BEFORE:

Adam remained in his grandfather's company for a fraction of the time his father had spent in the elder man's home—or so he had been told.

After the morning he had awoken next to the dead prostitute, he was told other things, too. Like what his father had done while in the Captain's company. Fishing, his grandfather advised, a lot of fishing. Pa's days had been spent at the docks, it seemed; his evenings had been spent in the cemetery and the still company of Elizabeth's headstone.

"He went there to think," the Captain inferred. "Or, at least, I think he went there to think."

Adam figured he thought that, too. After all, was that not the very same reason he had sought the company of his mother's grave marker?

Not really, the voice in his mind was quick to correct. You went there to mourn the truth you heard about your father. To grieve a past you thought you knew but did not. His visit to Elizabeth's final resting place had little to do with the mother he had never known and much more to do with the father he had always believed he did. He did not, he realized that now. He did not know his father any more than he knew himself, and in the moment, he did not feel as though he knew himself at all.

Remaining in the Captain's steely presence, he allowed Mrs. Callahan to fuss over him and worry about the state of the wound to his head. The bleeding had finally stopped, allowing a solid look at the linear cut that ran the distance between his hairline and right eyebrow. It was longer than it was deep; it did not require stitches and after scabbing over, it promised to heal without scarring or complication. The force of whatever had hit him did leave its fair share of problems, however: a spattering of dark bruising encompassing his forehead, eye socket, and cheek, a dull thudding in his skull, and an absence of memories regarding the night in question. The alcohol, coupled with the mysterious injury had impacted his mind, leaving him without memories of the events that followed his eventual departure from the graveyard and his supposed employment of the woman who had died in his company.

Adam did not recall what the woman had looked like before her features had been demolished. He did not know her name. He did not remember their introduction or her death, but he became certain he recalled other things. Like the overpowering smell of her perfume and the feeling of her hands roaming his body, and in the quietest of moments he thought he heard her voice.

"If you open your eyes," she had said throatily, words that seemed to reverberate through his very skull each time they were recalled. "I'll give you a big surprise. I have such big plans for you. I am a sucker when it comes to the tall, dark, and mysterious types."

Still haunted by her disfigurement, Adam found himself desperately wishing he could have kept his eyes closed. He wished for other things, too. That he would have finished his conversation with the Captain rather than run from it. That he could have avoided the cemetery and the bottle of whiskey he had drank altogether. That, exercising wisdom and restraint, he would have thought better than to put himself in a volatile situation that had led him to another, the horrific death of a woman and an accusation he could not begin to refute.

He read the daily newspaper religiously, his heart thudding in his chest as he skimmed the pages searching for mention of the horrendous event. He never found so much as a sentence dedicated to the woman, detailing how she had lived or died. By the fourth morning, Adam finally began to believe the elder constable's grim proclamation: no one cared about the death of a prostitute. No one except him, it seemed. He could not be unaffected by her death if he tried.

In the hours which followed his release from jail and his solitary breakdown in a tub of lukewarm water that had cleansed his body, but not his heart and soul, memories of the distant past had begun to conspire against him. Long-repressed images of Laura's body haunted him incessantly, colliding with another he had not seen: the corpse of a saloon girl Will had hired for a night of companionship in a tiny, rough coastal town. They were two women who had a single thing in common. Will Cartwright had been the last one to be with them both. Of course, they had another thing in common, as macabre as it was to think about now. Though the nature of Adam's relationship with Laura was drastically different from that he had shared—or not shared—with the saloon gal, that did not change the fact that they had both met him. He had known them, too. And if Will was to be perceived as a person linking the two deceased women together, then Adam figured he could be defined as one as well. A third woman was dead. It was not Will, rather Adam who had seen her last.

It was Adam who had awoken next to her body. He who had her blood on his hands. He who had given into panic and screamed. He who had been saved by the badge that he wore. He was hiding behind it, that was what the elder constable said—just as the Captain had told him, his paternal grandfather had once hidden behind his. Adam knew he did not kill that woman; he simply could not have done such a vile thing. Still, clinging to his certainty regarding his innocence did not change the fact that she was dead. It did not change the culpability he felt. It did not change what he had to do next.

"I'm leaving today," Adam announced during breakfast on the fourth morning of his stay. He could not bear to remain there any more, apprehensively perusing the daily newspaper, anxiously waiting for repercussions that would never come.

Casting him a regretful gaze, Mrs. Callahan looked as though she might cry. The Captain, however, seemed to have been expecting the announcement. "Aye," he said. "And where will you go? Back to the trails the badge on your chest dictates you follow, or will you choose the road you take on your own?"

"I'm going home," Adam said.

"Nevada."

His grandfather seemed so pleased that Adam did not have the heart to correct the assumption.

"I have something for you," Adam stated eventually as he stood on the stoop outside of his grandfather's house. Opening his saddlebag, he reached past his father's unopened letter, Weston's unfinished list, and the grisly photograph of the woman's remains the constable had given him and procured a different photograph which he presented to the Captain. He watched as the man squinted at the item, struggling to identify the people it depicted.

"Lad?" the Captain asked, both his tone of voice and expression hopeful.

"That's my family," Adam explained. "The life I found when I walked away from the one my father provided me. Eddie is my wife. Peggy you've heard of, of course; she's our daughter now. Charlie is our oldest son. Noah is our youngest."

"Eddie, Peggy, Charlie, and Noah," the Captain repeated, holding the picture with great care. "Aye, lad, it's a handsome group. You've done very well. Very well, indeed. Your father will be so proud." Looking at Adam, he smiled. "And so am I."

Opening his mouth, Adam found the statement he had intended to say was superseded by another. "Charlie was named after our fathers," he said, voicing something suddenly seemed too meaningful to keep secret. "Noah was named after our grandfathers."

"Charles Benjamin," the Captain deduced softly.

"Noah Abel."

For a moment, the Captain was too overcome to speak. "Oh, Adam, oh, lad, you don't know what that will mean to your father, or what it means to me."

And for the second time in his life, Adam found himself pulled into the Captain's embrace. Holding his grandfather tightly, he could not help the emotion that stirred inside of him. He wondered if he would see him again. If his children would ever be fortunate enough to know the greatness of the man who had never demanded credit for his son-in-law's successes, but who was more responsible for shaping Ben Cartwright's life than anyone else. Abel Stoddard may have had his faults but his staunch probity outweighed all of them. It outweighed everything.

"Thank you, Grandfather," Adam said, his gruff voice thick with emotion he could not repress. "For telling me the truth about Pa, and for understanding what he was up against as a boy and taking care of him when no one else would."

The Captain seemed to hold him a little tighter and closer than before. "I'm not the only one capable of doing that," he whispered. "The next time you lay eyes upon each other, you'll see beyond his anger and his fear, and you'll understand him, too."

Adam knew that he would, because he already did. All these years he had thought he understood why his father had said the things he had during their last argument, and why he had protected Will. He had believed it was pride, anger, disappointment, and stubbornness that had led Pa to act the way he had. Now he knew father had been afraid of telling the truth about the family he had left behind. It was fear that had led him to protect Will at the cost of Peggy. He was terrified the disclosure of the past would change the understanding of the present and future, of having to refine his identity or his sons' understanding of that identity. Pa was petrified that telling the truth about the bad would somehow annul all the good, this, Adam knew, because he was afraid of that now, too.

What would his grandfather think of him if he knew a prostitute had died in his company? If told the puzzling details of the mysterious night, would he glean the same conclusion the constables had? Or would his understanding of his grandson render such assumptions implausible? What would Eddie think of the interaction between the man she loved and the woman who had died? How would she choose to perceive the irrefutable details to form an unknowable truth? How would Lil and Peggy? Or anyone else whose opinion mattered to him? With all the things Adam did not know, there was one thing he was certain of. There was no way to properly explain the situation. To separate the things he had done from those he had not.

Finally emancipated from the Captain's arms, Adam was pulled into those of another. Clinging to him tightly, Mrs. Callahan gave into her tears. Feeling the painful burning of his jaw as his throat began to tighten, he swallowed and forced himself not to give into his own. He would not cry. Not here. Not again. And certainly not in front of her. He would control his emotions until he simply could not stand to do so any more. How long that would be, he did not know. He prayed it would be a long time from now, because he had things to do, miles to go, and a road to follow until he reached the bitter end. He did not know what it would lead him to, or what he would find. He was not quite sure what he was looking for—or maybe that was just a truth he was unprepared to admit to himself just yet.

He planned to go to San Francisco first. Then Nevada later, he supposed. Much later, when he no longer had a badge pinned to his chest. Much, much later, after he married Eddie and gave himself to her and his children fully, when he finally became the husband and father he should have been all along. He would make things right with Eddie, Pa, and everyone else, one way or another, he would.

It was a rainy afternoon that found him walking the San Franciscan cobblestone street leading to the Manfred house. Coming upon the staggering steps spanning the steep incline between the white, Italianate row-house and an equally steep road, he hesitated, wrapping his arms around the body of his saddle bag as it hung over his shoulder. A strange feeling began to build in the pit of his stomach; it was neither hesitance, nor apprehension, rather something else.

The house still stood tall; its height seemed so overwhelming in comparison to his own. Vertical and narrow, its windows and front door were inviting; although, he still thought the steep angle of the false parapet built on top of the roof seemed to extend a bit too high. Fancy trickery was all that it was; a counterfeit roof placed upon the real one to make people think the building was more grandiose than it actually was, because men could never allow things to be as they were. They always had to pretend they were something they were not.

He stood there for what felt like hours before he was finally noticed.

"Daddy's home!" Charlie's voice shouted, the sudden noise taking Adam by such surprise that he jumped.

The front door was thrust open and Charlie popped out. Emerging on his heels, Peggy held Noah on her hip as a conflicted expression settled upon her face. She looked at Adam as though she could see right through him; as though she had neither expected nor wanted to see him so soon.

"Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!" Charlie excitedly shouted as he sped across the porch with stocking-covered feet. Lips curled into a wide smile, he was positively beaming, his little arms pumping in time with his short legs.

"Careful, Charlie," Adam warned firmly as his son's feet left the dry wooden steps connected to the porch and padded upon the slick, rain-covered, stone ones which led to the street. "If you fall, you're liable to break your neck."

Charlie quickened his pace, his feet slipping and sliding precariously, his excitement rendering him incapable of heeding his father's warning.

Worry propelling him forward, Adam sprinted up the steep steps as his son rushed down them. Peggy gasped and Adam watched in horror as Charlie's foot inevitably slipped, the velocity of his movement coupled with the slope of the stairs thrusting his little body forcefully down. He fell for what felt like minutes, his body careening through the air, his father struggling to rush upward as quickly as his son was falling downward.

Adam did not know how he closed the staggering gap between them in such a short amount of time, but somehow he did. Instead of falling hard upon the unyielding stone, Charlie was grasped underneath his armpits, pulled upward, and thrust into his father's arms. His own footing dislodged by the power of his own sudden movement, Adam nearly fell over himself, but thankfully he did not.

A deep-chested breath of exertion transforming into a sigh of relief, he held Charlie close to his chest, and waited for the tightness of it to ebb and his heartbeat to calm. He had nearly been too late. Oh, god, if he had been just one step behind when Charlie had fallen, then the outcome would have been drastically different than it was. He wanted to yell at the boy, reprimanding him for not listening to his blatant instruction. Instead, he held him tightly, taking solace in the weight in his arms as thick droplets of rain fell heavily from the sky to soak them both.

"Hi, Daddy," Charlie said brightly. "I missed you."

And I almost missed you, Adam thought grimly. "Son," he said deeply, forcing a composure he did not feel. "Don't ever do that again." Looking over the tot's head, he cast Peggy an inquisitive glance. "Where's your mother?"

"Buried in a cemetery a territory away," Peggy said curtly.

Frowning, Adam was as taken aback by the teen's words as he was her tone. He had never known her to be this immediately difficult. Usually, she reserved her tight tones for utilization a day or two after he returned. "Okay," he said, resigning himself to trying again. Adjusting his grip on Charlie, he scaled the rest of the walkway, only speaking again when he stood in front of her under the dry protection of the porch overhang. "Where's Eddie?"

"Out," Peggy said.

"And Lil?"

"Out."

"Out, out, always out! Never in." Charlie's loud declaration gave way to a fit of giggles. Both Adam and Peggy looked at him, their expressions frozen in twin confusion. "Daddy," he said when his bout of laughter had passed. "Did you know that out is the opposite of in?"

"I did know that," Adam said, his chest tightening once more. The real question was how did Charlie know that? Though, logically Adam knew his son was old enough to be learning about and retaining the details of such things, irrationally he thought that he should not have been.

Charlie squirmed in Adam's arms. "Let me down," he insisted. "Big boys stand on their own two feet."

The declaration stung nearly as much as the one that had come before it. Still, Adam complied. When he had been home last, Charlie had not expressed qualms with being held. He had only been gone for five months, how could his son have changed so much during that time? He looked at Peggy, not expecting an answer to his silent, heart wrenching query.

"Just because you aren't here to teach him, that doesn't mean he doesn't learn new things," she said knowingly. "Time doesn't stop when you leave; we all change, even if you aren't here to watch it happen." She glanced at Noah who smiled shyly at Adam and extended his arms, a silent bid to transfer from his sister's arms to those of his father. "That's a change, too," she said. "He remembers you this time."

Holding his youngest son close, Adam found it difficult to grieve the lost closeness of his eldest. After all, there was no harm in Charlie growing up a little, especially when he had a younger brother who was eager to take his place. Head settling on his father's shoulder, Noah remained content in his arms for the remainder of the afternoon. Adam was not eager to let him go, for fear that the next time he wanted to pick him up he would find such a thing suddenly not allowed, for the only thing that matched Charlie's quick enthusiasm was Noah's caution.

Extending a careful hand, Noah indicated at the scabbed over wound and the bruising marking the side of Adam's face, his wide eyes and intense expression seemed to ask what had happened. Grabbing his son's hand, Adam pulled it away, kissed it, and placed it on his shoulder.

"What happened to your head? Peggy asked, giving voice to the question.

"I fell," Adam said simply. It was the only explanation that would be provided.

The afternoon slipped away into the evening without either woman of the house returning, Adam helped Peggy prepare dinner and feed the youngsters. Then he assisted in bathing and tucking them into bed. Sometime during the evening's activities, a new question emerged, one he was careful not to voice until he and Peggy sat alone at the table in the kitchen. Homework spread out on the table in front of her, the girl seemed to ignore his incessant attention in favor of her book of figures.

Having chosen a cup of coffee over a pour of whiskey, Adam could not help his prolonged stare. The warm, dark liquid coupled with his nerves was making him jittery, rending control over such things nearly impossible. Besides, it was not as though there was nothing to be gleaned from the action. He realized quickly how uncomfortable Peggy was beneath the attention. She had begun counting; each number she uttered beneath her breath seemed to have less to do with the figures printed on the pages of her book and more to do with an unassociated, never-ending list.

"...Twenty-four, twenty-five, twenty-six…"

Adam knew the list could continue until the end of time. Unless, of course, someone chose to end it, taking pity on the girl who had fallen captive to such irrationalities.

"Out with it, Peg," he said, finally.

"I'm not supposed to say."

"What aren't you supposed to say?"

"The thing Eddie wants to tell you herself."

"Does it have anything to do with her being away this afternoon?" Adam asked carefully.

"Maybe."

"Does this happen a lot?"

"Does what happen a lot?" Peggy deflected.

"Does she leave you and the boys here by yourselves?"

"Yes… No. Pa, it isn't what you think."

"How would you know what I'm thinking about?"

"Because I watched it, remember? I saw it happen all those years ago."

"You saw what happen?"

"Mommy chose Will over you. Eddie would never do that. She loves you, more than Mommy ever could or did. If that is what you're thinking is keeping her away tonight, then you mustn't, because it isn't true."

"Hm," Adam grunted into his coffee cup. He had not thought that, but now that the notion had been brought up, he wondered how he would prevent himself from examining it further. Laura had strayed when he had not found enough time to spend with her. What was keeping her cousin from doing the same? And could Adam really blame Eddie if she had? Memories of the dead prostitute's ghastly injuries rose to assault him, and he pushed them away. Now was not the time to be thinking about that. "What is keeping Eddie away?" he asked, his voice soft, the question blunt.

"The thing she wants to tell you herself." Peggy said.

Closing her book, she collected her scattered papers and placed them neatly on top of it. Standing, she made her way to his side, extended her arms, and leaned in for a hug.

"I'm happy to see you," she whispered, clinging to him tightly. "I didn't say that before, but I am. Promise me something?"

"Anything."

"No matter what happens, no matter what the future brings, promise you'll always call me your daughter. Promise I'll always be yours."

"I promise," Adam said. Though he did not understand the sudden need for such an assurance, he was happy to provide it, even if it left him feeling deeply unnerved.

Her books in hand, Peggy retired to her bedroom for the evening. Adam took his coffee and up pacing in front of the fireplace in the sitting room. He did not know how much time passed as he made his way from one end of the room to the other, the repetition of the motion meant to soothe him but only furthering his unease. The coffee did not help matters; Adam was aware of this and still drank the whole pot for the sole reason that it gave him something to do, the jittery energy it instilled within him something else to think about than the dark thoughts circling his mind.

It was nearly nine o'clock when Eddie finally came home. Leaving her coat and pocket book in the closet by the door, she did not seem to see him at first as she stood by the wall partitioning the sitting room from the rest of the hallway. She unpinned her hair, ran her hands over her face wearily, and expelled a sigh. The breath was decidedly exhausted, made thick by the emotion she was struggling to repress.

"Hey, Buddy," Adam said softly.

Gasping, she looked at him, her eyes wide and full of unshed tears, stared for a moment, then opened her arms, beckoning him closer as she lost her battle with her sobs.

Adam could not get to her fast enough. "What's wrong?" he asked, knowing for certain that it was worse than just wrong. For over five years they had shared a life together and this was the first time she had ever allowed him to see her cry.

Clinging to him, she shook her head into his shoulder. The moisture of her tears clung to his shirt, leaving a darkened patch of wetness behind. He did not venture another question; he did not try to do anything at all, as he held her close and tight to his chest.

"Oh, Buddy," she whimpered after a time. "I stood outside of that front door, closed my eyes, and wished that you would be inside waiting for me. I can't believe you're really here. I can't believe that such a childish thing was allowed to come true."

"I've been here for a while. Where were you?"

Her body stiffened in his arms. "Out."

"So Peggy said. Where's your mother?"

"Not here."

"I figured that. Where'd she go?"

Shaking her head in an overwhelmed manner, Eddie's tears were renewed. She rested her head against his shoulder, shook it again. She was not going to tell him, he realized. Whatever had happened was much too fresh to share, and Adam was suddenly feeling too tired to pry. Emancipating himself from her arms, he slung one of his own over her shoulder, pulled her close, and led her up the stairs. They did not discuss the sleeping arrangement—not that they ever really did. Still sniffling, she looked neither surprised nor offended when he led her into her bedroom and then closed the door behind them. What Lil was not around to become privy to would not hurt her. Eddie was much too upset for Adam to leave her side, and he was much too worried to tolerate sleeping alone.

They stripped down to their underthings in silence. Then climbed into bed, reached out, and clung to each other in the darkness. Sleep claimed Eddie quickly. Adam struggled to follow suit. He was too accustomed to sleeping alone. Eddie's head felt like a weight on his chest; the temperature of her body against his own was a little too hot to be ignored. He felt claustrophobic, shoved into a corner with no identifiable means of escape. He could have pulled away from her; he could have risen from the bed and retired to the one he was only moderately used to. But he did not. The only thing less appealing than being next to her was the notion of being further away.

It was her who rolled away from him. Turning in her sleep, she curled into a slumbering ball on the other side of the bed. Taking a deep, relieved breath, he turned in the opposite direction, leaving their backs facing but not touching as he stared at the dark abyss of the room surrounding them. He fell into a light doze, awakening as sunlight began to first peek through the bottom of the curtains when the mattress swayed and dipped slightly, reminding him of the existence of his bedmate. He was immediately slightly panicked and then more or less confused. It took him a moment to recall where he was and why, who the woman behind him was.

What was uncomfortable the evening before was no longer. He felt something stir deep inside of him. Inching closer to her, he rolled over, slipped his hand beneath the blankets, and ran his index fingers up and down the length of her side. Back still facing him, she was no longer curled up; her form was long and lean beneath the warm blanket. If sleeping in the same bed was a struggle, waking up together certainly was not.

"Hey," he whispered as he leaned over to nuzzle her exposed neck. It was the beginning of the very thing Lil was afraid of them doing—the reason the woman had tried so hard to keep them apart—but Adam found it was difficult to care about Lil's worry. As Eddie began to stir, he resigned himself not to think of her mother at all.

His lips worked their way up and down Eddie's neck. His nose twitched slightly, assaulted by a strong scent of her perfume. He was almost certain she had not been wearing any the evening before. He was sure the smell was not one either of them favored, as overpowering and strangely familiar as it was. There was something about the floral aroma that bothered him deeply. It made his chest tighten and his stomach turn. He had smelled it before. Just not on the woman he loved.

Lips pressed against the side of her throat, he was alarmed to suddenly find them wet, dripping with a substance that tasted like copper as it slipped into his mouth. Gasping, he pulled away from her, wiping the back of his hand over his mouth and then staring in horror at the red smeared across his skin.

Beginning to stir in earnest, Eddie emitted a slight yawn, grasped the blanket covering her body, and threw it down. Nightclothes clinging to her form, she was covered in blood. She turned to face him, and, with panic gripping his heart, Adam realized that Eddie was not really Eddie at all. It was the brutalized prostitute who was next to him on the bed. Though her face was still intact, thick lines of glistening blood were pouring from invisible wounds along her hairline.

"Heya, handsome," she said.

Adam could not formulate an audible reply. This had to be a dream, or a horrendous nightmare.

"There's blood on your face," the woman added, nodding at the streaks on his hand. "On your hands too. That's terribly disappointing. Who exactly do you think is going to clean this mess up?"

She lunged at him as he rolled to lay on his back, and for some unknown—ungodly—reason he did not fight back. Maybe it was his shock that was rooting him in place. Maybe it was his guilt. Maybe it was something else entirely. Whatever it was, it did not help him emancipate his body from her almost unyielding hold. It did not stop her from climbing to sit atop him or the movement of her body.

This is a dream, he thought frightfully as he clenched his eyes shut. There is no way this is real. It simply could not be. The woman was dead, buried now in some cemetery back east. This could not be happening. But somehow it was.

"Open your eyes," she demanded tersely. Planting her palms on his chest, she sat up, her weight sitting heavily on his pelvis as she began to rock back and forth.

Oh, god, she smelled horrendous. Still clenching his eyes shut, Adam longed to be able to close his nostrils, too. It was worse than bad breath this time; her body smelled rotten, reeking of a stench worse than death.

"Open your eyes!" she demanded again. "Open your eyes!"

Suddenly snapping out of his inactivity, Adam lifted his arms and blindly reached for her wrists. Grasping them tightly, he thrust her hands off his chest and her weight off her body.

"Buddy!" a familiar voice shrieked.

Heart racing, Adam opened his eyes to find himself laying over Eddie, his hands still gripping her wrists painfully tight.

Brows raised and eyes wide with fear, her face was etched with shock. "Buddy," she said breathlessly. "You're hurting me."

Feeling a surge of shame, he let go of her hands and climbed off her to sit on the side of the bed. They were quiet for a moment, both struggling to regain control over their heartbeats and breaths.

"I'm sorry," she whispered eventually. "I have such fond memories of coming to you in the night and waking you up like that. You used to like it. I guess I didn't realize that…" she hesitated and took a deep breath. "I guess I did not realize that was something that had changed."

Adam could not stand the sadness of her voice any more than he could tolerate the question glistening in her mournful blue eyes. When did it change? Her eyes seemed to ask. And who changed it?

"Adam," she said carefully, overlooking their fond epithet for the first time in years. "It isn't as though we spend a great deal of time together. It isn't as though we are able to truly be together when we are. I am acutely aware of my shortcomings as a wife. I understand that a man has certain wants, certain needs…"

"Eddie," Adam tried, needing so badly for the conversation to end.

But she continued, her voice wavering with emotion she could no longer suppress. "I would understand if there was someone else," she said tearfully. "I'm not a foolish woman. I know that a man rarely remains faithful to the woman who bore him his children or wears his ring. Especially a woman who suffers from the complications I do."

"Eddie," Adam repeated, his voice firmer as he moved toward her on the bed. Sitting cross-legged beside her, he leaned over, and held her face in between his hands. The horrendous dream of the prostitute lingered leadenly, making him feel overcome by guilt and sorrow. He should not have met the woman in the first place. Never should have put himself in a situation to be held captive to such dreams. What had happened between them he could not be sure—he could never be sure—but that did not mean he could not convince Eddie to be sure of something. "There's no one else. There will never be anyone else." There was a hint of desperation in his tone; he heard it and he knew she heard it, too. "Sweetheart, I love you. You're my girl, my only girl; there's no one else in the world for me; like it or not, you're stuck with me for good."

Lifting her hands, she reached for him, grasping him behind his neck, pulling him in for a deep, hungry kiss. He could taste the salt of her tears on his lips, could feel the instance of her neediness, meddling with increasing heat of his own. In the light of the early morning hours, he clung to her as though his salvation depended upon it, as though her love and the actions born from that love were the only things that could save him from what he had become. What exactly he had become, he was not sure. But he knew that there was a price to pay for each one of his mistakes and missteps. And when he finished inside of her with a gasp, sweat clinging to his brow, his breath haggard as it left his chest, he knew that there would be a price to pay for this one, too.

TBC

Thanks for all the comments! I'm not worthy of half of the lovely things you all say, but they're appreciated just the same. : )