Chapter 18
Kallie
––––––––
The silence was the first thing Kallie noticed in the house after Finn left. Not the quiet of a home without a television or radio on, but the kind of quiet that pressed down on her until all she could hear was her heartbeat.
It was the kind of silence she'd grown up with, not from the absence of people but from the absence of being seen. A room could be full, and she still felt like the only one no one ever reached for.
She stood in the middle of the room, staring at the door he'd slammed behind him, trying to make sense of what had happened. She'd expected confusion. Maybe even shock at seeing her again. But he'd looked at her as if he was torn about her being here or was mad at her.
She wrapped her arms around herself and forced a slow breath.
She'd searched for years. That was a long time to convince herself that her feelings for Finn matched his.
She'd crossed worlds to reach him. She wasn't going to fall apart just because he needed space.
She could give him that. She could be patient.
What were a few more minutes, considering she'd already waited four years?
Still, disappointment settled low in her stomach, a dull ache she couldn't quite swallow down. It wasn't the reunion she'd imagined.
He was supposed to be happy to see her.
She moved around the room, touching the edge of the table with its uneven leg, the shelf he'd built from scrap wood, and the blanket folded neatly at the foot of the bed. Everything was exactly as she remembered, and yet different. Worn in new places. Smoothed by time.
She sat on the edge of the bed, fingers twisting the blanket.
The quiet stretched on, and with it came the thoughts she'd been trying to keep at bay.
Had she pushed too hard? Said the wrong thing?
Expected too much too soon? She'd imagined this reunion so many times, but none of those versions had him walking away from her as if he couldn't stand to be in the same room.
She pressed her palms to her eyes, willing the sting to fade.
He wasn't rejecting her. She knew that. She'd seen the way he looked at her on the road. The shock and then relief. There was even hunger he failed to hide.
No, something was happening to him. She just didn't know what it was.
She'd spent every day since she was ten years old thinking about him. It was absurd to believe he thought of her, but that's exactly what she assumed. Something was pulling her toward him. He had to feel the same tug.
The minutes stretched. She listened for footsteps, for the door, for anything that meant he was coming back. She lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to steady her breathing.
He needed time to accept that she was here. Which was fine, she could stay in one of the other houses and wait for him.
Her gaze drifted to the window. The street outside was empty, bathed in the same muted light she remembered from her childhood visits. Everstill remained mysterious. The men hadn't changed in appearance or temperament. But Finn, though he hadn't aged a day, was different.
She closed her eyes, letting the memory of his touch wash over her. He'd brushed her cheek with his hand. When she touched him, he'd pulled back as if the contact had burned him. Whatever he was going through, it wasn't indifference.
She sat up again, pulling her knees to her chest. She wasn't leaving. Not after everything she'd done to get here. Not after the way he'd held her on the road. She wanted that Finn back.
He could push her away. He could walk out. He could take all the time he needed. But, she wasn't going anywhere this time.
The longer the quiet surrounded her and the light outside shifted, dimming the room, the more disappointment slipped through the cracks. Her throat tightened. She pressed her forehead to her knee. What if she'd made a terrible mistake?
Kallie heard the door open before she saw him.
A ripple shot through her chest. She sat up straighter on the bed, her pulse quickening, every part of her tuned to him.
When he stepped inside, her body went on alert.
He filled the doorway as if he weren't sure he should cross the threshold within his own house.
His shoulders tensed, and his chest rose and fell too fast. He looked wrecked.
And dangerously sexy.
She pursed her lips, breathing slowly to calm her anxiety. Maybe there had been small changes in him since she'd last been here. Or maybe she'd changed. Last time, she hadn't noticed how his shirt clung to his shoulders or how broad he was across the chest.
The veins on his forearms stood out like the many roadmaps she'd studied, trying to find the road to Everstill.
"Finn," she said softly.
He shut the door and stayed there, as if he needed the wood at his back to keep him upright.
She watched him try to pull himself together, watched a raw flicker wash across his face before he forced it down.
He wouldn't look at her for more than a second, and that told her he was struggling with her being here.
"Are you okay?" she asked.
He nodded too quickly. "Fine."
"You were gone a while," she said.
"I needed air."
His clipped tone and the way he avoided looking at her face led her to believe he was lying.
As if answering a thought that she hadn't voiced aloud, his gaze swept over her—slow, deliberate, lingering in a way that sent a warm flutter through her chest. He caught himself a heartbeat later and looked away, but not fast enough to hide the spark that had already passed between them.
Heat rose on her cheeks. He'd felt it too. That pull.
She was old enough now to recognize that sexual attraction had entered their bond. It excited and frightened her at once.
"Are you upset that I came back?" she asked.
He stiffened. The reaction was immediate, like she'd touched a bruise he didn't want her to see. "You weren't supposed to return."
The words stung, but not as much as the distance he kept putting between them. She took a small step toward him, careful, trying not to spook him. "Finn...I'm trying to understand."
He dragged a hand through his hair, pacing once across the room. The movement pulled his shirt tight across his back, and she had to force herself to breathe.
"You don't belong here," he said.
"That's not true," she said quietly.
He turned toward her, eyes dark, jaw tight. It was unbearable to stand in front of him, doing nothing, yet seeing the frustration coming from him.
She took another step, drawn to him without meaning to be.
"Don't." The word cracked through the room, stopping her.
She swallowed, trying to steady herself. "Finn, talk to me. Please. What's going through your head?"
He stopped pacing. His eyes drifted over her again, lingering for a heartbeat. Lightheaded, she inhaled deeply, unable to get enough air into her lungs.
"I'm fine." He ran his hand through his hair.
Zeroing in on his wrist, she spotted the bracelet she'd made years ago for him. All the fight left her.
She didn't believe him, but she didn't push. He was closing himself off to her, and all she wanted to do was pull him to her. But she stayed where she was, giving him the space he kept asking for.
"Okay," she whispered. "If you're fine, I'll believe you."
He looked away, but not before she caught his surprise. What was she supposed to do?
She came to him and invaded his home, but she had no way to warn him she was searching for him. All these years, she'd assumed he was on the other side of the rift, waiting for her to return.
She felt foolish.
"I just need time," he said.
She nodded, clinging to that hope he'd handed her. "Okay."
He kept his distance, but his gaze drifted to her again, lingering on the curve of her shoulder. His breath hitched—barely, but she caught it.
She swiftly inhaled, dawning hit her. He had no idea how to handle the situation.
And even though he was tense and guarded and hiding something he didn't know how to share, she held onto one truth. He'd come back to her and wasn't telling her to leave.