Murmuration - Page 142

and

a horse walks out of the tree line onto the road.

The horse startles him.

The voice startles him more.

He whirls around.

There’s no one there. Aside from the horse, he’s alone on this spring morning.

He thinks, Just hearing things. Settle down.

The horse’s hooves clop against the pavement. It’s a deep chestnut brown with white on its forehead, shaped almost like a star. Its tail swishes back and forth, left eye blinking against a fly that buzzes around it.

He says, “Hello,” because he’s unsure of what else to say. He knows Hester told him this is it. That there is no going back after this. He’ll touch the horse (and it’s one of those questions he never thought to ask and never will: why a horse?) and he’ll be grounded, ingrained into Amorea.

The horse nickers at him lowly.

He hesitates. He doesn’t know why.

“Get on with it,” he says. “Just do this. Do this, and everything will be the way it should be.”

He takes a step toward the horse.

The horse shuffles its feet.

His heart is pounding in his ears.

He’s thinking about Sean, and he’s thinking about Mike, and he’s thinking about how he deserves this. Mike took everything from him. Granted, he didn’t do it on purpose (he wasn’t even real), but this is his now. Amorea is his.

He reaches for the horse.

“Don’t.”

His hand stops right before it touches the horseflesh. He can feel the heat of the animal.

“Don’t,” the voice says again from behind him.

He closes his eyes and sighs.

He should have known better.

He curls his hand into a fist. Drops it back to his side.

He turns.

Opens his eyes.

A man stands there. On the road. His mirror image.

“Mike,” Greg says. “This is a surprise. I thought you were gone.”

“Hiding,” Mike says. “And waiting.”

It’s discordant, this feeling between them. It’s like they’re being stretched too thin, being shoved together and pulled apart all at the same time. He sees himself through Mike’s eyes, and he knows Mike’s feeling the same. They’re existing together, but in two separate spaces. It’s a paradox. It can’t be like this.

“Waiting for what?” Greg asks.

Tags: T.J. Klune Romance
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