Page 35 of Roses & Ruin

It’s my turn to give him a long, enigmatic look. How could I ever tell him that I’m sort of doing it right now? I press a thumb against the cold teeth of his jacket zipper. He smells perfect; the wind keeps swirling his spicy male scent through my hair. I can’t help the way my lips part, the way I press my torso against him.

I know I’ve let myself get carried away when something passes over Hayden’s face and he takes a step back. I curl my arms to my chest, rubbing the feel of his cool fingers from my wrist.

“It’s getting cold, come on,” he says, looking away. He turns to the front door before I have a chance to reply.

The inside of the church is gorgeous. Light spills in through the stained-glass windows, covering the tiled floor in rich purples and reds and golds. The wooden pews are old and polished, worn down by time and use. Everything feels hushed, like the space itself is holding its breath.

It smells like old, sweet wood and frankincense. I recognize the distinct smoky floral scent from my Catholic youth. It’s strangely nostalgic. There’s a gold-plated basin full of holy water. I trace my fingers in the water, making figure-eight ripples. Hayden gives me a wide berth as he passes, glaring down at the basin.

“Come on in, the water’s fine,” I say, flicking some holy water in his direction. He jumps out of range, his eyes bulging in horror.

“Do you have any idea what would happen,” he says scathingly, “if you got me—this—wet?” He plucks a corner of his jacket, shakes the leather at me.

I laugh. I can’t help it. Who knew dark, “dangerous” Hayden cared so much about his apparel? He scowls at me, and it’s so petulant, I laugh harder, the peals echoing against the stone walls and high ceilings. I sink into a pew.

“Wasn’t that funny,” he mutters, eyebrow raised at me.

“Sorry,” I say, wiping my eyes. “That felt good. I needed that.”

Hayden’s face softens, and he slides into the pew next to me.

We fall into a reverent quiet. I let my head fall back, taking in the high ceilings, the gorgeous portraits of stained glass. The one I can’t stop looking at is of a golden-haired saint in a white robe skewering a humanlike shadow demon. The saint’s spear pierces the demon through its chest. The creature’s inky, amorphous head is thrown back, jagged shapes of black making a sharp mouth roaring in pain.

“So tell me,” Hayden says suddenly, reaching over to pluck Frankenstein out of my arms. “Why is this your favorite book?”

I never told him it was. But Hayden has this uncanny ability to read me so well.

“The same reason it’s anyone’s favorite book,” I say, setting aside my textbooks to take my weathered copy back. I open the pages to a black-and-white illustration in the back. “It’s my favorite because I fell in love with him.”

Hayden watches me trace the face of the giant figure lying on the stone slab. I stroke the sutures mapping the large skull, the many pieces of human body stapled and sewn together to make him, the shut sunken eyes. Hayden’s face is unreadable. He’s quiet for a long moment.

“The monster?” he finally says.

“The miracle,” I counter. “But if you insist that he’s a monster, then yes.” I close the book and look up to meet Hayden’s intense stare. “I fell in love with a monster. He’s beautiful.”

Hayden’s brow furrows. He turns his sharp gaze away.

“Look,” I say. I point to the nearest stained-glass window, the one I’d been staring at, the saint and the demon. “That was made up of thousands of small shards. Maybe that’s why I love stained glass. It makes something new and beautiful from wreckage.” I blink down at the illustration. “Same as him.”

Hayden stares long at the saint and demon before he turns to me.

“He hurt people,” he says, oddly pleading.

“They hurt him first,” I whisper.

Something blazes in Hayden’s eyes. He leans in a little.

“He killed people.”

“Because he wasn’t loved,” I say.

Hayden throws his head back and laughs, loud, bitter, and sharp.

“Let me guess. Love would have saved him?”

“It would have.” I clutch my book to my chest.

“So ‘love conquers all’ and all that?” Hayden says it with so much disdain. But when I take a closer look at Hayden’s face, I catch a glimpse of something else. Something I can’t quite name.