There was poison inside me too. Because of what had happened to me with Allen, because of the guilt from my mother. Neither of us could purge ourselves of it completely, but we could help each other. Like the way I'd read the old settlers of this place would deal with snake bites, lancing the wound and sucking out the venom.

And so the words began to flow.

"He was my mentor in seminary school. The man who gave me that rosary. Norman had already graduated but while he was working as a missionary, he'd had a crisis of faith. Some of the things he'd seen...the atrocities that men will commit on other men. On women."

My heart swelled with sadness for him-that man, but mostly for Hunter.

"We became friends though. I was starry-eyed, nave. Idealistic in the extreme. He started off jaded, but he seemed to calm over the years I was there. Norm taught me what he knew, and he told me later it felt like he was relearning it. Neither of us questioned that it was God who had brought us together as the best of friends."

He went silent.

"What happened?" I whispered.

I already knew the way this story ended, but I wanted to hear it. And maybe he needed to tell it.

"We were lucky. When I graduated, two positions opened up in the same parish. We loved that place, the church, the community. At night we would talk over dinner, debating the same passages over again. It was..." I felt him swallow. "It was everything I had dreamed of having."

"And then?"

"There was one family there with a teenaged daughter. The parents were wealthy but both very busy. The daughter had come to our Sunday school, she joined the choir. She started having trouble in school. Nothing too alarming, skipping school and hanging with the wrong crowd, but they wanted counseling for her."

This time even I fell silent, reluctant to hear how his peace was shattered. Nervous to learn of the woman I'd reminded him of, at least at first.

"She told me...She said she'd been waiting until she was of age, she said. It wasn't the first time a parishioner had confessed to a crush, but it was the first time she wouldn't take no for an answer. I was uncomfortable... embarrassed. I told her I couldn't speak to her one-on-one anymore. I considered talking to her parents, but then she was nineteen and living on her own. She started having regular sessions with Norm, and I figured the problem was solved."

He pulled me tighter, so tight I couldn't breathe. I stroked him, running my fingers over the goose-bumped skin on his chest.

"I didn't realize it, but she was saying the same things to him. Earning his trust. He thought she loved him. He loved her back. And then she told him that I'd taken advantage of her. That I'd touched her even though I hadn't. Not ever."

"I know," I said quietly, though I was sure he wasn't listening. He was tense, sweating, back in the past that hurt him.

"He called the police. They showed up to take me away in handcuffs while he watched from the curb. He wouldn't listen to me, refused to talk about me or see me. I was convicted without ever hearing him speak another word to me."

"I'm sorry," I whispered.

He laughed. "He left the cloth for her. I don't know why, maybe he got suspicious or she just needed to confess, but somehow she ended up telling him the truth. Did she think he would stay with her anyway? He got proof to my lawyer, and they overturned the sentence. In a way, it was too late for me. I was already so fucked up. So many fights...those nights in the ER...I didn't want to be like this. I had to survive. I couldn't..."

"I know. I understand. You couldn't let them."

"The craziest part of the whole thing was when I was released from prison. I got it into my head that he'd be there waiting for me. He would apologize, and I'd already forgiven him. I knew I could never go back to the priesthood, but at least I'd have a friend."

I pulled myself up to face him. "You have a friend."

He tucked a strand of hair behind my head. "I don't deserve one. You, least of all."

"I know I'm pretty great," I said blithely.

He grinned. "A saint."

I rested my forehead against his the way I had in his truck. It brought me closer to him, like I could pull the pain from him and take it into my own body. He did the same for me, really, and we were both conduits for the pain, the currents between us grounding us together. He was the god of thunder, retreating from the world that had rejected him. I was the maiden he'd caught going over the edge, who he'd secreted away in his lair beneath the falls.

"Sometimes I think Norm was a bastard. A stupid, horrible person," he continued, "and I curse him to Hell. Then other days...I knew my friend too well. He believed her. Maybe he was blindsided by her looks or interest in him. Or maybe he was too messed up by what he'd already seen. But either way, he truly believed it of me and that hurt the worst. He's been out there, somewhere, feeling like shit, and I can't stop it. I don't even want to care about that, but I do."

I knew the feeling exactly. My mother wasn't the best, but she hadn't wanted me hurt. She hadn't realized what Allen was doing to me until it was too late. Like Hunter, too late.

And yet, here we both were. Two second chances. Almost a miracle.

"Forgive yourself. It's the only way we can be together."

His lip quirked. "Are you preaching to me, Evie?"

"You know what they say. Those who can, do. Those who can't, preach."

"Do they say that?"

"I have no idea. I've spoken to approximately five people my whole life."

He grinned and kissed me, his lips curved as they pressed against mine.

It was the first time we had really kissed. His tongue met mine in a sensual meeting, a languid caress followed by another and another. He explored me there as thoroughly as he knew the rest of my body, learning each contour and sweetly sensitive shadow.

Though I felt the usual heat flaring between us, there was no urgency, no expectation that it would turn into more. It touched me that he would spare me sex now when he thought I was weak, but he still didn't quite realize that sex with him strengthened me. It was the most intimate of embraces, a show of support and desire unequaled.

Anticipation warm in my belly, I began to kiss my way down his neck, his chest, and lower, lower, but he stopped me.

Glancing up, I asked, "No?"

He shook his head. "You don't need the added salt intake when you're already dehydrated."

I snorted, then licked the curve of his abs. "You're not that salty."

"Not yet."

My laugh was cut short by the shock of cool water on my belly. He had found that damned washcloth again and he used it to full advantage this time, rubbing it along my body and limbs, over my hardened nipples and down into the soft, damp valley below. He teased me through the rough cloth, dragging me higher to a sharp-sweet crescendo.

I shook in his arms, until he released me and moved downward.

His tongue replaced the cloth, a caress infused with the absolution we needed in the past, a prayer spoken against tender, swollen skin. He took me to heaven and then pulled me back down again with the sharp, swift thrust of him inside me.

It would always be this way, the ecstasy and the pain. They twined together in a path we would walk, unknowing and unseeing, each glad to have found a friend. All I wanted was to be with Hunter wherever his rig should take us. Across the country, around the world.

Like chasing rainbows and capturing each one in the smile it gave us.

The End

Epilogue.

In French, the word "salut" means both "hello" and "goodbye".

The only thing I could see was a long row of red No Smoking signs. The cabin had gone dark after dinner-which had tasted surprisingly good. Paneer masala and saffron rice. Not food I expected on Air France, but I didn't mind. I wanted to experience everything the world had to offer, even if it came in small plastic trays from a rolling cart.

My skin had permanently pebbled in the cool airplane. A sandpaper blanket did little to warm me. And the bucket seat had stopped being comfortable around the fifth hour of flight. The man in front of me had reclined his seat so he was almost in my lap. A woman behind me tap-tap-tapped her foot against the back of my chair.

And beside me, the little boy managed to flick me with a rubber band. Again.

I tried to give the women on the other side of him a glare that would seem both understanding and firm. Yes, kids would be kids-but if anyone was going to deal with it, shouldn't it be his mother? Unfortunately, she seemed to have fallen asleep.

The boy grinned at me, clearly expecting a response. I probably wasn't allowed to flick him back...

Kids were another thing I didn't know about, like Indian food and international travel. The massive circular X-ray scanners at check-in had seemed impossibly futuristic. Conveyer belts in the middle of hallways and an artistic lighting display overhead, as if O'Hare were a museum instead of an airport. Everything new and exciting and secretly scary.

Flick.

That was enough. I stood and stretched, hoping the mother would wake up from the daggers from my eyes. No such luck. I slipped my phone into my jeans pocket and made my way toward the back, feeling unsteady on my feet. Floor lights lit the way, a miniature runway leading to the back of the plane.

Everyone I passed had their eyes closed, sleeping probably. Some people wore the sleep masks provided by the airline. Others slouched over in their chairs, leaning on their neighbors-or in one case, hanging perilously into the aisle. I nudged the older woman with my hip, careful not to wake her as she slid back into place.

When I looked up, I met the gaze of someone in the very back aisle. I could see the whites of his eyes. A shiver ran through me. Was he some sort of security agent? What had Hunter called them? I had asked tons of questions, making him chuckle. Air marshals. That sounded futuristic too, as if they were shooting through the sky in one-man spaceships. Instead they were ordinary men authorized to carry guns on a plane.

He watched me silently, unblinking. Creepy.

Ignoring the twinge of nerves, I lowered my gaze and continued past him. There was a tiny bathroom that looked mildly suffocating from outside the door. I didn't have to use it anyway; I just couldn't deal with sitting down anymore.

Stop being grumpy. This wasn't my first flight. Small spaces and hard chairs were par for the course on airplanes. I knew the real problem.

I missed Hunter.

Farther back, a small area connected the two parallel aisles. The galley, the flight attendant had called it. They'd said we could come back here for short periods of time if we needed to stretch our legs. Apparently, no one else did. The dim lighting and loud hum of the plane had lulled most everyone to sleep.

Except for Mr. Air Marshal. But then, it was probably his job to stay on alert.

I paced back and forth in the tiny strip of empty space. Was this how it felt to be caged? I had a sudden image of Hunter trapped in a space this small-not only for a few minutes. For years he'd been locked up. Imprisoned. Goosebumps rose on my skin.

A small room was off to the side, some kind of storage closet with a dark blue curtain for a door. The bins all had a special latch, probably so they wouldn't slide open.

I read off the labels, whispering to myself. "Napkins. Sleep Masks. Sporks."

Hah. Sporks.

God, I was tired. I should be sleeping, but I couldn't when I kept getting flicked with a rubber band. Maybe I could fall asleep here, in this tiny space. There was a thin counter. I could wedge myself onto it, somehow strap myself in like I was luggage in a compartment.

A slight smile curved my lips. I was getting silly, the lack of sleep messing with my brain. Even though I knew I shouldn't, I pulled out my phone. It was allowed to be on right now for listening to music or reading, but no phone calls. No signal. I snuck a glance down the aisle-empty, dark-and switched the airplane mode setting to off.

Nothing.

Maybe it wouldn't work. We definitely weren't supposed to be doing this. The flight attendant had made that very clear, along with the pre-flight safety video.

Ah, there they were. Three bars.

Hunter's number was first in the list, most important, but he wouldn't even get this text. Miss you, I typed. I pressed the Send button and waited.

Nothing again.

That should have discouraged me, but instead it felt like a blank check. I could say anything. He wouldn't respond, couldn't respond, and it gave me carte blanche to be playful. How much should I say? How graphic could I get? Maybe the boredom pushed me to the edge. Or maybe thinking about Hunter always put me on edge.

And thinking about kissing you, I typed. If you were here, I'd kiss you everywhere.

Send.

Oh, he'd be mad about that. Naughty texts when he couldn't even get at me. Maybe it wasn't that dirty in the realm of sexting, but he would know how hard it was for me to say the words. He would know exactly what I meant when I said I'd kiss him everywhere-and that was dirty. The thought made me laugh under my breath.

A sound came from outside the curtain. I froze, listening. One second passed, then two. The screen of my phone went dark. Only the slightest whisper alerted me to the movement of the curtain. Then someone was inside with me, their heat and presence soaking up all the air. I gasped and shoved myself back into the corner, but there was nowhere to go.

"What are you-"

A hand covered my mouth, cutting off my question. My heart beat too fast, thumping wildly in my chest. Someone had to hear the rapid beat or my harsh breathing. I tried to pull his hand away. My fingers fumbled, clumsy and stiff with terror. The cell phone clattered to the floor, its sound almost completely enveloped by the roar of the engine beneath us.

We were completely insulated back here. And alone.

"I ask the questions." The voice cut through the darkness, low and raspy.

I shook my head, whether in refusal or shock I didn't know. Let me go, I tried to say, but my lips couldn't even form the words beneath the force of his palm, my throat didn't make a sound under the threat of his body.

His hand tightened, cutting off the air flow to my nose. I struggled, kicking out and catching him on his leg. He grunted and eased up, enough to let me breath, not enough to let me go. I sank back against the wall, limp with relief, until he picked up my phone.

"What have we here?" Pale blue light from the screen traced broad shoulders and blunt facial features. He looked up. His eyes were impossibly cold, almost reptilian in their unfeeling. An animal. "Are you placing a phone call?"

"No," I whispered.

"Let's see." He still spoke low, barely audible above the rushing sound in my ears. "You've sent a text message...two minutes ago. Surely you realize that's not allowed."

"I'm sorry. It was just one. Or two! I won't do it again."

"Two messages. What could be so urgent?" He pressed a button. "Miss you." His gaze met mine over the top of the phone. A wicked light danced in his eyes. He was enjoying this. "And thinking about kissing you."

My cheeks heated beneath his hand.

His smile was sly and calculating. "Lonely, are you?"