Though I don’t get very far before he waves his hand and says, “Ever, if you think for one moment that this is easy for me, well, think again.” He sighs and closes his eyes. “Trust me, there’s a big, loud, overwhelming part of me telling me to just shut up—to stop talking, and quit while I’ve got you right here in my house, well within my reach, and more than willing to spend your free time with me.” He stops, hands clenching, fingers fidgeting, a sign of the battle that rages within. “But there’s also another, far more rational part, that tells me to do just the opposite. And even though I’m probably crazy for saying this, I feel like I have to, so, I just…” He pauses, swallowing hard before he starts again, “I just think its for the best if you—”
I hold my breath, pretty sure that I don’t want to hear it, yet resigned to the fact that I will.
“I think you should sort of…just…stay away for a while, that’s all.”
He opens his eyes and looks right at me, allowing the sentence to hang there between us like a barrier that cannot be breached.
“Because as much as I love having you around, and I think you know by now that I do, if we have any hope of moving forward, if you have any hope of making a decision anytime soon regarding your future—or our future—whatever the case may be, well, then, you really need to get back out there. You have to stop—” He takes a deep breath and shifts uncomfortably, obviously having to force the words from his lips. “You have to stop hiding out at the store and deal with your life head-on.”
I sit there, speechles
s, stunned, and a little confused as to how I’m supposed to take that—much less respond to it.
Hiding?
Is that what he thinks I’ve been doing all week?
And, even worse, is there any chance that it’s true? That he’s onto something I’m totally unconscious of and worked extra hard to ignore?
I shake my head and drop my feet from the table to the floor. Slipping them back into my wedge-heeled sandals when I say, “I guess I didn’t realize…I—”
But before I can go any further, Jude abruptly sits up, shaking his head when he says, “Please, I meant nothing by it, I just want you to think about it, okay? Because, Ever—” He pushes his dreadlocks off his face so he can really see me. “I just don’t know how much longer I can sit on standby like this.”
He drops his hands to his lap, where they remain open, relaxed, like some kind of offering. Holding my gaze for so long my heart begins to race, my gut to dance, and I feel so light-headed it’s like all of the air has been sucked right out of the room.
The energy between us building and growing until it’s so palpable, so tactile, it’s like I can actually see it streaming from his body to mine. A thick, pulsating band of desire that expands and contracts, urging us to move closer, to merge as one.
And I’m not sure who’s responsible for it—him, or me, or maybe some sort of universal force. All I know is that the pull is so overwhelming, so broad and sweeping, I leap right out of my chair, slap my bag onto my shoulder, and say, “I should go.”
Already at the door, fingers twisting the handle when he calls, “Ever—we’re okay here, right?”
But I just keep going, wondering if he saw what I saw, felt what I felt, or if it was just some stupid thing I made up in my head.
Stepping outside and taking a long, deep breath—filling my lungs with warm salty air as I gaze up at a night sky filled with stars, one in particular that burns especially bright.
One single star that manages to outshine all the rest—as though it’s begging me to make a wish upon it.
So I do.
Gazing up at my very own night star, asking for guidance, direction, for some kind of help—and, failing that, to at least provide some kind of nudge that’ll push me toward the right one.
eighteen
I drive around Laguna for what seems like forever, unsure what to do with myself, unsure where to go. Part of me—a big part of me—longing to go straight to Damen’s, barrel right into his arms, tell him that all is forgiven, and try to pick up right where we left off—but I dismiss it just as quickly.
I’m lonely and confused and really just looking for a warm place to land. And as conflicted as I may be about him, I refuse to treat him like a crutch.
We both deserve better than that.
So I continue to cruise, traveling up and down Coast Highway a few times before venturing into the smaller, narrower, twisting and turning village streets. Just meandering around and around, with no real destination in mind, until I find myself at Roman’s—or, make that Haven’s, since according to Miles, she’s taken up residence.
Abandoning my car by the curb, far enough away so she won’t see it, I creep quietly across the street, hearing the music well before I’ve even reached the path that leads to the door. The speakers blaring some song by one of those garage bands she’s so fond of—the kind Roman hated and I’ve never even heard of.
I make my way toward the front window, a large bay one lined with hedges on the outside and an unoccupied window seat on the inside. Crouching down beside the bushes, having no intention of going in or being seen, I’m far more interested in observing, learning just what it is that she’s up to, and how she spends her free time. The more I know about her habits, the better I’ll be able to plan around them, or if not actually plan, then at least I’ll know how to react when the time comes.
She stands before a blazing fire, her hair long and wavy, her makeup as dramatically applied as the last time I saw her. Though the long, flowy gown she wore on the first day of school has been swapped for a skintight, indigo-blue minidress, while the stilettos she usually favors have been shunned for bare feet. But the tangle of necklaces are still there, minus the amulet of course, and the longer I watch her, the way she speaks, the way she flits around the room, the more I begin to worry.
There’s something so manic, so agitated, so tightly wound about her, it’s like she can barely contain her own energy, can barely handle herself.