Finding Eden(39)

Eden shook her head and looked down for a second before she met my eyes again. "Are we going to be okay, Calder? Do we even have a chance?"

I thought about that for a second. I had promised her so much before, promised her that I'd protect her, that we'd be okay . . . and I'd failed. I breathed deeply to force the guilt out of my lungs, the anger and loss, and self-hatred. Yes, that most of all. "We're going to try our damndest, Eden. That's all I can give you. That's all I can promise."

She licked her lips and looked to be considering my words. Finally she nodded. "That's enough," she said, meeting my eyes, her own gentle and willing. The trust shining from her face shocked me and almost took my breath away. After everything . . . she could still look at me like that? How? Why? I opened my mouth to ask her, but she leaned forward and kissed me. Her lips were soft and sweet just as they always were in my dreams. And though she'd been stolen from her family, isolated from friendships as a child, left to largely fend for herself in a strange city still recovering the harsh, brutal death of me and our baby . . . Despite all she'd suffered in her life, despite my failure to be there for her when she'd needed me, she still offered herself selflessly and without hesitation. I took it like the gift it was, opening my mouth and sliding my tongue against hers. We kissed deeply, Eden tilting her head and moaning sweetly into my mouth. I felt desperate to feel her skin against mine. But we were here in her mother's house with a party still going on downstairs. I wanted to get her back to my place where I could take my time with her. We deserved that. If we deserved anything, we deserved that.

I broke the kiss and pulled away regretfully. I looked into her eyes and saw the same desire reflected back at me. My beautiful girl. I wanted her badly, but we needed time together in this new world. It felt necessary to experience a new normal together.

"So," she said pulling away and grabbing a pair of jeans lying at the end of her bed, "this bowling thing . . . how good are you?"

"Oh," I said, sitting down on her bed, "I've never bowled. Xander and I used to go to this bowling alley on Monday nights a couple years back." I paused, recalling the shell of a person I had been, sitting there blankly watching people whoop and laugh and pour beer from pitchers. "We were dirt poor," I said, shaking my head. "They had this all-you-can-eat nacho bar." I made a gagging motion. "I swear if I never see another vat of orange cheese for as long as I live, it will be too soon."

Eden laughed a small laugh, but there was sadness in her eyes. She opened her dresser drawer to get a tank top and pulled it over her head. I leaned back on her pillows, turning my face to the side and inhaling the clean, apple blossom scent of the fabric. If I had anything to say about it, my own sheets were going to smell like that tomorrow and every day for the rest of my days.

She closed her drawer. "No more all-you-can-eat nacho bars for you, famous artist," she said. She walked to her closet and opened the door just a crack and reached inside.

I breathed out a small chuckle. "Hardly famous," I said, feeling slightly embarrassed for some reason.

She turned her head and regarded me for a few beats. "You will be though," she said, like it was just a certainty.

"I—" I sat up, my words halting and my blood running cold. "Eden, what is that in there?"

Eden grabbed a shirt and shut the door quickly. "Nothing," she said. She licked her lips nervously, holding the shirt in her hand up against her breasts. "Just, um, some research I've been doing."

I stood up and walked over to her, putting my hand on the closet door handle.

"Calder—" Eden started, reaching for my hand. I halted, but her hand fell away from mine and she stepped back, breathing out a resigned breath.

I opened the closet door and there on the back of it, covering every inch of space, were news clips of Acadia, pictures of the council members they had found and identified. There was a picture of Clive Richter—what had originally caught my attention when I glimpsed it from the bed—that she must have printed out from somewhere online, a rough sketch of who I was guessing was supposed to be Hector, and countless small notes written in Eden's handwriting. Toward the middle, there was something that looked like a timeline. My eyes moved from one side of the corkboard she'd adhered to the back of the door and all the items pinned to it and then to the other. It went practically down to the floor.

"What are you doing, Eden?" I asked, my voice sounding flat.

Color stained her cheeks and she looked away. "You don't have to sound like I'm a nutcase. I'm just . . . researching. I'm . . ." She made a small sound of frustration. "I'm gathering knowledge. It helps me feel in control. It helps me feel less scared, I guess. Less . . ." Her final words came out softly and then trailed off.