A Thousand Glittering Lights

Chapter 9

He wasglad he’d remembered his name. He was. And deeply relieved because Ellie no longer looked quite so tormented. Or quite so keen to get away from him. But did the timing have to be so deeply frustrating? Just five more minutes, and he would have had his hands on her skin. Ten more minutes, and they would both have been naked.

On second thought, maybe it was a good thing. He’d promised himself just a moment with her. But there’d been more and more moments. Even though he knew he couldn’t stay. He knew none of this was forever.

But when Ellie had doubted him—doubted his very existence—it made him want to howl. It was worse than his own doubts. Those were almost bearable when she was holding him, tethering him to the earth. But if she let go… Fuck. It made him want to cover her with his body until she knew the truth. Until she felt him everywhere. And he felt her everywhere.

He’d known she was dangerous from the beginning.

He should put more distance between them. Or she should. He’d meant it when he’d told her she should run. They shouldn’t start something, not when there was no way it would end well. But he couldn’t stand the thought of stopping it. If these moments were the only ones they were going to have, he wanted them.

Ellie was quiet and introspective as they walked, but when he reached down to take her hand, she laced her fingers with his and held him tightly. As if she was afraid he would disappear.

Of course she was. He was afraid of the same damn thing.

“Ellie?” He broke the tension.

She turned to face him, eyes troubled. “Mm-hmm.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

She stopped walking, tilting her head to the side as she watched him, completely focused. “What does that mean?”

“I’m real. I am.” God. Who was he trying to convince, her or himself? He didn’t know. He swallowed roughly before continuing. “But I don’t think I can stay here. I feel?—”

He could feel the darkness. Feel the pull. He knew nothing about himself except for his name, but he knew that this was borrowed time. And even if he could stay, they would be on borrowed time anyway. Because she would want more. She would deserve more.

“I don’t know how long we have,” he said quietly. “I want—” To be with you, to hold your body against mine, hear your laugh, listen to your ideas, drown in your warmth. But he couldn’t have that, not forever. “I want to touch you, but we can’t…” Damn this was hard. “We can’t let emotions get involved.”

The words felt hollow. As if he’d made this speech often enough to know the shape of it, even if he couldn’t remember making it. As if they were just words, nonetheless. Words he didn’t quite believe, even if he should.

Ellie stood silently, watching him with clear eyes that saw too much, the sounds of birds and insects loud in the forest around them. He waited stiffly, identifying bird calls—there was a blackbird and a starling, a woodpecker drumming in the distance—forcing himself to patience.

Finally, she replied, “Okay. I—” She let go of his fingers and shoved her hands in her pockets as she took a slow breath. “Thank you for telling me the truth.”

He knew why she did it. He understood. He’d told her they couldn’t get emotionally involved, and she’d distanced herself. But it burned.

And he found himself doing exactly what he’d stopped himself doing earlier. He gently tugged her hands back out and took them in his, holding them loosely, letting her pull away if she wanted to, but wishing she wouldn’t.

And she didn’t. She stood there, surrounded by the dappled light, looked at him, searching his eyes for something. Something he couldn’t identify. Whether she found it or not, he didn’t know, but she didn’t pull away again.

“Can we have this?” he asked. “Can we trust that this is real and spend this time together? Even knowing it can’t last?”

She was silent for so long that he began to fear she might not answer, but eventually she sighed softly. “Yes. We can have this.”

He didn’t speak. There was nothing he could say. Instead, he dropped a kiss onto the knuckles of each of her hands. Then they turned and walked quietly together once more.

They reached the iron gate embedded in her hedge, and she pulled it open, leading the way into her garden. Daisies, poppies, and marigolds grew in riots of informal color while leafy shrubs and tall oaks created a private space. It was relaxed and abundant, a haven of safe nesting for the robins and blackbirds that would love the dense foliage. And yet, somehow unsettling. Its beauty did nothing to ease the emotions churning through him.

Ellie had drawn him here. And now she’d accepted that he would never stay. It was the truth. It was what he wanted. But it was still wrong.

He wished he could have had his epiphany about his name an hour later. They would have stayed in the woods. He could have kept her in his arms, kept his mouth closed over hers, and let their bodies drown out everything else.

But it was too late now. The moment was lost. And in exchange, he had a name with no memories, and a smoldering, unfulfilled need to hold her.

Ellie led him over the large wooden deck he’d stood on earlier, past a set of comfortable-looking rattan furniture with bright turquoise cushions clustered around a raised firepit. At the far side of the deck, a covered hot tub was surrounded by a privacy wall teeming with baskets of flowering geraniums and decorated with looping fairy lights. Two cushioned loungers stood nearby, and a storage closet was set off to the side.

He hadn’t really looked at it properly earlier. But now he wondered. Did she come out here alone? Leave her clothes in the house and walk through the sunshine naked? Or perhaps she preferred the night. She would slip into the steaming water and lie with her head tilted back, looking up at the stars as her vibrant imagination created new adventures on fantastical worlds.

He would slide in beside her, listen to her stories. And then, when she was languid and soft and the steam surrounded them, then he would touch her. He would finally have her close enough that he could drown in the heat of her body. He would bring her onto his lap, his hands stroking over her skin.

She must have seen the direction of his gaze and realized what he was thinking, because a tendril of color rose in her cheeks. Or perhaps she also imagined the exhilaration of gliding naked into hot water, the soft glow of the lights, and the velvet touch of wet skin against wet skin.

“Josh?” Her voice broke into the fantasy, and he blinked at her as the tantalizing image faded.

“Have you remembered anything else?” she asked as she opened the large glass bifold door that led from the deck to the living room.

And just like that, his body cooled. The wisps of the fantasy disintegrated in the dry glare of reality. “I haven’t,” he admitted. “I wish I could tell you that I did.”

She led him inside and through to the kitchen, and he followed her silently, waiting for her to speak. Knowing there was more.

She grabbed them each a glass of water, put his on the table, and then leaned against the counter, looking out the window. Looking away from him.

The glass taunted him. His lips were so dry they’d cracked. But he wasn’t sure he even wanted to try to drink something. He reached out a tentative finger to touch the glass. At first it seemed to slip. To slide away under his touch like melting ice, and he flinched back, away from the cold.

He straightened his shoulders and forced himself to concentrate. To focus on the glass. How it would feel to hold in his hand—cool and smooth and beading with water. He tried again, and this time he was able to hold it, lift it carefully, and take a small sip.

It was icy and refreshing, exactly what he wanted. But he could only manage a tiny sip at a time.

Ellie turned away from the view and faced him. Thank fuck she hadn’t seen his struggle with the glass, because her expression was back to being somber and a little dejected. She looked stoic in a way that he didn’t like—as if she was preparing herself to be strong.

“Are you married?” she asked eventually.

He choked on his water, spluttering and coughing before finally being able to take a decent breath. “No!”

“Were you, though,” she persisted, “before… this?”

Josh put his glass on the table and folded his arms over his chest. “No,” he answered firmly, glad when his voice came out even.

Fuck. He wanted to be insulted. Honestly, he was insulted. But… it was a fair question.

She turned to face him more directly. “How can you know that?”

He grunted. “I just do.” And he did. Somehow, without knowing the details or the events, he knew that he had never trusted anyone enough to want to be that close to them.

“And I have to take it on faith?”

It was unreasonable to expect. He knew it. In her place, he would ask the same question. He liked that she had asked it. But he needed her to believe in him.

“I know it. Like I know I love nduja sausage on my pizza, and lager but not ale. I know that ketchup should be dipped into and never poured. Socks should never be worn with sandals—ever! Toilet paper should hang over the roll, not under, and the jam goes onto the scone first. I know it like I know that I love being outdoors with the wind in my face…. Like I know that my name is Josh.”

He stalked across the kitchen and pulled her close, close enough that he could lower his forehead to hers and look into her eyes as he spoke. “I know it’s not rational. And I can’t explain it. But I know that I wouldn’t be here unless I was meant to be.”

Her eyes flicked between his, looking at him. Seeing him. And she slowly softened. “I believe you.”

Her belief filled him, sent warmth curling through his chest and over his body, and he couldn’t resist turning his head and taking her mouth in his.

He could get lost in her kiss. Drown in it. She was so soft and warm and perfect.

Just for a moment. He could have this, but only for a moment.