All those months Boyd had thought only of Sin. All those times he'd leaned on Sin's memory for strength and conviction. All those nights he'd woken in pain and forced himself to keep going because it was what Sin would have wanted...
It hurt to know it may mean nothing.
In that moment, he wanted Sin for Sin—for the quiet of his breath and the unspoken words in his eyes. It was little of physical attraction and everything of emotional. He wanted to just hold Sin without the body needing to be involved other than strong arms and a comforting heartbeat. The reminder of the peace that was so long gone now it felt a lifetime had passed.
AisWhy did he always have to be the one left behind? Why did he always have to be the one to gather the broken pieces and glue them back together, a mockery of what he'd once been? Why did he always have to suffer through the loss—that gaping, wrenching loss that sucked him up, ripped him apart, and carelessly threw him aside?
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