Free Breaking Josephine by Marie Stewart Page B

and you can have it
all back, and I am really sorry. Please don’t turn me in. If you feel you have
to, I understand, but I really am sorry. And I completely understand why you
were so angry at the social—you finally figured out that I was the
burglar and instead of just admitting it, I tried to come on to you, and I
shouldn’t have done that. I understand if you don’t have any interest in seeing
me again, or if you hate me, but I needed to come clean and tell you the
truth.” I got it all out in a rambling rush, took a deep breath, and looked up
at him.
    Dex
was looking at me with a sober expression. As the silence dragged out, I
tensed, hunching my shoulders and wrapping my arms around myself, preparing for
the worst.
    He took a deep
breath and began, “Jo, first of all, relax, I am not going to turn you in. I
would like my things back, but I am not going to report you to the police or
have you arrested.” I relaxed, letting my arms fall to my sides, a huge wave of
relief washing over me. “But I would like to know, why?” he continued. “Why did
you break in and rob me? It doesn’t look like you’re on drugs, or are broke,
you seem to be doing just fine.”
    I looked away from
him and leaned back on the counter. At first I was tempted to lie, but I felt I
owed him the truth after what I had done. I took a deep breath and said,
“Honestly, I’m not proud of it. And I thought I had kicked the habit years
ago.” I crossed my arms in front of me again and continued, “My mom died when I
was twelve, and I lived in an orphanage until I was eighteen. Part of the way I
rebelled and felt in control of at least a tiny part of my life back then was
to break into wealthy homes and steal things. Always small things, never enough
to matter to anyone to even report. It gave me a feeling of power and control I
didn’t have most days. When I turned eighteen and was on my own, I stopped, and
resolved to never do it again. But when I moved out here, and became friends
with Macy Daugherty, a lot of the old feelings came back. I saw all the things
I didn’t have as a child that she took for granted, her relationship with her
mom, and all the excess she lives with every day, and it triggered those same
feelings of inadequacy that I couldn’t control. Breaking into your house was
the first time I’d burglarized anyone’s home since I was eighteen. I shouldn’t
have, and I truly am sorry.”
    I looked at him,
my eyes wet with unshed tears. He was looking at me with such compassion that I
had to look away, feeling undeserving of such sympathy. I pushed myself off the
counter and walked past him into my bedroom. I bent down in front of my bedside
table and pulled out a shoebox containing all of the items I’d stolen from Dex.
I stood up and turned around to see Dex standing in the doorway to my room. He
came toward me and took the box out of my hand, reaching past me and setting it
on the table.
    “Jo, I don’t really
care about the things you stole, they are just things, and don’t mean anything
compared to what people we care about mean to us. I’m so sorry you lost your
mom. I understand what that feels like and I know what it means to be adrift
and out of control.” He took my face in his hands and I could feel his warmth,
his heat soaking into my skin. “I never want you to feel out of control again,
I never want you to feel the need to be so reckless to feel alive.”
    A tear escaped
from the corner of my eye and before I could turn from Dex and wipe my cheek,
his mouth was there kissing it away. He gently trailed kisses down my cheek and
moved to my lips, his lips caressing mine, lingering there. I kissed him back,
my hands coming up to rest on his shoulders, holding him and feeling his
warmth, his heat, through my hands. He pressed his lips harder into mine and I
felt his lips open, his tongue gently flicking my lips. I yielded to him, opening
my mouth and tasting him—coffee and a hint of spice. Our tongues