Wanting to catch him before he leaves for the store, and nearly crashing right into him when he backs his Jeep out of his drive just as I’m pul ing in.
“Ever?” He peers at me from his sideview mirror as his car jumps to a halt and he springs from his seat.
I stare. I can’t help it. He looks so completely different from the last time I saw him.
His head is shaved.
And without his trademark tangle of long golden/bronze dreadlocks he’s barely recognizable—or at least until his eyes find mine anyway. That bril iant aqua-green gaze is al too familiar, not to mention the wave of cool, calm energy that thrums over me, through me, al around me, in the same way it has for the last several centuries.
He runs a self-conscious hand over his newly shorn head, his tropical gaze meeting mine when he says, “Figured it was time for a change, but from the look on your face I’m thinking I should start growing it again.”
I slip out of my car, trying my best to not overdo it with the staring. Even though he looks great, in fact, better than great, it’s stil a pretty big visual adjustment to make.
“Nah.” I smile brightly and shake my head. “Keep it. I mean, what’s the point of going back, when you can go forward instead?”
His eyes graze over me, al owing the words to hang between us until he breaks the silence and says, “You look like you’ve been through the wringer.” He motions toward the sorry state of my clothes. “But you made it, and that’s what matters. It’s good to see you, Ever.” And I can tel by the tone of his voice and the glint in his eye that for the first time in a long time he actual y means it. My presence no longer elicits that same brand of longing it used to.
“And you.” I chase the words with another smile, wanting him to know that I mean it too.
We stand before each other, al owing the silence to build. But it’s not the awkward kind of silence, it’s the kind shared by two people who’ve experienced something so extraordinary there’s just no way to put it into words.
“When’d you get back?” I ask, wondering if he was gone a long time too.
He looks at me, squints, and says, “Long time ago. Way before you. I thought about going after you, trying to find you, but Lotus warned me against it, warned me to not get involved.” Jude jangles his keys, motions toward his front door. “Do you want to go inside?”
I press my lips together, thinking about inside. The kitchen where I once did his dishes, the old chair where I used to sit, the antique door he uses as a coffee table, the brown corduroy couch where he confessed his feelings for me …
“No, I—” I look at him, swal ow hard, and start again. “I just wanted to make sure you made it back from Summerland. Just wanted to make sure you got through it okay, and…” I lift my shoulders, look al around, seeing the peonies back in bloom—big, vibrantly colored puffbal s of purple and pink sprouting from the top of sturdy green stems. “And, it seems you did, so…”
But he won’t let me off that easily. He won’t al ow me to just brush it away. “Should we talk about it?” he asks, his gaze tel ing me he’s more than wil ing to do so if I want.
And while we most certainly could, I can’t help but think: What would be the point?
I mean, what’s there left to talk about, real y? We know everything now. We relived the actual events for ourselves. So what’s the point in rehashing what we already know?
I shake my head and direct my gaze to our feet—he in his usual brown rubber flip-flops, me in my crusty, dirty hiking boots. Then I lift my head and say, “That would just end up being redundant now, wouldn’t it?”
He lifts his shoulders, keeps his gaze on me.
“Though, it must be a relief to know you didn’t real y love me and lose me al those years, right?”
He tilts his head, confused by my statement.
“What I mean is, or at least from what I can tel after stringing it a
l together, it’s pretty clear you were just trying to keep me and Damen apart so he wouldn’t make me immortal. You know, so he wouldn’t succeed at what he’d failed to do that first life of ours when you were Heath, he was Alrik, and I was Adelina.”
“Is that real y your take?” He leans toward me, his gaze so piercing it causes me to nod, gulp, scratch my arm. Indulging in al of my nervous tel s, one after another, which leaves me wondering why I insisted on saying such a thing if it’s only going to result in my own discomfort. But seeing that discomfort, he’s quick to let it go, saying, “So, tel me—did you do it? Did you make it to the end of your journey? Did you find the tree you were looking for?”
“Yeah. I did,” I tel him, my voice growing hoarse as my mind fil s with the whole glorious sight of it. A vision I want him to see too and there’s only one way to do that. “Close your eyes,” I say, humbled by the speed with which he obeys. “And now open your mind.” I place my hands on either side of his face, my palms spanning the sharp planes of his cheekbones that appear even more pronounced with his newly shorn hair, my fingertips seeking the slight inward curve of his temples and pressing lightly against them. Projecting the whole wonderful y radiant scene from my mind to his, showing him the tree exactly as I remember it, in al of its abundance and glory.
“Wow,” he says, his voice like a sigh. “That must’ve been … something.” He looks at me, gaze deeply probing.
I nod, start to remove my hands from his face, only to have him press his palms hard against them, holding me in place.
“I should go.” I try to pul away, only to have him hold me even tighter, keep me right there before him.
“Ever…” His voice is thick, ragged, a tone I know wel .