“Thank you for this gift. It’s simply the best thing I ever ate in my life.”

Julietta smiled and squeezed his hand. “Prego,” she whispered.

As if knowing the tension had dissipated, Lily burst out, “More pasta, please!”

Nick tapped her nose and refilled her bowl. Chatter re-sumed, stories were shared, and Julietta ate. But she knew something had changed between them. Something that couldn’t be undone. Something that broke all the rules.

She pushed the thought away and focused on her family.

…

She cooked for him.

Sawyer ate with a methodical precision as the scene at the table faded to the background. odd, when she laid the plate in front of him, he sensed something different. Like he’d reverted to an alternate time and place where certain actions masked deep emotions that were experienced but unspoken. His wife had prepared a dish with him solely in mind. Served him with a humbleness he didn’t deserve. And looked at him with a banked fire in her eyes that drew him to her like a homing pigeon on a mission.

Food was survival. When he’d become rich enough for it to be a pleasure, he dined at gourmet restaurants. Culinary chefs had prepared meals on yachts and in endless hotel rooms. He’d ordered room service for women he slept with.

Since their wedding night, Julietta prepared simple meals for Wolfe and him that he recognized and appreci-ated. Lamb chops, pasta, risotto, grilled fish. He’d never had a frozen vegetable with her and was beginning to get used to the bottles of herbs on the windowsill, the baskets of tomatoes and prunes, grapes and lemons that littered the countertops.

But today was different. She offered him something of herself, as beautifully as she offered her body to him night after night. And in the way he only knew from his life, he took and took and took, giving her orgasms and pleasure but keeping himself solidly locked behind a wall that crum-bled inch by inch with each day that passed.

Confusion and want swamped him in a deadly mixture.

The memory caught, shifted, and dragged him under.

Thanksgiving. He sat in the closet with his foster brother and sister. One slice of turkey lay before them. Bread. Half a cup of milk. “You’re gonna get in trouble,” Danny whis-Probst_MarriageMerger_3P_kk.indd 304

pered, his eyes greedy at the sight of the meat. “Did you steal it?”

“Yeah. But I don’t care. It’s Thanksgiving, and we should celebrate.”

“School talked about it. I learned about the Pilgrims and stuff, but the other kids talked about turkeys and stuffing and cranberries. What is stuffing like?”

His sister touched the turkey like it would disappear. “We should return it.” Worry laced her voice. “You’ll get beaten.”

“I don’t care. He won’t find out. I was really careful. Here, I’ll cut up a slice for each of us.” He made sure to give them the bulk and take a tiny piece for himself. They ate the meal in silence, enjoying every bite of something that had actual texture and good taste. Food was another way of controlling them and their behavior, along with the beating, the solitude.

“We should say what we’re grateful for.”

Sawyer bit back his bitter response and desperately tried to think positive for his siblings. “Sure. You go first, Danny.”

His brother took it seriously, scrunching his brows together as he thought. “I’m grateful you gave this meal to us.”

Sawyer smiled. “Me, too. How about you, Molly?”

The girl was more solemn, her green eyes haunting in the sallow lines of her face. “I’m grateful we have legs and arms.

I saw a man on the street who had none of those body parts.

I’m really glad I have them.”

“Me, too.”

“How about you, Sawyer? What are you grateful for?”

Tightness constricted his throat. The path ahead was endless, strewn with pain and emptiness and the struggle to get through another day. His freedom loomed before him like the Holy Grail. Eighteen. If he made it. If he could help the others. He forced a smile. “I’m grateful for you guys. I’d be awfully bored without your company.”

“And what do we have here?”

The door ripped open. Sawyer pushed the two behind him as his foster father loomed like Satan, blocking the only exit to heaven. His gaze took in the empty plate with the crumbs of turkey and he reached out with a meaty fist and dragged Sawyer out. “Think you can outsmart me, boy?

Stole the combination of the lock to the fridge, huh? Think you’re pretty smart?”

He kept his furious silence, knowing words only made things much worse.

“Nothing to say, huh? That’s okay. I’m sure you’ll say plenty later. Starting with begging for forgiveness.”

“Fuck you.”

He knew he’d made a huge error the moment he caught the satisfied gleam in Asshole’s eyes. “Nice mouth. Since you don’t seem to care what happens to you, maybe you’ll think next time you pull a stunt like this.” Sawyer fought him, but the bigger man lashed out with his fists and his belt, and quickly tied him to the bedpost.

His siblings were dragged out of the closet and placed in front of him. Sawyer met his gaze, the cold black void of evil and a lust for pain, and knew he’d made a terrible tactical error they’d all pay for. “Wanted to give them a nice Thanksgiving, huh? Too bad they now have to pay for your mistakes. You’ll watch while I punish them, boy, and you’ll beg for forgiveness until your throat is hoarse.”

The terror on his siblings’ faces enraged him, and yet another lesson was learned. He could save no one, and by his very presence he brought pain to the ones he loved the most.

He spent Thanksgiving night not seated around the table with a turkey and stuffing. He spent it watching his siblings get beaten while he screamed for mercy.

“Saywer? Are you okay?”

The voice cut through the memory, but it was too late.

Nausea twisted his stomach, and sweat broke out on his skin. He gazed at Julietta with unfocused eyes and knew he had to get out of that room for a minute.

“Just have to use the bathroom. Be right back.”

He half stumbled out of his chair and shot down the hallway. Sawyer locked the bathroom door behind him with shaking fingers, leaning over the toilet as he willed the sickness to go away. God, even after all these years the pain still got to him. He was in a safe place, surrounded by people who cared. He wasn’t alone. He was safe.

He ran the faucet and splashed cold water on his face.

Took deep, ragged breaths. He was kidding himself. He was playing at a normal life he’d never have. every person he got close to he ended up destroying, and he’d do the same to Julietta. He ached to give her what she needed, but he’d been numb for so many years, he didn’t know how to feel any softer emotions. especially love.

He needed to get out of here. Gain some space. He’d make an excuse of sickness and go home, think about what to do, run away, get out, get lost.

Sawyer stepped out.

Wolfe stood before him.

The kid shifted his feet and picked at his cuticle. “you okay, man?”

Sawyer fought a shudder. “yeah. Sure. Just ate too fast, you know. Not feeling good. I need to take off.”

Sharp blue eyes that shredded his lies and saw too much pinned him. “I hear you. It’s a lot in there.” He jerked his thumb toward the kitchen. “Almost left myself. I mean, come on, are we stuck in an Italian spin-off of The Cosby Show? This shit doesn’t happen. It’s not real. Sunday dinner with homemade food. People being nice to each other.

Laughing. enjoying themselves.”

Sawyer clawed for control not to spring through the door and leave it all behind. “yeah. I know.”

The boy’s jaw tightened and a dark shadow crossed his face. “I hung out with this crew who knew a real good way to entertain themselves on a Sunday afternoon. We’d play the game Pick a Patsy. We each took a turn. Pick out a guy on the street. Follow him. one who looked nice, with some money. Good job. Had a great diversion tactic just like the molesters use. Asked for help with a hurt puppy down the alley. Guys fell for it all the time.” Sawyer watched his throat work as if he were trying desperately to swallow. “We’d beat the shit out of him. Take his money, spit in his face, pawn his valuables. Laugh our asses off and buy ourselves something great to eat. Funny, though, we’d be at the diner or Mickey D’s, all this food laid out in front of us, and I barely ate a bite. All I could see was the poor patsy’s face bloodied up, wondering what the hell he did to deserve it. yeah, those were the type of Sunday dinners we knew.”

This kid clawed for his own sanity every second. Was this what Sawyer wanted to teach him? run when something good came to you? escape and distrust people who were kind and only wanted to help?

Wolfe needed to know there was something else out there. Something good and whole and pure. Something worth fighting for. Living for.

The realization slammed through him. He had a choice.

But even more important, he held both of their choices in his hands, and damned if he’d let another person down. He wasn’t that boy any longer. He wasn’t helpless or afraid, and he wasn’t about to abandon Wolfe because of a few nightmares.

A deep calmness settled over him and smoothed out the jagged edges. Sawyer nodded and clasped the boy around the shoulder. Wolfe jumped, startled out of his own memory, and waited.