We held each other, our choppy breaths mingling, as we wiped at each other’s tear-stained faces with our lips.
He released me, took the poems from the box, and tossed them into the fire. “I don’t want them. Don’t need to hold on to them,” he said, staring at the blackened papers curling in the flames. He placed the tin box on the mantel and led me to the sofa.
I touched his leg. “I have something else for you.”
“Don’t get up—”
“Wait.” I went to the front door where I’d left my handbag. I pulled out the suede pouch and gave it to him.
His jaw tensed as he loosened the tie of the small black bag. The rosary fell into his hands.
“I had it fixed,” I said.
“Fixed?”
“It was broken. I know the cross can never be replaced. Frankly, I didn’t think it should be. Its cross was unique, and it’s with your mom. It’s hers.”
He held up the rosary, and the new pendant I’d found for it swung at the end. His hand went around it, holding it up.
“It’s a new cross,” I whispered. “For you.”
A silver cross made up of swords accented with bones and a skull at the top of it. My heart beat faster every second he remained silent, his eyes glued on the piece.
“This is your cross, made of swords and bones,” I said. “You’re always ready to defend me, protect me, always ready to put yourself on the line for who you love. No hesitation, ever. You live what you feel. You feel what you live, and you take no prisoners. It’s a beautiful, powerful thing, and I’m in awe of you. You helped me see that I can bear the weight of an iron sword that I have to use to protect myself, to protect my child, to protect you. You gave me that.
“Too many of us try to deny all the ugliness, to push it away. You don’t, Santiago. You stare it in the face. You always have. You break its bones with your iron sword when you have to. Yes, you destroyed lives with your crowbar. But now, you wield your sword with purpose. You wield it with a full heart and a strong arm, baby, and I love you.”
“Firefly.” He crushed me to his chest and kissed the top of my head, pulling me onto his lap. “You always believe.”
“I do, and I believe in you.” I pressed against him. “When I look at you, I don’t see some sort of guardian angel, and I don’t see gratitude or obligation. I see a man who needs me, like I need him. I see a man who’s brave and strong and extreme in how he feels and looks at the world. A man who loves fierce and hard and unforgiving. And in the very center of his big heart, there’s a fire burning.” I rubbed my hand over his heart and planted a kiss there. “And I want to be in there, burning and alive.”
I wiped my eyes and took the rosary from his hand and put it over his head, moving his hair out of the way. I kissed the cross of swords against his chest, and with a groan, he took my face in his hands and crushed his mouth against mine.
“I need you,” he whispered roughly.
We peeled our clothing back, pushing it away, kicking it off. He moaned as he entered me in one long move. His hair teased over my skin, and his cross settled on my chest, stroking me, as he slowly thrust inside me, filling me with his sorrows, his hopes, filling me with his love. He planted himself deep, and I ground up toward him.
“I love you, Santiago.”
He drove inside me, joining with me. We were one. It was raw and honest and merciless, and there was purity in that, a purity that I had never known before.
“I broke that bastard who hurt you,” he grunted in my ear as he moved inside me. “I did it. Broke his bones. Did it for Dig. Did it for you.” His one hand splayed across the curve of my belly against the baby. “You’re a fucking gift, a fucking gift.”
He raised himself up and stroked my clit in short tense pulses, and my body gave in to his binding grip, to his harsh rhythm.
“Fucking gift,” he growled.
We were one creature, surging with one need.
An explosion of cries and sensations shuddered through both of us, melding us together.
His arms tightened around me as he leaned over me. “Love you, Jillee,” he whispered against my skin.
We lay there, naked on the sofa, my fingers tracing lines over his chest, over the cross. I moved down and laid kisses on the scar across his abdomen. I knew I couldn’t put his pieces back together again, the pieces Inès had ripped apart, the parts of him that so much of his life had made brittle, disconnected. But I could hold him, love him, give him the warmth and hope of us, while he tried his best.
“I got lost in you,” his voice whispered in the shadows. “Just like you dared me to. You remember when you said that to me in Rae’s kitchen?”
“Yes.”