at the girl crying over a man on the reality show she insisted we watch.

I’m watching her with rapt attention and wonder at her strength.

I’ve witnessed her wounds. Seen firsthand the bruises on her body. Yet, she’s more together than I am.

I’m drowning in my teetering faith and her presence while she’s seemed to kick pain’s ass and send it packing. I don’t know if she’s handling things typically or healthily, but she’s furious when I’ve mentioned getting her someone to speak to a few times.

“Can you believe this girl?” she asks, and it takes a moment before I realize she’s speaking to me.

“No. I can’t.” Even though she doesn’t realize I’m speaking about her and not whoever’s on the TV.

“She’s a dumbass,” Sloane says offhandedly, digging in the M&M bag on my lap comfortably before eyeing me with a lifted brow. “You alright?”

I swallow over a thick lump that burns in my throat, nodding. “Fine.”

“You look… off. You sure?”

It is astonishing that she would be concerned about me with all she has going on. “I’m fine. I’m just tired.”

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