The Ends of the World (The Conspiracy of Us #3)(49)

Home. What would that mean for me now? Earlier, it had sounded like Jack planned to stay with the Circle once this was all over-but now that he was a Keeper who had killed a family member, everything was a lot more complicated. Elodie, I assumed, might go back to the Order. Stellan would almost certainly leave the Circle as soon as he could, though he hadn't confirmed it. He hadn't said much the rest of the drive, actually.

I let my eyes drift closed, playing over everything we'd said in the car. It had been so long since I'd really talked to anyone. I'd isolated myself from all of them lately, but being without Stellan had been especially hard, I realized. Instead of making me more stressed, talking to him made me feel stronger. The last time we'd talked like that was probably at that bar in Cannes, right before we-

My eyes flew open.

I stared up at the wooden beams of the ceiling, but the picture wouldn't fade.

Maybe after shutting everyone out for so long, I just wanted somebody to hold me and comfort me. But if that was the case, I would have turned to Jack earlier rather than breaking it off with him, right? I knew it wasn't just that. If I was being honest, I'd been hyperaware of Stellan ever since that kiss at the Melechs'. I had no idea why. It had been a fake kiss that had made me panic. Not exactly the stuff of romance novels. And yet. No matter what, it wasn't something I wanted in my head, not least because recently, those thoughts led to other, uglier ones.

I grabbed the second pillow and pushed it over my face like it would block out the images. I pictured every fancy dress I'd worn that had ended up torn or bloodied or burned. I tried to remember all twelve Circle families' mottos and symbols. I started the alphabet backward-and around R, there was the memory again, kissing him on the steps of a bar in Cannes, under a green striped awning, at Colette's villa. Us with Colette not long after that, in Paris, right before-

I was only under one blanket, but it was stifling. I shifted restlessly.

There were more footsteps outside, and they stopped. There was a light tap at my door. I bolted upright, and my first thought was to feel guilty about what I'd just been thinking. The second was to grab my gun, just in case. I padded on bare feet across the cold brick and said, "Who is it?"

"It's me," Stellan said.

I had known it would be.

I set down the gun, unlocked the deadbolt and the chain lock, and opened the door. The lamp on my bedside table cast only a dim glow, and he stood silhouetted in the lobby light.

"Did I wake you up?"

"No," I said.

"How is your shoulder feeling?" His accent was thicker than usual.

"Hurts."

He was chewing on his lower lip, looking different from the person who had just been kissing me in my head. He'd grown more gaunt recently. His eyes looked tired. Sad. A little broken. They had for a while, and I just hadn't noticed. Probably because all of ours did.

But he looked-oh God. He looked good. He was wearing a new T-shirt he got from the mall earlier and tracksuit pants that were too short for him. His hair was down again, and wet like he had just showered. He looked so much better than I wanted him to look. I had the distinct impression that, for maybe the first time ever, I was thinking impure thoughts about him and he wasn't reciprocating.

"I lied. I'm not doing entirely okay," he said, without looking up from the floor. "Can't sleep."



       
         
       
        

I was a terrible person.

I opened the door all the way, and he hesitated, then came inside. I glanced down the hall and locked the door behind him.

"Worrying about Anya, or something else?" I said quietly, trying to make up for what I'd just been thinking.

"That. And everything I told you in the tunnels. And-"

"Flashbacks from the hospital?" I asked, remembering my hunch. "Or from other stuff?"

He looked surprised. "Yes, actually. And-"

"What?"

"You."

I was quiet. Yes, we'd been friendly earlier, but I didn't want to hear that he was feeling this way because of anything to do with me. I didn't want to feel better knowing he was in my room right now. I didn't want to be looking at his mouth and realizing I'd been looking at it all day. I didn't want to need him, even if it was just for purposes of distraction. I didn't want him to need me at all.

"You make me feel too many things," he said abruptly. He crossed to the window, pulling back the heavy curtain to look down at the street. "I had gotten good at blocking it all out. And ever since you got here, you've made me feel all these things, and some of them aren't good."