Wanted(14)

While most of the guests were lounging on the couches and sipping drinks by the outdoor kitchen, I moved away from the crowd. I stood alone between the tiny potted firs that lined the perimeter, my hands pressed to the glass that provided that extra bit of protection against the urge to spread your arms and leap, proving once and for all that though you might appear human, you really weren’t. You were just air and breath and the thrill of motion, and nothing bad could happen to you in the night sky because the wind would always catch you.

“I hope you’re not thinking about jumping.”

Ironically, I did exactly that, practically leaping out of my skin as my hand rose to my throat. My heart beat double-time, but whether that was because of the surprise or because of the man who’d so stealthily approached, I didn’t know.

I drew in what I hoped was a calming breath, gathered myself, and then turned to face Evan.

“I was,” I admitted. “But don’t worry. I’m not suicidal.”

“No,” he said simply, his eyes flat as they assessed me. “You’re too strong for that.”

“That is such bullshit.” I bit out the retort automatically, irritated that he’d so easily pushed my buttons. People had said the same thing after Gracie died, every word like fingernails on a chalkboard. You’re so strong, you’re handling it all so well. And it was all crap, because I wasn’t handling it at all.

I’d moved like a zombie through the days, barely managing to function. The days were bad enough. The nights pretty much fucking killed me.

I sucked in a shaky breath. “There’s nothing strong about surviving,” I said. “All it means is that one more time, death passed you up.”

I winced, because the second the words were out of my mouth, I knew I’d said too much. Shit.

I turned back to the glass and looked out over the world. I didn’t turn when I heard him move up beside me, taking his own position at the barrier. For the first time I could remember, in fact, I wanted Evan Black to just go away.

“I’m sorry,” he said. His voice was low and level, and I liked the way it felt inside my head. I didn’t turn, though. I wasn’t sure if he was sorry for my loss or apologizing for his words, and if it was the former, I really didn’t want to know.

“So why are you here?” I finally asked, my back still toward him. “Did you track me down to give me more grief about the guy I’m dating?”

“Believe it or not, I don’t spend that much time thinking about Kevin Warner.”

I turned, my brow raised in question. “No? Because in the kitchen earlier he sure seemed to be on your mind.”

“Not Kevin,” he said simply. “You.”

“Oh.” I swallowed, liking the sound of that word on his lips. You.

For a moment, silence hung between us. I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know what he wanted. I didn’t know what he was doing there or what was going on between us, or if anything even was going on between us. I waited for him to speak, but he seemed content to let the silence continue. He was doing nothing more than standing there, and yet I felt suddenly trapped, as if he’d captured me in that firm and unwavering gaze.

In desperation, I finally managed to form a sentence. “You’re wrong,” I finally said, looking down at my fingernails so that I wouldn’t have to see his face. “I’m not strong at all.” I thought of how much I wanted to escape this day. Of how much I wanted my uncle back. Of how desperately I wanted to cry, and of how hard I was having to work to keep all that grief bottled up inside.

Mostly, I thought of how certain I was that I wouldn’t make it through the night. That no matter how hard I tried, in the end the explosion would come and somehow, someway, everything I’d wrapped up tight would come completely unraveled.

“You are. I’ve watched you,” he said firmly. “Over the years, I mean. You keep yourself under tight control, Angie. That takes a lot of strength.”

I fervently wished that what he saw was true. It wasn’t, of course. I’d been trying for years to keep myself under control, but the tighter I grasped, the more pieces of me seem to break free.

Stifling a sigh, I turned away again to look out at Lake Michigan and the boats that were now nothing more than tiny points of lights in the distance. “You must not have been watching too closely,” I said.

“On the contrary,” he said, his voice low and even and so intense it seemed to erase all my protests even before I could voice them. “I paid a great deal of attention. I always do when something matters to me.”