“What we could talk about, what subjects were off limits, when to leave you alone, how hard to knock at the doors you locked yourself behind. Your rules, never negotiable.”
“I never spelled out any rules!”
“You didn’t have to spell them out in words. You didn’t have to make a list. Your actions spoke louder than words. Stay away. I don’t need you.”
What was he talking about? That’s not how it had been at all. Of course I’d needed him, but there had been no point asking. We’d been on completely different pages. I had been drowning in an isolated sea of grief, and he’d been . . . fine. He’d managed and I could barely put one foot in front of the other. And, damn it to hell, I didn’t want to think about that. I was past that—finally, blessedly—and I had no interest in going back. I felt filled with sudden and overwhelming anger.
We drove in heavy silence for the first ten minutes as my anger started to fade then fizzled entirely. I sighed, leaning back, turning toward Dane. When he met my gaze, his expression had softened. “We’re a hot mess together, aren’t we?” I murmured. “Another good reminder of why parting ways was the right choice.”
He smiled, though sort of sadly. “I suppose.” I wasn’t exactly sure what that meant, but I was exhausted and ready to get off this roller coaster. None of this was worth rehashing, and I’d said as much earlier, and yet we couldn’t seem to stop doing it. If I’d needed a reminder about why I hadn’t wanted even a small update on Dane or what his life was like all these years, this was it. And thank God I hadn’t known about him and Winnie. Perfect Winnie Sinclair, whom his grandmother was always trying to set him up with. When Dane mentioned her name I thought I’d be sick. To think they almost made a perfect home together . . . slept together . . .
No.
I wanted my quiet, peaceful life back, free from information about Dane and Winnie Sinclair. And I worried that even if Luella backed off my business, I’d lost something I’d never find again. The life I’d carved out for myself suddenly felt like a mirage whereas before all this, it’d felt real and right. Good God, seeing Dane again was messing with my head. Messing with my carefully held-together life.
Dane smoothly pulled into a spot across the street from my building, and as he was starting to open his door, I put my hand on his arm. He turned toward me questioningly. I felt shaky and unsure, filled with emotions I didn’t want to feel, much less examine. “You don’t need to walk me in. Tonight was . . . hard, but good. Um, I really am so glad to see you doing well. You obviously love what you’re doing. Your life is good. You’re good.” I smiled at him. “Things turned out well for you. And I do appreciate you helping me, so much.”
“Audra—”
“I’ll see you tomorrow morning? Eight?”
He paused, his eyes moving over my face. He looked tired, and if I wasn’t mistaken, disappointed, but I supposed he’d hoped things would be easier with us—breezier maybe—but that would never happen. We should have ended dinner and skipped the gelato. Quit while we were ahead. “Don’t go in there.”
I blinked. “What?”
Dane rubbed the back of his neck. “Please don’t go back in that place. It’s not safe. Come home with me.”
I brought my head back slightly. What? “I can’t stay with you,” I croaked.
“I meant, I have a guest room. There’s no reason to put your safety at risk when you can stay with me.”
I managed a small smile. “That’s nice of you, but no. Thank you.” I glanced across the street at the ugly building. “It’s really not that bad.”
Dane appeared to be wrestling with something, whether to try to insist that I stay with him most likely. I put my hand on the door handle and he sighed. “Okay. Eight.”
I nodded, shooting him a small smile and hopping out, shutting my door behind me. I looked both ways and then jogged across the empty street and toward the relative safety of my hotel.
I felt hot and cold, shaken and saddened. And most of all, I felt the low buzz of panic I’d felt since our eyes had met earlier that day. I didn’t like it. It made me want to cry and scream, two things I never did, and definitely not at the same time.
I pulled the door to the lobby open and ducked inside, breathing far too harshly for what had been a short jog across the street. The front desk stood empty, and I took a moment to catch my breath, leaning back on the wall next to the door, putting my palms flat against the cool stone behind me. Something inside me wanted to step back into the night, wave Dane’s car down, and beg him not to leave.
Stay. Please don’t leave me, Dane.
But why? For what?
I’d run from him because I didn’t want to feel this way. I wanted comfort from this feeling, and the worst part about it was that I wanted him to provide the comfort, no one else. Oh God, I was turned inside out. A small whimper came up my throat and the door next to me banged open, causing me to startle.
Dane stood in the doorway, looking toward the elevator, the unguarded expression on his face filled with both yearning and indecision. I blinked, pressing myself further into the unforgiving wall and the small movement must have caught his peripheral vision because he turned and saw me. A thousand partial words and statements seemed to pass between us, unfinished, unformed, and yet despite the confusion—the breathless tangling of thoughts and gazes—he moved toward me and I welcomed him.
He stepped right up to me, a wild look in his eyes, his breath as shallow as my own. “I . . . don’t want you here alone. Why don’t I want you here alone, Audra?” He gripped my upper arms, and though he looked angry, I felt a sudden jolt of sympathy for him. For whatever was causing him to suffer, to put that look on his face, that tone in his voice.
“It’s not up to you,” I whispered.
He let out a hot gust of breath and I leaned into it. He smelled like tangy lemon gelato and red wine and something that was him and would only ever be him and was still—unbearably—part of me too.
“I know,” he gritted out and then softer, more controlled, “I know.” He pressed his forehead against mine, and for a second we just breathed together. He was beautiful. God, he’d always been so beautiful. I hadn’t been this close to Dane for so long, and despite my mind whirling with confusion, something about it also felt . . . right. I didn’t look away. I didn’t push him back. “So why does it feel like it is?” he asked. “Why does it feel like it always will?”
I opened my mouth to answer, with what I wasn’t sure. But before I could utter a sound, he moved forward, pressing his body into mine and bringing our mouths together. We collided with a mingled groan, a sound quickly muffled as our lips fused, tongues seeking those warm, wet, still-familiar dips and crevices. I brought my arms up and around his neck, my hands seeking the softness of his hair, weaving into it, fingertips finding the curve of his skull, the small imperfection near his hairline. That tiny scar, the result of hitting the edge of a coffee table while wrestling with his brother when he was nine. A small secret that I sought out as if it were only mine, something precious that had been lost and now was found.