Page 73 of Broken Saint

Just Ella’s presence settles something inside me that no other’s ever has.

She’s the calm to my manic. And that is something I crave more than almost anything else in the world.

Peace.

“Shit,” Ella hisses once we’ve finally emerged from the bathroom and she’s located her purse and cell that were abandoned on the floor of my bedroom when we arrived last night.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’ve got five missed calls from my boss,” she confesses.

The mention of her boss makes me realize that she probably has a job at home. From the second I laid eyes on her, all I wanted to do was forget she had a life outside of this little bubble and keep her all to myself.

“And another two from my mom.”

“Nothing from him?” I ask, regretting the question the second it passes my lips.

She holds her phone to show me the number of missed calls from her ex-douchebag.

“Oh shit. He’s really missing you, huh?”

She laughs, but there’s no amusement in it.

“He’s missing something, but it’s not me,” she says as I pull on a pair of boxers.

“What did you do?” I ask teasingly.

“I stole the wad of cash he was secretly stashing in the closet.”

“Bombshell,” I gasp in mock horror.

“It was barely five hundred dollars. And it’s not like he doesn’t owe me.”

“From the way he’s treated you, five hundred barely scratches the surface,” I say, reluctantly pulling on a pair of sweats and a t-shirt.

She doesn’t say anything in response, and the need to ask her more, to demand to know everything about that little cock sucker, burns through me.

She remains silent and just drops her cell to the bed with a sigh, sitting there in only a towel, her hair hanging limply around her stooped shoulders, her fists clenched in her lap.

“We’re going for breakfast before I take you back to Kane’s.”

I can’t lie, I wasn’t overly happy when she insisted I take her back once the bath water had gone cold. As far as I was concerned, all we needed to do today was order takeout that we could eat in bed, naked. But she wasn’t having any of it. Not today at least. One day soon, I’ll make it happen, I have no doubt.

I wanted to argue, but the knowledge that she’s just upped and left her life meant I agreed.

I’ve got no idea what her plans are, and I’m too scared to ask right now. I just know that I need to do what she wants. And I can only hope she hangs around long enough for me to convince her that going back would be a really fucking bad idea.

I mean, I’m pretty sure I showed her enough times last night and this morning why she should remain here.

She told me that she’d come more in the last twelve hours than she has in years. Assuming that’s true, what other reason could she need to forget that Texas even exists?

“You ripped my panties,” she states, holding up the ruined lace as if I need reminding of my overenthusiasm last night to get between her thighs.

“And?”

“I can’t go to breakfast without panties.”

Stalking over, I stand before her and grab her hands, tugging her to her feet.