Page 70 of Protected By the Sinner
“What else would you call me?”
“I don’t know. I thought that when we saw each other, things would become clearer, even if my memory didn’t come back. But I’m more confused than ever.”
“Why?” My jaw is clenched with tension. The urge to touch her is almost physically painful.
Can I forgive her for what she did? Does she evenwantmy forgiveness?
But I know those are the wrong questions for this moment. All that matters right now is that she gets the care she needs to recover from the accident.
My silence clearly doesn’t sit well with her, because she turns her back to me and walks to the window.
“Amber.” I’m usually indifferent to other people’s pain, but knowing I caused hers...it fucks me up.
“Just . . . give me a second. It’s just . . . this whole thing . . . the two of us . . .”
Her quiet, hurt sobs are more than I can take. So I shove my pride aside and pull her into my arms.
The scent of her hair is just as I remembered.
I can’t believe it’s only been forty-eight hours since she was last in my arms. It feels like a lifetime since I last held her.
“You don’t have to comfort me.”
“I don’t want you to cry.” And it’s true. Knowing I’m the reason for her pain fills me with guilt.
“I’m not doing it on purpose. I just . . . I feel so unsure.”
“Look at me.”
“I must look awful when I cry,” she says, and I almost smile.
Who is this girl? The Amber I knew was never vain, but she was completely confident in her appearance.
“That’s impossible. You’re beautiful no matter what.”
That seems to be what she needs to hear, because she finally obeys and turns to face me. “I want to ask you something, and I need you to be honest. Do you want us? Me and our baby? Because you don’t have to take care of me just because I don’t remember anything. The doctor said my memory could come back at any moment.”
Instead of giving her a direct answer, one that would expose more than I’m ready to share, I fall back on my natural arrogance. “No. You’re not going anywhere. I want both of you.”
Amber may not remember the past, but there’s still a trace of that proud personality in my memory-less girlfriend. She clearly thinks what I gave her isn’t enough to soothe her heart, because she pulls away from my arms. “I think it’s best if we wait a few days before we talk about this again.”
“There’s nothing to talk about. We live together. You’re coming home with me.”
She was walking away, but now she turns back, a flicker of hope on her face.
I make a silent vow not to fuck this up again.
“We live in the same house?”
“Yes.Houses, actually. I’ve got several around the country. We don’t stay in one place long because I travel a lot for work, and I always take you with me.”
Her eyes widen. “I don’t do anything with my life? No school, no job? I just follow you around everywhere?”
That reminds me of the reasons—reasons I now know all too well—that made her a nomad for so many years.
Two girls running from the men who hunted them their whole lives.
No, I can’t let her go. Even if there were no baby, even if I didn’t want her in my bed anymore—because of what I know now, I wouldn’t leave her out in the world, vulnerable, at the mercy of anyone who might hurt her.
