Just Fooling Around(46)

“You think that would make me not want you?” she’d argued. “Do my broken bones mean that you don’t want me?”

“You know I do,” he’d said. “Desperately. But I’m not going to stand by and watch you get hurt because of me.”

Tears had streamed down her face. “If you leave me, I will be hurt because of you.”

“But you’ll be whole,” he said.

She closed her eyes. “No. I won’t.”

Her words had almost weakened his resolve, but he knew he was right. Knew it. A cursed life was no life. Until he was able to remove the curse, he wasn’t going to get married. Before Anne, marriage had been an abstract principle that didn’t much bother him. Once he fell in love, though, his principles hurt him as much as the curse did.

She’d fought him on it, pointing out that most Franklins survived the curse, though she had to concede when he reminded her that some had died and many had been injured. And the injuries sometimes slid over onto spouses, too. Marriage, after all, would make her a Franklin.

“Isn’t it enough that I don’t care?” she’d asked. “That I’m willing to take that risk?”

He’d squeezed her hand, wanting so badly to pull her toward him and kiss her, to bury himself inside her and let passion fight the curse. Instead, he’d spoken calmly and evenly. “It’s not a risk I’m willing to take.”

After that, she hadn’t tried to persuade him anymore. Instead, she’d quietly applied for other jobs, and ended up moving from Texas to New Orleans. They’d fought about it, of course, so loud the neighbors had complained, but in the end, they were both stubborn, and she left, her last words—that she loved him—hanging in the air.

Those words had cut him like a knife, and for the first time he could remember since childhood, Reg Franklin had cried.

He heard she’d moved into an old family property in the Garden District and now worked as a professor at Tulane. He’d fought the urge to get in his car and race to New Orleans. He needed to stay away, he knew. He’d made the right decision—that she was better without him—and he was afraid that if he saw her again, his resolve would fail.

Now he was going back to New Orleans, and he wasn’t certain if he wanted to see her, or wanted her to stay far, far away.

Once again he looked at his watch. One minute past twelve. His stomach clenched, fearing a crash, and his gaze went automatically toward the window and the lights below. In his mind, he could see Anne down there. She’d always said that she’d catch him if he fell.

He doubted that this was what she meant.

He squeezed his eyes shut and told himself to sleep. If he was going to be sucked into a disaster, the best thing to do was sleep during the worst of it.

But sleep wouldn’t come. Anne was on his mind now, though in truth she’d never been far from his thoughts the last two years.

He’d left Texas soon after she did. For over a year, he’d pursued any lead he could find on the curse with an insane frenzy, desperate to find an answer and get her back.

Then he realized there was no answer to be had. He wanted her still, so desperately, but he couldn’t bring himself to put her in harm’s way. Even the fact that Cam and Devon were happily married by then couldn’t sway him, because as much as he loved them, he thought they were putting Jenna and Chance in horrible danger.

Now, of course, he had to admit that Jenna and Chance were fine. Even Darcy had been engaged now for almost a year, and Evan was as healthy as a horse.

Reg, however, kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. When it did, he didn’t want it dropping on Anne.

He’d left, because he knew he’d never solve the curse, and being on the same continent with her was just too damn painful.

He’d stopped trying to track down the amulet, because every blocked path reminded him of her and of what they couldn’t have together.

He’d gone to England to escape her, and now he was coming back against his better judgment because Jean Michel had sent him an e-mail. An e-mail he had never expected to get, but which had such a solid clue that he felt like he had to take the chance.

If this worked, he’d crawl to Anne and beg forgiveness. But until then, he couldn’t see her.

Seeing her and not having her would hurt too damn much.

He realized with a start that the plane had started its descent. The other first-class passengers around him seemed fine with that. Reg, of course, was terrified, and he clung to the arms of the seat, feeling clammy and unsure, his heart pounding in his chest, not even breathing until, finally, the wheels touched down. The overhead compartment above him popped open, and his carry-on bag came flying out, slamming hard into the aisle and startling the woman sitting one row up. He heard the crash of glass and was certain his shaving mirror had splintered.