26. PAIGE
TWENTY-SIX
PAIGE
The long walk of the breezeway to the far end of the building is a charged stride. My back is straightened, my muscles feel like a fucking zipline— knowing he’s right behind me.
In a pathetic attempt to replace him in my mind for years, there were so many times when I just imagined him watching me.
Him, watching me make this very walk. Drinking coffee in my bed. Stretching with Cheeto. Dancing at the club.
All the time.
My body is having a strange reaction to the utter madness of this night though. A dog whistle moment—so high it’s silent.
Like right now. I should be shitting my pants because Linc and I are about to be alone for the first time in seven years. The first time since . . .
“Th-This one’s yours,” he says, cutting off my thought. It’s not a question, but a statement and I stop, turning toward him.
The stutter is new. It’s not super noticeable because he kind of mumbles anyway, which is also different. My mind aches to know when that started. But I don’t ask. I don’t say anything.
“This is where he was,” Linc says, his teeth clenching, and I get lost in the cut lines of his chiseled jaw, the speckled coarse scruff leading to his full angular lips.
Buffy bless, he’s gorgeous . And if that doesn’t just piss me the fuck off.
I shake my head, reminding myself that he’s confirming there was some creep poking around my apartment. With new urgency, I unlock the door, and immediately look across the way to the wall opposite me—at the terrarium.
The small scuffle of Cheeto’s feet immediately settles my nerves, and I release a breath before moving toward her. “Hi,” I whisper. “I’m sorry if you were scared.”
Linc clears his throat from behind me and my chin twists back to see him still standing in the doorway.
My eyes squint. “Are you a vampire? Do I need to invite you in?”
Actually, it would explain a lot.
The dark eyebrows. The constant tension in his face. He looks so . . . serious. His hazel eyes are a hypnotic combination of green and brown—like earth’s venom paralyzing me.
I blink a couple times, unsure if I’m seeing things, but it suddenly looks like he’s smirking. My eyes squint in his direction, a few seconds passing, before I realize . . .
Right. I called him a vampire.
And he thought I was a vampire the day we met.
I fight my mouth’s instinct to pull up as well, and instead take a breath and look around. My chest quivers, but at a glance, everything looks normal. One of the perks to owning next-to-nothing is it’s easy to see if there’s anything out of place. And it helps that the studio is just a single room except for the closet and bathroom.
Still, it’s unsettling that someone was here.
After an initial sweep, I see Linc still hasn’t moved, and I roll my eyes, grumbling, “You can come in,” then head toward my closet.
My laptop sits on the dresser with its power cord and I move to the top drawer of the chest, opening it.
The tension in my shoulders loosens when I see my music box sitting inside with the gold crescent moon and stars dangling on it. I’m not sure what compels me to open it, but I do, easing a bit more when I see the stacks of pictures, sentimental shit, hauntings.
I close it up and pull it out, packing it along with my laptop. I don’t have a plan, but I can go anywhere if I have my box and Cheeto.
I grab my bigger duffle bag, and pack my meager collection of clothes, Gram’s cardigan, and after tossing literally everything in the bag aside from Cheeto herself, I wonder . . .
Is this really a good idea?
I mean, I can’t stay here, obviously. And aside from driving out to Venice once we get back to the mountain—the only other option would be to sleep in my car.
I take a breath, then peek back out of the closet, seeing Linc now inside, staring down at Cheeto’s terrarium. “D-Does it bite?” he asks.
I blink a few times, and my mind feels like it skips . . .
“Does it bite?” he asked, his floppy dark hair falling over his furrowed brow.
My new friend had never been down to the pond at the end of our road, and I was so excited to show him the ducks. Well, the ducklings!
“Probably,” I laughed. “Just don’t go near her babies. She’s protective.”
He smiled, his eyes glistening in the late afternoon sun. “Pro-tec-tive,” he said slowly.
“It means she’ll always take care of them. No matter what,” I told him, and he gave me a funny smile.
I blink again, realizing he’s still looking at me. Nineteen years later, still asking the same questions. Walking a few steps toward him, I correct him with, “She is usually pretty chill.”
His eyes snap over at the sound of my voice, like somewhere between asking the question and my zone out, he forgot I was even here.
Though the way he’s looking at me makes me feel like he hasn’t taken his eyes off me. Or like he’s memorizing me. His eyes keep floating up to my hair and it loosens the tension in his eyebrows every time he does it.
There is so much we should talk about—so much that needs to be talked about—and despite all the time I’ve spent imagining this moment, I can’t help but feel like I’m drowning in the heavy current of the reality.
He’s here. But he left. He left me, and found Ellis. Or maybe Ellis found him.
Either way, it all fucking hurts.
I blow out a heavy breath. “It looks like everything is undisturbed,” I say awkwardly, glancing around the apartment. “Maybe I don’t need to—”
“No,” he clips.
My eyebrows pinch. “You don’t know what I was gonna say.”
“You’re not staying here, P-Paige.” The small hiccup in his voice hitches in my chest, but the deep rasp is a command. And God, fuck me, if it doesn’t curl my toes.
But it also licks fire down my spine, charging forth an anger I can’t even grasp before it’s out of my mouth, “Your concern for my safety after a near-decade of abandonment is touching,” I snap, my tone seeped in disdain.
Linc’s jaw ticks, his mouth flattening. In just a few steps, he’s right in front of me. I gasp but surprisingly, I don’t flinch. I’m not sure I blink. Breathe.
A stuttered inhale pulls through my chest.
God. Sea salt and forest. I breathe deeper. He still hasn’t kicked the smoking habit. I can smell the Silver cigarettes too.
A noise —only partially human— pushes past my lips and it’s followed by a rumble from him too—a noise so quiet and low that I have to wonder if I imagined it.
“Don’t touch him.”
I see Ellis’s warning, but my mind lifts it to a dare. In direct violation, I raise a shaky hand and press it to Linc’s chest, unsure if I’m pushing him away or pulling him closer.
His hands immediately dig into my sides, his fingertips bruising as one of his hands drags along my lower back. His breathing increases and I can feel it wheeze against my temple.
“Don’t—” he croaks through a whisper, but his arms tighten, shaking around me like there’s an actual earthquake erupting through his body.
He’s panicking. I recognize it instantly.
But I can barely fight off my own panic, let alone someone else’s.
He’s not just someone else.
Instincts, divine intervention—call it whatever —something snaps into focus. I move my hand to the back of his neck, feeling a film of sweat gathering just below the thick, dark strands, and I give them the smallest tug.
Our eyes lock. The green and brown swirls in his eyes meet my blue, like rainfall hitting the earth.
I’m here. You’re here.
He chokes on a breath, but doesn’t pull away. In fact, his grip only becomes more punishing, pulling me closer. The hand that was holding my back has now slipped under my zip-up, just barely, but it’s skin-to-skin, and I feel his breath even out just a bit.
His fingertips are hot to the touch and so is the curve in my lower back. The sensation nearly sizzles in my stomach and I gasp.
We stand there for long seconds, holding each other like we’re falling.
Or maybe we’re about to land.
I hope for it. For the years I’ve spent lost in space, the release of touching down sounds damn near euphoric.
His grip around me becomes suffocating, but I don’t want the air. I want this. This feeling —this person— taking my breath.
The one who’s holding me like he used to. Harder, even. Like we were before.
I know that’s impossible now. Not with all the time. Not with all that’s happened . . .
I shove the thought away—denying it with a low hum. A hum that turns into lightly singing an unknown melody. His hold loosens just a bit, and his nose buries into my hair. “P-Please, keep going,” Linc pleads in a hoarse, nearly-desperate whisper, his face shoved into my hair.
And me . . . well, I’m caught in the current of his forest and ocean smell, riding my de-lu-lu tidal wave as high as she will take me.
Without a single thought, I hum an acoustic intro that feeds through my veins. To the song I never listen to—the one that surprises my vocal cords with a breathy air behind my voice.
It lasts for a few seconds. My cheek is now pressed roughly against his chest, and I can feel his heart still racing. Fingers still run and fidget along my lower back. If this were any other situation, with any other person, the touch would probably be weird.
But it’s not. With him, it’s never weird . . .
“God, Pip,” he croaks. “Y-You’re—” he stutters, and his grip re-tightens. “ How are you not scared of me?”
Scared of him?
What?
A dread similar to the one that found me earlier—the one when Ellis told me not to touch him—finds me again. Except this time, I can feel the shadow of what’s to come.
Like an overhead bombing.
Even so, it doesn’t make sense. My eyes narrow and my chin lifts to look up at him as my eyebrows pinch. “Why would I be scared of you?”
His eyes flicker and then mute with a murky haunting. He swallows hard as a look of complete confusion passes through his gaze. A deep, wounded, utterly devastated expression that aches in my own chest stares back at me.
“You don’t remember?” he asks, his eyes moving from one of my eyes to the other, and it feels like it’s only rattling my confusion.
What the fuck is he talking about?
I remember what happened . . . there hasn’t been a day we’ve been apart that I haven’t thought about what happened.
But I still don’t understand what he’s saying.
His throat bobs through a swallow and suddenly I feel the shortness of breath, my pulse exploding as his face only becomes more broken, still holding me tight.
His forehead falls to mine and my hands grip his shirt between our chests, feeling like my knees are moments away from giving out.
“Please, don’t be afraid of me,” he pleads, holding me tighter.
God, the roughness in his voice, the desperation is so fucking sad that I just . . . I can’t take it. I don’t understand.
Yes, I’m mad at him — but . . .
“Linc—” I croak, then take a breath, steadying my voice. “Why would I be afraid of you?”
I feel his head shake slightly with his forehead still pressed to mine.
And just when I think I can’t break anymore, just when I think my heart is already a pile of dust—he blows it into the wind when he chokes on a guttural whisper, and says, “Because I raped you.”