“Believe me.” He was absolutely sure of it. “Don’t you remember the letters from Jane Gallier? The court records of the women fighting? Think of Rochelle, her tears, that blood running down her wrists. I don’t want you to end up like any of them.” He wanted her to understand exactly what he was saying. “That would be my biggest regret, if I was what finally broke you. After all you’ve survived, if it was me that finally stripped away your strength, I couldn’t stand that. I couldn’t.”

“I don’t want to be without—”

Gabriel cut her off. He didn’t want to hear whatever she was going to say. He couldn’t hear it. Sara was ten times a greater temptation than alcohol had ever been and he needed to clamp down, hold together his emotions, build up his control until it was an impenetrable wall with barbed wire on top. He was going to do that, because he wanted to be with Sara, wasn’t willing to give her up.

“I don’t want to be without either. You know, in some ways it would be easier to walk away from you. But I’ve been doing the easy thing my entire existence.” He was sorry for that. Wanted to stand firm and stop passively letting everything slide over and past him. He wanted to control his own destiny and stop hiding from it. “I want to be with you, spend time with you, love you. And while I can’t touch you, I can share my life with you. I want to share my every day with you, do you understand?” It was a hell of a lot to ask, and he shouldn’t, but he had to. He had to know that he had tried, offered her what he could.

Sara gripped the railing tighter, her hair blowing over her shoulders, the smoothie tipping so far over in her clenched hand he was expecting the lid to pop off. “Be together, but no touching?”

“No touching.”

She didn’t say anything, so Gabriel sighed, his heart aching for what he couldn’t have as he looked across the beach. It was a quiet view, the heat of Florida different than New Orleans. There was humidity in the air, but somehow it wasn’t as lush, as damp and smothering as southern Louisiana. The foliage on and around the deck was manicured, the houses in all directions new and crisply white and ivory, the retail buildings all soldiered along the main roads. It was very beautiful, he had to admit that. But it didn’t touch his soul.

“I’ve never been out of New Orleans,” he said. “I’ve only seen Florida on TV and in movies. It’s pretty here. Peaceful.”

“You’ve never been out of New Orleans? Why not?”

“I’m bound to New Orleans in exchange for a shorter punishment.”

“Then how are you here?”