I take a bracing breath. “Raine, dammit… I can’t.”
There’s a fine tremor in his hand when he lifts it to shove hair out of his eyes. “I see.”
“No, I don’t think you do.” This is way too complicated, way too dangerous. But what comes out is, “You’ll leave me sooner or later. You’ll move on. But I…” My breathing is chopped, and my eyes burn like I’m about to fucking cry. “But I won’t.”
Oh fuck me, this is bad. Mortifying. And he hasn’t said another word, which only means I’m right.
I stumble out of the bedroom blindly, to look for my clothes. I find them in a pile on the floor of the living room, and flashes from the sex we had on the couch last night stop me for a second.
His voice behind me makes me start.
“Come back tonight,” he says, taking my hand and pressing something small and cold into my palm. I know it’s the key I dropped last night as we tore each other’s clothes off. “Look, the number written on the key is the code for the door downstairs. Come back. Say you will.”
I stare down at his hand over mine. I only promised to keep the key, not use it, and come on, I said it during sex. It can’t possibly count, and I should tell him that. Not to expect this of me. Not to expect anything.
But I find myself nodding instead. “I will.”
Part Three
HUSH little baby in the bedroom
The wind has stopped, the cradle is still
I’ll come with my knife and make you scream
One time, two times, three times, four
Five and then we go once more…
Chapter Thirty-One
Raine
Friday night, and my brain’s so scattered I spill the customers’ popcorn all over the counter, then give them back the wrong change. My boss isn’t around to breathe down my back, and that’s a blessing, because I’m shaking with nerves.
Fucking stupid. I asked Jason to come by, to stay at my place, and I don’t even know what to expect after last night. Will he take the sofa and not talk to me? Will he come to my bed and let me in again? Will he come at all?
Will he open up to me? After talking to Ocean—and Jesse—about Simon Gomez, I realized how little I know about his hold on Jason and how little can be done without that information.
Not that last night I had the presence of mind to grill him about it. Not that he’d reply. He’s skittish and wary, and the only way to get him to relax is to slow down and let him open up at his own speed.
If only I didn’t have this bad feeling churning in my gut, insisting that time is running out… Which is laughable. Why now? I’ll bet it’s just my lack of patience speaking, and not any real gut feeling. Jason looked good last night. Less bruised. More confident. He’s okay, and we will talk when he’s good and ready.
I have to have patience, tread gently.
But when I finally get home, after I spend two hours puttering about, preparing dinner, cleaning up the place, and he doesn’t show up… The bad feeling is back, and has me up and pacing.
Fear. It’s acid, eating at my stomach lining.
By ten at night, my cell phone is blowing up with messages from Ocean and the guys. We’re supposed to take our guests out, and I should join them.
I really should.
But no fucking way. Not tonight.
Please, let him come. I haven’t asked for that much in my life, and I don’t pray, not since my aunt ruined that for me, but I want Jason. So damn much.
Another hour passes. And he doesn’t arrive. I pace the length of my living room. I tell myself it shouldn’t surprise me. Nothing strange about him not showing up. I pushed and pushed for that promise.