Page 28 of The Sculptor

This man seriously needs some sleep and a reality check—though the flutters in my stomach appreciate the sentiment that it wasn’t just me that could never love again. It’s one thing to accept that you would never be with the person you were meant to spend forever with, but it’s another to know that person is far from accepting that fate.

Hope is a dangerous game to play.

“You should sleep.” I place my hand on his arm and offer him a sad smile. “We’ll talk about this when you’re sober.”

Duke drops his hold and steps back, allowing me to swipe the keycard and unlock the door to his room. The burst of cool air hits me in the face, graciously cooling me off from the heated exchange.

But it doesn’t last long.

Immediately, I feel Duke’s heat on my back, his body still hard in the most inappropriate places. “I think we’ve been here before, Ray,” he rumbles, low and gravelly. “But last time, you were the villain.”

I try snapping around, but Duke’s hands grip my hips, holding me in place, while he towers over me, his voice in my ear. “Do you disagree?”

I swallow. “We were both virgins. I was not the villain.”

He chuckles. “As I remember, you pulled me into that hotel room, too.”

“Don’t act like you weren’t just as eager as I was.” We were so in love that we couldn’t stand not to claim all our firsts together.

Duke takes an intentional step forward, the momentum pushing me along with his actions. “Oh, I was eager, Ray. I’d even wager that I’m more eager now.”

His hands grip me tighter, almost as if he remembers what it felt like to have me beneath him as he gently devoured all I had given him that night—my body and soul. I have never loved a man since Duke Potter. I haven’t wanted to. Even if I tried, no one could compare. Duke might live in a world of sarcasm and jokes, but his heart is so big, so unconditionally pure, that it must be guarded at all times. He couldn’t show just how deeply he loved or cared—not in the families we lived in.

Duke was different.

He wasn’t cold and aloof like Vance.

He wasn’t distant and detached like Astor.

He was warm and compassionate—so full of life that even death couldn’t kill the joy he brought to others.

Duke might call me his ray of sunshine, but it couldn’t be further from the truth.

The truth is, Duke kept us warm. He kept us alive—he kept me alive, even when I begged for death.

No soul is purer than his.

And when you have a taste of someone like that, there’s no way you could ever love another.

Because you know what it feels like to be loved by nothing but raw goodness.

“One day,” I whisper in the darkness, “when this is all over. I’ll tell you what this moment felt like, being wrapped in your arms after all these years of longing and pain.”

His arms tighten like he alone can prevent me from leaving. “I can fix the longing,” he promises. “I will even try to heal your pain. All you need to do is stay.”

Stay.

It sounds so simple.

So easy.

Heaven knows I want to, but staying would only be like putting a bandage over a gushing wound. The bleeding wouldn’t stop. Sure, it’ll slow it down, but it won’t heal until I stop the source of the bleeding.

And Langston, unfortunately, holds the sutures I need.

I tug on Duke’s hand, and he releases his hold of my hip, interlocking our fingers as I pull him to the bed. “You need rest.” And I need to get out of here before I do something stupid like stay.

“I’m not tired.”

---