Chapter 35

She narrows her eyes. “B-7.”

Goddamn it . “Hit.”

Scottie beams proudly. “B-8.”

I sigh. “You sank my patrol boat… Why are you so good at this?” She’s won the last three games, and none of them have even been close.

“I cheat.”

“How?!” I lean forward, seeing if she’s able to view my board. Doubtful, the sun set an hour ago, and we’re playing by the light of the fire. I had a hard enough time seeing my own board.

“I’m only kidding.” She chuckles and shrugs. “I’m good at hiding my ships.”

Once the pieces are picked up, she hands me the box, and I return it to the cupboard with a couple games and choose a new one.

“Sorry, I need to ask,” she says, taking a serious tone. “Are we just talking because we’re in each other’s proximity? Are we friends now?”

I slide the box on top of the other games and stand. “Huh? ”

“You said things have run their course. Does that mean sleeping together and friendship? Do we go back to not speaking to each other once we get out of here?”

I roll up my sleeves. I guess we’re hashing out our shit now. So much for having a decent time.

My voice hardens. “We’re for sure not sleeping together, but honestly… I don’t know… I don’t think I can be friends with somebody who…” I rub the back of my neck. Damn it, I’m mad at her for lying to me. “Why did you sleep with me, Scottie? Why the fuck did you do that?”

She furrows her brow. “What do you mean?”

“And why did you fuck Dave? I mean, that guy? Seriously? Of all people?—”

She stands with her arms open wide and drops her jaw. “What are you talking about!? I never slept with Dave! He’s married!”

I snap. “And so are you apparently!”

She flinches as if I slapped her, closing her mouth and letting her hands fall at her sides.

“Yeah…” I say. “I know about that.”

“I didn’t sleep with Dave,” she says, barely above a whisper.

“I saw him leave your apartment after he spent the night? You really think I’ll believe you two weren’t fucking?”

She takes a giant step forward, attempting to get into my space. She’s close enough that at her short stature she has to slant her chin up to face me. “He didn't spend the night!” She pokes her chest. “My car had a flat on my way home from working third shift! He picked me up and dropped me off at my house. He only was inside because he basically invited himself in!”

I level her with a glare. “But you are married.”

She shrinks away from me, curling her arms around her stomach. “But it’s not what you think.”

I throw up my hands and walk to the other side of the room. “Well, I think you’re fucking married! What else is there?! ”

“It’s not a real marriage.”

I laugh sarcastically. “I saw the wedding announcement in your town’s newspaper, darlin’. It’s real.”

“I’m trying to get a divorce.”

Crossing my arms, I ask, “Did you serve him papers?”

“No, but?—”

I scoff, and spin on my heel. What game does she think she’s playing?

She stomps her foot like a toddler. “Would you just shut up and listen? It was a lavender marriage! I didn’t have a choice. The only way to leave the marriage was to leave home. I left everything I had!”

When I face her, she’s wearing a scowl. “A lavender what? You both looked pretty fuckin’ happy in that photo.”

“My husband is gay!”

I throw up my arms. “Oh, is he now?”

She continues despite my obvious doubt. “It’s a fucked-up form of conversion therapy. I come from a fundamentalist community, where, when a man is found to be, or, hell, even suspected to be gay, the church intervenes. They choose a woman in the congregation to be chosen for what they refer to as a purity bride with the hope that the man’s evil inclination will pass ”—she gestures using finger quotes—“once they’ve been with an attractive woman.”

Is she serious? I shake my head. “No way.”

“Jonathan and I are friends, we’ve been friends since we were little. His parents were like my parents. We saved each other. I love him, but not in the way a wife loves her husband. I begged him to come with me, we fought about this for months. I stayed for as long as I did because I loved him, but eventually, I couldn’t wait anymore. I had to leave. And so I did. Alone.”

“Why would anyone agree to that?”

She covers her face with both hands, then drops them. “A few reasons. If we chose each other, then I wouldn’t be given to another member of The Fold—that’s what it was referred to as, like a shepherd’s fold—including the elders or council members. Better the devil you know than the one you don’t. The other women never spoke poorly of their husbands. The only thing they talked about were children or housework, but the girls who were given to the older men always looked dead behind the eyes.”

This kind of thing doesn’t really happen, right? This sounds like a cult.

“The second reason, the one I’m most ashamed of, I grew up believing something was wrong with Jonathan. I thought being with him was my calling, my purpose. Believed the reason we were best friends was because God had chosen me to save him. All my life I’ve wanted to help people, and I thought that’s what I was doing. He was attractive, received attention from the other girls, though it was never reciprocated. I figured out early on that Jonathan wasn’t like the other boys, but I also noticed the way he looked at them. I loved Jonathan and knew he loved me. We figured we could be a life raft for each other.

“If we faked a relationship, got engaged, and fell in love without the church having to intervene, then nobody would be the wiser, and Jonathan wouldn’t have to go through any other forms of conversion therapy—and I would have a partner I knew was kind and loved me. We knew a platonic marriage was far safer than taking our chances.”

I run my hands over my scalp, willing myself to listen and trying to wrap my head around what she’s saying. It’s almost too much information to take in.

“I went to school to become an EMT, and someone at the local firehouse was able to get me a job. It was a big deal, almost everyone worked in our small town, we were self-sufficient, save for a few resources, like fire. While I was in school, suddenly my world got a lot bigger. I met people who had different beliefs than me—but they weren’t bad people like I’d always been told. These were good people with kind hearts. The more I was exposed to the outside, the more I realized I wasn’t helping anyone.” She blinks away a couple tears. “I was hurting Jonathan and hurting myself. It might have been the safer option for us, but it wasn’t right. I was part of the problem.” She wraps her arms around her middle. “I wanted out.”

I shake my head but struggle making eye contact. “This sounds fucking crazy.”

“Because it is crazy! It’s awful! I don’t want to be part of any community who would cause others so much pain. But leaving The Fold isn’t just moving, it’s exile. There were stories of people escaping and being dragged back. I tried to get Jonathan to come with me, but he wouldn’t.” Her chin trembles as she peers down at her hands. “So I left.”

Holy shit. This is the most bizarre situation—her story is almost too strange to believe. I’ve never heard of anything like this happening outside of the movies or true-crime documentaries.

“How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

She doesn’t speak as if she’s making up a lie, it’s as if she’s finally unburdening herself. Like it’s the first time she’s been able to tell someone her story; she’s bearing her soul.

“You have to trust me. I can’t prove it. It’s not meant to look like anything more than a normal marriage. We needed the church to believe Jonathan was cured . Though, I’m sure they’re questioning both of us now that I’ve left. I’ve never seen another woman attempt to leave the community, only heard rumors of it, and none of them ended well.”

I cross back over to her side of the room. “How was he supposed to be cured? Did you sleep with Jonathan?”

“Yes.”

“Like, sex?”

“Yes.”

“He could…? How? ”

She shrugs. “After so many years, it becomes a biological attraction. Humans have needs. With enough sexual encounters, our bodies reacted the way they had to in order to achieve sexual gratification. It was almost clinical. At first, it was something we did because we thought we were doing the right thing. Later, it just became a habit.”

She opens her mouth to say more but stops short.

“Once I started realizing how messed up the entire thing was, I refused to sleep with him anymore. It became a point of contention between us. He knew I was pulling away, and it scared him. It was about a year before I left when I started proposing we leave, but he was stuck in denial. I worry he’s still under the impression that he needs to be saved from some kind of sinful affliction… I think he believes them.”

“So, do you still have feelings for him? Are you separated? What’s the deal?”

Hearing about her marriage to another man brings back all the betrayal I experienced with Molly.

Her eyes brim with tears, a wistful smile on her lips. “We’re separated. My feelings for Jonathan will always run deep, but they aren’t romantic. He’s my best friend. We saved each other.” Her voice wavers, and she sucks in a breath, holding it while she composes herself. “And I will always feel guilt over our marriage. The Fold made him believe he was broken, and I went along with it. He was never broken, I was.

“I told him we could start our lives over. Together but separate. He didn’t understand why I had this pension for leaving the only life we’d ever known. I told him what we were doing wasn’t natural, but he always told me to pray more and to stop questioning everything, but to me, I was nothing more than a pawn for a hateful God.

“I was tired of chasing unmet needs, I wanted a partner who truly desired me. I was sick of going through the motions, experiencing shallow intimacy that only existed on a platonic level. I wanted to have sex and feel truly satisfied . I’d been craving it my whole life but always blamed it on my own shortcomings, something that was my fault—I didn’t try hard enough, didn’t pray loud enough.”

She shakes her head, swiping away the tears and pasting on a neutral smile, as if she can somehow minimize the years of misery she’s been living in and the way she left an entire life behind to start over. I’m dumbfounded.

“I failed Jonathan twice: the first time when I married him, and the second time when I abandoned him. But one of us had to make the first move, so I did.”

I’m unsure of how to respond, so I say the only thing I can think of. “I’m sorry.”

“Maybe I should have divorced him before getting involved with anyone, but it wasn’t going to happen. He knew the only way we’d be able to get a divorce was if we left, trying to do anything back home would have set off alarm bells. I never felt romantically obligated to him, and I wanted the taste of freedom… And then I met you.”

I don’t even know what I’m feeling right now. I sit on the edge of the bed hunched over, struggling to process so much information. I have so many questions. My gaze remains fixed on the floor as I rub my forehead. Fuck. I’m being bombarded with so many emotions. I’m devastated for her, the agony in her eyes is clear as day. She’s been carrying such immense weight on her shoulders, not only for her husb—Jonathan but adjusting to a new life altogether.

Another part of me is experiencing massive relief that maybe we’ve got a real shot. I still feel guilt over sleeping with a married woman, but I’m no longer disgusted with myself the way I was before. And the rest of me is stunned by the entire ordeal.

“I’m sorry I kept my past from you… I’m really sorry.”

I lift my chin to meet her sullen face. “I should have met you that day for breakfast. I heard rumors from some guys in town, and I’ve been beating myself up for weeks thinking I broke a marriage apart. I was engaged once and walked in on her having an affair at a really low time in my life. It messed with my head—bad. This whole time, I thought I did the same thing to another man.”

I haven’t mentioned Molly until now, but I planned to. I should have knocked on her door that day instead of walking away. We could have avoided all of this.

“I didn’t tell you earlier because I’m ashamed.” She clears the tears from her cheeks. “And embarrassed. From the outside looking in, it’s so obvious. But when you’re raised within those walls, the cracks of doubt are well hidden. What I participated in was abhorrent. I didn’t want anyone to know—they wouldn’t understand. What would the outside world think of me? What would you think of me? You said it yourself, it’s crazy… But if you heard rumors, why didn’t you just ask me directly?”

I bark out a laugh. “What the hell was I supposed to think? Gee, she’s married, but maybe she’s actually in a religious cult covering for her gay husband?”

My harsh words cause her to recoil, and I instantly want to take them back.

“I could have explained all of this back then. You never gave me the chance!”

“When I hear hoofbeats, I think of horses, not zebras.”

She paces back and forth. “Well, you sure thought zebras when you saw Dave leaving my place! You’re not the only one who’s been hurting for weeks, you know? You’ve been callous and cruel with every interaction. I’ve been racking my brain trying to figure out what I did to upset you so much. Everyone told me you were a womanizer, that you were just using me. I defended you every chance I got and then looked like an idiot when you tossed me aside as if I were nothing.” She bites down on her bottom lip to keep it from trembling and lets her hands fall to her sides. “It would have opened up a conversation.”

I lean forward, bracing my forearms on my thighs and letting my head slump between my shoulders. “I didn’t show up because hearing from your lips you were married would have hurt worse.” I ran . I was fucking scared. “It would have been reliving my past. I didn’t want to go there… After I found out you were someone’s wife, I shut down. It’s not an excuse, but it’s why I did what I did.”

When I look up, her expression is pained.

My brows knit together. “Then when I showed up at your apartment, Dave said some shit that insinuated he spent the night with you?—”

“He what ?!”

“It doesn’t matter. I should have trusted your word over his. I should have come to you first.” I scoot deeper into the bed and lean back until my shoulder blades are resting on the cold windowpane behind me.

Scottie closes the distance between us. Her eyes search mine as if she’s searching for some courage to borrow. She has me holding my breath while I wait for her next move. I exhale when she plants her knee on the bed beside my thigh and straddles my lap. I sit up, and we stare at each other for a long minute.

“I’m sorry.” I hear the sincerity in her voice, see it in her downhearted eyes.

My throat burns seeing her like this. She wraps her arms around my neck and rests her head on my shoulder, hugging me. We made such a mess of things.

“Me too.” I slide my hands around her back and hold her the way she’s holding me. And damn, it feels good. I allow myself to bask in her touch before I speak, because even though the truth is out, it doesn’t change the situation. “I don’t know where we go from here.”

“What do you mean?” Her breath is warm against my skin .

“You’re still married.” I muster the courage. “Do you want to divorce him?”

She doesn’t hesitate. “I do.”

The corner of my lip turns up. Ironic phrasing . “We can’t do anything until you file your paperwork.”

She raises her head to face me. “But he knows I’m gone?—”

“Would you kiss me in front of him?” She stiffens. “Would it hurt him to watch me put my arms around you?” They may not have been romantic, but they still had a relationship, so there must be something there on his side. I’m not going to be with her in the shadows.

“Jonathan and I have had this conversation before. We told each other that if the other one ever needed to go, we wouldn’t fight it.”

I can’t imagine anyone willing to let go of her so casually, romantic or not. I have a better understanding of the tenacity she possesses, leaving everything and everyone behind. This situation is so fucked, and I’ve never felt so torn. With her ass in my lap and arms on my shoulders, all I want to do is lean in and take her.

My jaw tics. “If we do this, we need full transparency from now on. I want to know every skeleton in your closet. No more secrets.”

“Okay. And I expect the same courtesy from you…” Her fingers fidget at the collar of my shirt, and she averts her gaze. “Who was the girl you left the bar with that night?”

My brows jerk to attention. I don’t understand the question. What is she talking about?

“When?”

She pulls from my hold, and looks down at her hands. “When I saw you at the bar the other night, you were walking out with another woman, you had your arm around her about to get into a cab. Are you still sleeping with other women?”

“No.” I rest my palms on her knees to restore our physical connection. It takes me a moment to figure out who she could be talking about. I haven’t been with anyone since her. Realization hits and my brow relaxes. “That was my sister, Teddy,” I say, trying not to laugh. I loosen her arms and place them back on my shoulders. “I’ll introduce you when we get back.”

“Oh.” Her face flushes as if she’s embarrassed.

I glide my hands up her thighs and rest them on her waist. My fingers itch to squeeze the soft curves I’ve been reliving in my mind during every shower since Oregon. This woman is Kryptonite.

“You really think we’re going to get back?”

“Yes,” I reply with absolute confidence. Nothing will stand in the way of seeing her sign those divorce papers. I tuck a few loose strands of hair behind her ear and swallow.

We search each other’s eyes for answers.

“So where does that leave us?” I ask.

“I know what I want, but it’s likely there will be more challenges ahead. What do you want?”

My gaze drops to her mouth, and I lean in, then pause. The divorce proceedings haven’t even begun. I said we would wait… I need to make a decision. Am I really willing to enter a physical and emotional relationship with a married woman?

For Prescott? Yes.

She meets me in the middle, and her lips ghost over mine.

“Fuck it.”

With one hand pressed to her lower back, I cup the nape of her neck with the other and bring her mouth to mine.

My tongue sweeps across her bottom lip, and her small sigh spurs me on. Nails dig into my shoulders, waking up every nerve in my body. I skate my thumb over her chin, giving myself access to take her mouth like I’ve wanted to for weeks. She’s like that first high.

With each brush of our lips, I forget why this situation is so complicated. Soft gasps and firm grasps are all I need to know she’s with me. This time, it will be different. This time, we’re doing it right. And nothing feels more right than this.

Her fingers press against my chest. “But what do you want ?” she repeats.

“I want us to be more than fun, Prescott,” I state. “I wanna make you mine.”

Kissing Scottie feels as natural as breathing air. Depriving myself will only make me crave her more.