"But you can't," I said, thinking of my sister. Of my life. Of my uncle. "Nobody can."
His grin was wide, achingly sexy, and desperately sad. He reached out, then lightly stroked my cheek. "Watch me."
I did, but only in the sense that I watched him leave. I stayed there, alone on the patio. Just me and my confusion and mortification. Not to mention two dozen people I barely knew. All of us on this Chicago rooftop, hurtling through space and time and the universe.
I stared after him, not moving. Not really even thinking. Behind me, the fireworks over the Navy Pier began to explode and suddenly the night sky was alive with color. I barely noticed. The only color I saw was Evan, his hue standing out against the backdrop of gray that had consumed me.
It took a full five minutes before I realized that I was still holding my phone.
I pulled up the message and, despite my confusion, I smiled.
Just landed. You okay?
I typed my answer--Surviving, I think--then hesitated. I wanted to edit it before hitting send. To tell Flynn about what just happened with Evan, whom he's heard about ad nauseam since we were both sixteen. About how I was seeing Jahn's ghost around every corner. About how much I hated death and funerals and I wished that I were a runner because then I could shove my feet into some Nikes and just go.
I didn't type any of that, though. Instead, I just hit send.
I'll be there in 10.
I couldn't help but smile. He really did know me well.
It's okay. People leaving.
Don't want you alone.
Kevin's taking me home w/ him.
There was a pause before the next text came through, and I understood why. I've spent far too many nights boring him with my rants about how Kevin is empirically perfect and I'm an idiot to even contemplate blowing him off.
Is that what you want?
It wasn't, of course. What I wanted was Evan. His voice in my ear. His hand on my back. I wanted to return to that place in the sky, and I was suddenly terribly afraid that he was the only one who could get me there.
Violently, I jabbed my finger on the keypad. I really wasn't going to do self-analysis by text. Just not happening.
Gotta go. TTYL
I set the phone on Do Not Disturb and shoved it back in my purse. If he texted me back, I didn't want to know about it. I looked up in time to see that Kevin had entered the patio and was looking right at me, his expression quizzical. I wasn't terribly surprised. I was feeling ripped to pieces, not to mention confused and unsatisfied and more than a little bit guilty about my pleasant, odd, and totally unexpected encounter with Evan. Unfortunately, I didn't have the chance to adjust my expression before he zeroed in on me.
"You're looking tired," he said, smiling gently as he took my hand. "Let's go."
"Tired being a euphemism for destroyed?"
"What can I say? I minored in English."
My laugh was completely genuine. "You're a good man, Agent Warner," I said. "You deserve more than a wreck like me."
"Maybe I like a fixer-upper." He lifted our joined hands and kissed my fingertips. "You need distance. Come on. I already told Peterson I was whisking you away," he added, referring to Jahn's ever-present but usually invisible butler. "He'll make sure the rest of the guests get on their way."
I let him tug me toward the door. The guests were already leaving, and a few pulled me aside, giving me a hug and an encouraging word. Kat hurried over as we neared the entrance hall. "You're heading out?"
"She needs to get away for the night," Kevin said. "I'm taking her to my place."
"Great," Kat said, her voice bland, but a question in her eyes. I wished I could answer it. Cliche, maybe, but I could have used a night of nail polish and ice cream and talking about men.
"It's gonna get easier," Kat said, then pulled me into a tight hug.
"So they tell me."
"Tomorrow," she said. "We'll meet for cupcakes, okay?"
"Definitely," I said, because who turns down cupcakes or sympathy from her best friend?
I didn't see Tyler or Cole, and since I agreed that I needed to get out of there sooner rather than later, I continued willingly toward the door, figuring I'd see them in a couple of days at the attorney's office. I still had the trauma of the will to look forward to. Maybe after that, I could start to heal.
I heard Evan before I saw him, that low, whiskey-smooth voice unmistakable. I was overcome by the desire to take a detour. Unfortunately, he was right by the front door.
"I understand," he was saying. "But this isn't the place."
"It's just without the damn liquor license, I can't get enough traffic to turn the profit we need, and I can't get the license without--"
I could see him now, and I watched as he cut off a stout, weasel-faced man with a hand to the shoulder. "Now's not the time. But I promise you I'll take care of it."
"Seriously?"
I saw a muscle twitch in Evan's cheek. "Are you doubting my word?"
The weasel looked a little bit terrified that he might have offended Evan. "Oh, no. I didn't mean that you--"
"It's not a problem." Evan's voice was a blanket of calm against the hyper backpedaling. "I've got a few favors I can call in. We'll get it worked out."
The weasel nodded. "I'll owe you. I know I'll owe you."
I saw the moment Evan noticed me. Just the slightest shift of his gaze from the weasel to my face, and then back again. "Tomorrow," Evan said. "We'll talk." Then he turned to me, effectively dismissing the weasel, who slipped through the door, shoulders sagging in what looked like relief.
"Angie." His voice stroked me like a strong, firm hand, and I felt my body heat in memory of his touch. His eyes flicked to Kevin. "Agent Warner."
"Nice speech," Kevin said. He held his hand out to shake. "You're an articulate man."
"It pays to be able to persuade people in my line of work," Evan said.
For a moment, I thought he was going to ignore Kevin's outstretched hand. Then he reached out--and as he did, I saw the raw, red knuckles. I couldn't believe I hadn't noticed them before, and I had to blame my lack of attention on the dark. And on the fact that I'd been somewhat preoccupied by his general proximity, his touch, and my raging hormones.
"Evan! What happened?"
"Street fighting, Mr. Black?" Kevin said, in what must have been a joke but just sounded rude to me.
"If I was," Evan said smoothly, "the other guy must be pretty fucked up." He held the hand up for inspection. "I'd say I got off easy."
For a moment, the two just stared at each other, a sticky, uncomfortable tension filling the space between them. Forget the War of the Roses, that historic battle was nothing compared to this War of the Alphas, and I had a sick feeling that I was the root of the trouble.
"It's hardly a joke," I snapped. "Seriously, Evan, you should clean that up. And for Christ's sake, Kevin. Could you be any more of a jerk?"
He angled a glance at me. "Sorry."
"It's fine," Evan said. "Really. I was helping a friend with her car. My hand slipped, and the engine was still pretty hot. It wasn't pleasant, but I'll survive."
"You should be more careful," Kevin said.
"I'm always careful," Evan countered smoothly. "But sometimes shit happens."
He was right. Jahn's death was about as shitty as it got.
For a moment, the silence hung awkwardly between the three of us. Then Kevin hooked his arm around my shoulder. "She's had a hell of a day. We're going to get out of here."
I waited for Evan to say goodbye, some tiny part of me hoping that he'd step in and insist I stay in the condo, because how could he just let me leave with Kevin? But he only stood there. There was no sign--no hint--of the man who'd evoked such sensuality on the patio. The man whose voice had told me to fly and whose touch had burst through me with at least as much color and flare as tonight's fireworks.
I was too tired and too slashed to try to understand it or even to think about it. All I felt wa
s sad.