Page 23 of Burned By Sin
Closing my eyes, I hear a scuffle as my finger squeezes the trigger. Wheels skid, sirens blare, shouts and screams follow gunfire. Then it all stops. Complete silence rings in my ears, my hand still raised in the air. Officers close in, the holler of one telling me to put down the weapon sounding faint. I drop it, and crack an eyelid, temporarily blinded by the brightness I find there. Pain seizes me as they descend, forcing me onto my front and grabbing my arms. My ribs scream for attention, bound by the awkward angle my hands are cuffed in. At least it’s over now. I can give my statement, I’ll cooperate and be home soon enough. The gravity of what I nearly got involved in hits me like a freight train. I almost died.
With my face smushed against the concrete, I peer at the reflection of myself in a window and frown. My nose is slightly crooked, though Idon’t remember it being so, and the stubble on my jaw has somehow grown in the last hour. But it’s my eyes. They are wide, lifeless. Too similar to the way Antonio was staring endlessly at the night’s sky. Somewhere within, a dull thud cracks through the confusion and just before the police haul me to my feet, I realize the truth. There’s no window in this alley, and that’s not my reflection. That’s Jeremy.
I lurch upright with a gasp, the sound that rips from my throat somewhere between a broken snarl and general panic. My lungs seize, my hands clawing at nothing as I search for the gun, for the door, forsomethingto stop the spinning. The world is blindingly bright, visions left in the recesses of my mind flashing before me. The white walls of the interrogation room fade, bleeding into cream tones and the faint scent of gingerbread and cinnamon. My heart’s still pounding like I’m being chased, my body shaking uncontrollably with a tremor deep in my bones that is a combination of fear and the cold.
“Stop it!”
My head jerks toward the voice, but the room doubles. Everything lags half a second behind, like my eyes can’t keep up. I blink hard until my vision steadies enough to make out a soft throw blanket sliding from my chest, the couch beneath me too plush and warm. Where the hell am I?
Reaching down to pick it up, agony stabs my entire body. My hands are like ice, my fingers aching when I move them, the joints swollen and red. My skin feels tight, stretched thin over bone. I blink again, forcing the fog from my mind. I’m not in an alleyway. I’m not bleeding. I’m not seventeen. I’m sprawled on a sofa in a house I don’t recognize, muscles seizing from the cold.
There’s a Christmas movie playing above a roaring fireplace, andthe smell of baking sugar is thick in the air, tugging me somewhere I don’t belong. Laughter trickles through from the next room, a familiar sound that doesn’t quite fit in my nightmare.
“Rhys, you can’t just eat the decorations!” The bastard chuckles, doing something that causes Harper to squeal, and as a result, pierce my skull. I close my eyes, pressing the heels of my palms against my temples. Trying and failing to rise, I immediately regret it as the room tilts and a groan escapes me, followed by a clatter from the kitchen.
“Clayton!” Harper rounds the corner, flour dusting her cheek. “Perfect timing! We need a judge for our gingerbread houses before Rhys eats all of the adornments off mine.” She pauses, assessing me properly and her brows knit together. “Are you okay? Do you feel any better?”
“Better?” I repeat hollowly, my voice not sounding like my own. Then, like a jigsaw gathering all of its pieces, I start to remember. The cold, the porch, the locked door. My truck is buried in snow where I abandoned it a few miles back. The gnawing in my bones until everything went dark.
I can tell, even without Harper’s evident concern, that was a close call. So close, that my life started flashing before my eyes and I despised every bit of it. If that’s the life and legacy I’ll leave behind, then there’s no use even giving me a headstone. It’s a waste, but it’s not over just yet.
As the confusion seeps away, a new emotion takes hold. One so strong, it overpowers the dull ache in all of my limbs. Harper blinks down at me, her green eyes filled with concern. She’s wearing pale blue pajamas with tiny snowflakes. Her hair’s a mess, tied up in a knot that doesn’t quite hold. There’s a smudge of icing on her wrist, powder on her hands, and her socks don’t match.
I’ve never seen anything so innocently beautiful, so far removed from the nightmare that plagues me. I’m carrying around baggage of bloodshed and a misfired gun I had no business using. My criminal record is like a noose that never quite loosens, but Harper? She’s asurvivor. A phoenix born from the ashes of her grief, who looks upon my tainted soul as if I’m worthy of her affection.
Before I can stop myself, I reach out and drag her into my lap, crushing her into my arms. She gasps against my chest, and after a second, locks her own arms around my waist. After the endless hours of being cold, of feeling my pulse slow and my breath frost in the air, her heat is a shock to my system. I tremble from the force of withholding everything I want to say, the realizations I’ve come to after fighting them for so long.
For a heartbeat, the house disappears. No kitchen, no gingerbread houses, no rival standing three feet away. Just the girl I’ve been running from and running toward at the same time. She smells like buttercream and woodsmoke, and she feels like home.
Shifting slightly, Harper places her palms against my ribs. “Clay,” she says softly. “You’re shaking. Let’s get you upstairs.” I loosen my hold just enough to see her face. Her cheeks are flushed pink, her eyes bright with something I can’t name.
Swallowing past the lump lodged in my throat, I nod and try to stand again. Harper shifts aside, her steady gaze keeping me centered. Her hands linger at my elbows, gently easing me upright.
It’s in that moment, as my feet find some stability and the multitude of blankets fall away from my lap, I discover I am completely naked. Jerking to grab the last blanket to fall, I cover myself just in time, a simmer of heat returning to my cheeks. Harper snorts in that cute way she doesn’t realize, helping me to tuck the edges of the blanket around my waist before leading the way to the staircase.
Rhys stays two steps behind, his scowl a permanent feature on his face. The cocky asshole I’m used to isn’t present, leading me to believe I’ve interrupted something. I can’t help but grin a little at that.
Breaching the landing, I pause to take in my new surroundings. The air is cleaner somehow, carrying that faint pine scent that clings to every corner of this place. Sunlight spills through the wide hallwaywindows, turning the wooden floors honey-gold, and for a second, I forget that I arrived half-dead on the doorstep.
Harper’s steps are light, her socked feet making no sound on the boards as she leads me past half-open doors, one to a guest room with crumpled sheets, another that is a study. The whole house feels lived-in already, in that effortless way she has of softening a space just by being in it. There’s a garland trailing the banister, little fairy lights twined through it, blinking in slow rhythm.
We reach the master suite, and I stop so suddenly, Rhys’ shoulder crashes into mine. Have they left this room for me? It’s bigger than the entire studio apartment I’ve left behind. The wood theme continues, pine furniture blending into the cladding and floors. A bed sits dead center, its headboard carved from dark oak and piled high with cushions in neutral tones. At the far side of the room, the bathroom is visible through a glass divider. Harper crosses the threshold and points her finger in a bossy way I kinda like.
“Sit on the edge of the tub. I’ll get the water running.”
The freestanding bathtub faces the panoramic windows that stretch from floor to ceiling, revealing a landscape painted in frost and gold. The dense tree line breaks, revealing rolling fields speckled with white, and in the distance, the faint shimmer of a frozen lake catching the morning sun.
Steam starts to curl up from the tub as Harper tests the water with her wrist. She adjusts the faucet slightly, her concentration meticulous. I catch myself staring, not just because she’s beautiful, but because she’sreal. She’s warmth and movement and light, while everything inside me still feels numb and heavy.
I sink down on the tiled ledge beside the bath, the porcelain cold beneath my skin, and stare out the window. For the first time in what feels like years, I allow myself to justlook. The snow falls softly now, in lazy spirals that melt the moment they hit the glass. There’s peace here, something I haven’t known since I was a kid.
My thoughts drift back to the alleyway, the gun in my hand, Antonio’s blank eyes. Even now, the image clings to the edges of my mind like smoke. The kind of memory that follows you no matter how far you try to run. I rub at my wrists, trying to scrub the sensation of cold metal from my palms. Harper glances over her shoulder, brow furrowed slightly.
“You’re still trembling,” she frowns. “You need to get in before your body temperature drops again.” I allow myself to smile, just slightly. I’ll never know what I’ve done to deserve Harper’s concern, but I’m not as quick to brush it off anymore.
“I’m sorry I was late,” I say, rubbing a hand over my nape. It feels exposed without a beanie pulled down low. “I went to visit my mom and got swept into a festive bingo session.” It’s mostly the truth.
I can’t say the receptionist was happy to see me again, and upon seeing my mom in the main hall, I welcomed myself to join her game. I’d hoped this mystery cousin I don’t have would show up, or my mom might have a moment of clarity slip through. But neither happened, as she was having a bad day. I might as well have not bothered, but my conscience knows I went. That I saw her closer to Christmas than I have in years.
