Crash (Sinners and Saints #1)

by Kathy Lockheart

“If I had my way, you’d be on nothing but lean proteins and organic vegetables.”

“So help me, if you even think of taking this away from me after letting me taste it, I’ll stab your doctor hand with my syrup-covered fork.”

“I’m simply asking you to take vitamins that will actually benefit your body. Vitamin deficiencies are linked to countless medical complications.”

“Fine,” I conceded. “I’ll try.” “Try hard,”

“Or I’ll have Maria crush them into your smoothie.” “I’m not five years old.” “So, you can swallow?”

“Thought you worked thirty-hour shifts?” “Day off.” “And you’re going in?” “Have some things to look into.” “Me,”

“My labs.” “I have a team working on this. Want to check their progress.”

“Maria, make fettuccine Alfredo tonight. Fresh bread,...

“But tonight’s brussels sprouts and⁠—”...

“And a Caesar...

That was my favorite meal, the exact one I’d mentioned during a casual conversation years ago. More surprising than his perfect memory was his willingness t...

“Tell me. How do you function when he walks around like that? Because I’m going to need survival tips.”

“I’m afraid you’ll need to get used to it if you stay here; Dr. Morrison frequently wears no shirts.”

“Is he always like this?” I wondered aloud, finally picking up the first pill. “No,” she answered thoughtfully. “I’ve never seen this side of him.”

“Really? I figured he always acts like a massive control freak.” “Loving,”

“I’ve never seen him act loving like ...

“He’s normally …” “An...

“I was going to say serious and rigid.” “S...

“I would never describe my boss in unflat...

“But this softer side? It’s r...

“I hope you stick aroun...

Seriously, if there was a way to look regal while being violently assaulted by jet streams, I was for sure not pulling it off. I swatted the water like a swarm of bats. Through my waterlogged lashes, I caught a glimpse of broad shoulders, defined abs, and—thank God—dark shorts before Blake reached for something I couldn’t see. The assault suddenly ceased.

Oh no. I am mortified for her.

“Here.” He grabbed a fluffy towel and wrapped it around my shoulders, his fingers lingering a moment too long. “You look like a drowned rat.” “Your shower tried to murder me,”

Blake smiled an honest-to-God genuine smile, rubbing my shoulders, trying to warm me up, and as his hands moved in slow, steady strokes, I found myself leaning into his touch, craving more of that warmth. More of him.

I watched, transfixed, as a droplet of water traced its way down his neck, disappearing into the hollow of his throat. My fingers itched to follow its path, to explore every inch of skin on display, and when I dragged my attention back to his face, I found him studying me with an expression that made my breath catch. Part wonder, part hunger, all heat.

I tilted my face up slightly, willing him to lower his lips to mine, to claim my mouth with his own. The tension between us was like a live wire, one pulse away from exploding, and somehow, I knew that if we kissed, it wouldn’t stop there. Couldn’t. After years of fantasizing over Blake Morrison, I needed him, all of him, a fresh throb pulsing between my thighs to accentuate the point.

Other people would probably be offended by his death glare, his cutting tone, but I sensed those were tools in his belt to push anyone away who’d gotten too close to seeing what was all over his torso: scars of various sizes and colors, scars that didn’t belong on a teenage boy’s body. Each one looked like a cry carved into his skin.

Oh my god. I am sick to my stomach.

He’d chosen to write over that chapter of his story, but I’d never forget being the one who’d read it in its original text, written in scars and trust.

I remembered that intimate moment when Tessa found my scars and how instantly, and unendingly, my feelings for her intensified. Which terrified me. It scared me that Tessa could shoot me a smile from across the room, and it would ignite the air in my lungs with chemistry and desire. It scared me how helpless I was around her, my eyes constantly seeking her out, my ears straining for even a whisper of her angelic voice.

So, I’d fought against my feelings for her. Hid them behind sarcasm and a foul mood, willing the unwanted feelings to go away because after a lifetime of collecting rejections like medical degrees, I couldn’t survive another. Especially not from Tessa. If she pointed to the door, whatever was left of my soul would splinter into dust.

The problem? With other people, my defenses were reinforced with steel and sarcasm, but they might as well have been made of paper when it came to her. Fighting these feelings became exhausting. Like a drowning person trying to swim against the current to save themselves. Wild and desperate, yet infuriatingly ineffective. I suppose it was only a matter of time before I’d lose the fight with that current.

After staring at her across the room the entire night, after thinking about all the what-ifs, I couldn’t stop seeing her for what she was: a radiating ball of light, like the sun drifting through a party, unaware that she was illuminating everything in her space.

Her texts came later, filled with gentle letdowns and kind rejections, ones I couldn’t face at the time. Not in depth anyway. All I could do then was merely read them, not knowing how to respond. But now. Now here she was. In my home. More specifically, my bathroom, dripping with water and temptation …

Maybe I misread everything from her all these years. Every look, every word, every touch. Maybe we weren’t as close as I thought. I wanted to ask her about it. We’d never had that talk like we’d agreed to, and I needed to know. Why had she run from me? And why hadn’t she told me about this scar when she was lucid? If she hadn’t been medicated, would she have ever told me about it? She probably didn’t remember that I knew. And now that I thought about it, standing here, pretending I didn’t know who’d done this to her felt like another betrayal to Tessa. A betrayal I needed to come clean with.

Which leads straight into anger. Women shouldn’t have to be warned—constantly—about the dangers of men.

“I didn’t know what I was saying,”

“I was drugged.” “You don’t need to hide from me.”

“Not from me, Tess.” “Well … it was a long time ago.”

“Stop.” “Stop what?” “I can feel you pulling away. Don’t shut me out.”

“That was different.” “Was it?”

“You said you saw me as a warrior. It wasn’t until I saw your scar that I finally understood what you meant.”

“You see me as a warrior?” It was so anti-feminine, caring this much what a man thought of me. But this wasn’t just a man. This was Blake. My Blake. “More than you can imagine.”

“I’ve been going through every memory,”

“trying to pinpoint when this happened to you. Then, today, it hit me. That weekend Ryker and I were home from college for your dad’s birthday. You came in late, went straight to your room. Ryker thought it was just some boyfriend-breakup drama, but …”

“Something felt wrong. After Ryker fell asleep, I went to your door.” “I...

“But I could hear you crying. It was … brutal to hear your pain. I wasn’t sure what to do, so I just …” His voice roughened. “I sat outside your door...

“Isn’t that pathetic? That I wanted you to be proud of me for that?”

“I am proud of you. And I wish you’d let me in that night.” “I almost did.”

“I wanted so badly to just … feel enveloped b...

“Why didn’t you?” “I was overwhelmed, processing it all. And I couldn’t let Ryker find out, so I just …”