Everly pulls me into a hug. “Congratulations, Hen,” she whispers, “I know I shouldn’t say this, but you’re not looking as happy as you should be right now. You okay?”
I answer her question with another. “Where’d your friend go?”
She rears back to look at me. “What? Oh! I’m sorry. I didn’t think it’d be a big deal for her to join us. I just fell in love with her, ya know.”Yeah, I know.“She was so much fun.” Everly glances over my shoulder, then looks at me with a slight frown. “She just needed to use the bathroom. You mad?”
“Not mad,” I tell her. And it’s the truth. Honestly, I don’t know what I am right now. But it’s not mad. I need a minute. “I’ll be right back,” I say over my shoulder as I start moving toward the restrooms. But before I turn down the hall, wildly long blonde hair catches my eye. Shifting her weight back and forth in front of the coat check.
Away from the crowd, where I can take my time looking, and out from the shock of seeing who should be a ghost, I know it’s her. She’s the woman who stole a part of me one night, for only a few hours, in a bar three years ago. The woman who stood me up. A woman who is supposed to be dead.
I move quickly as soon as she pulls her coat from the attendant, plucking the black leather out of her hands. She startles. She didn’t expect me to follow her. Without saying a word, I hold up her coat. She turns around, slipping one arm into each sleeve.
“Mr. Riggs, do you need your coat, sir?”
“No, he’s staying,” G answers for me. In a rushed breath, she says, “I apologize for crashing your party.” But before I can say anything to her, she moves from where I’m still gripping onto her coat. Without turning around to face me, she adds, “Have a beautiful life, Henry.” And then she’s rushing out of the restaurant.
I rub my chest. Like I’ve been shoved after hearing her say my name. She’s real. She’s alive. And as much as I feel drawn to her, she doesn’t know me. Because if she did, then she’d know there’s no way I’m just going to let her leave.
Especially now that I’ve found her.
9
Giselle
It smellslike snow when I step outside. I take a deep breath and try to calm my erratic heartbeat. I’m about to have a panic attack. I didn’t expect to see him. How could I have known? I didn’t prepare for the idea that if I ever did see him again, that he’d have an entire life happening.So stupid!For someone who can memorize faces and moments with almost uncomfortable clarity, to never think a man I met one night, an entire lifetime ago now, would have built a life of his own. A life he’s about to start sharing with someone else. I feel sick.
“You can’t be here,” a deep voice says from behind me.
“No shit, Sherlock. That’s why I’m leaving,” I bite back. I’m so much better when I’m short and bitchy with people. Less emotion. Especially right now. It’ll keep me from drowning. The softer side of me wants to run right into his arms. Someone familiar, someone from before. Or maybe it’s just him. “You don’t need to follow me.”
He jogs up next to me. Loud, hurried steps. I’ve only made it about twenty feet from the restaurant. I’m still at least a city block away from the gondola station. I need to get there. Get away. Get home and then figure out what the hell I do next.
“I didn’t—” he cuts off and then steps in front of me, blocking my way. “That’s not what I meant.” He runs his hand through his hair, clearly exasperated. “How are you here?”
I push my hands farther into my leather jacket pockets. His hair is a bit longer now. A little wave to the strands on top. I can’t see the blues and greens of his eyes in this light, but I remember how beautifully they swirled. How much I liked them focused on me for those few hours. Being this close to him makes a chill run through my body.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say and move around him.Just get to the gondola station.
“Don’t give me that bullshit. It’s too late to play theI don’t remember yougame.”
Breathe in and out. Twenty more feet, and I’ll be able to get onto the gondola, ride down the mountain, and talk to my handler. I can’t think when he’s near me. I haven’t even sent a text out yet. And I should. I’m supposed to text if I’m in any kind of danger. The only problem is, I don’t think I’m in danger. Not with him.
“Fuck, Gia. Stop!”
And that does stop me. He moves right behind me, close enough so that I feel the warmth of his body, but he isn’t touching me.God, why do I want him to touch me?My chest feels heavy and I’m breathing harder. I know it’s not the elevation; I’ve already gotten used to the thinner air up here. No, my breath is labored because of him.
“I know it’s you. I’d have to be blind not to recognize you. And even then, I probably still would have. Now I just need to know how. How are you here?”
I steady myself and then turn around to face him. Nothing would have prepared me for the way this man is looking back at me. His eyes wide, and pleading, hoping for some kind of explanation for why I’m here.
“No.”
His brow furrows. “What do you mean, no?” A piece of hair moves out of place and falls just to the right of his widow’s peak as he shakes his head.
I don’t realize what I’m doing until I brush the hair away with the tips of my fingers. He doesn’t flinch. I push the pieces back into place, and because I’m a masochist of sorts, I drag my fingers lightly down his temple, tracing along his hairline. He leans into my touch and his eyes shut for just a moment. An exaggerated blink that gives me just enough time to look around his beautiful face. I linger on the scar above his lip. I remember those lips. The way they felt kissing mine that night. I can almost still feel them, even after years, and through the chaos. How easy it was to be near him.
“No, I never expected to see you. No, I can’t tell you more. No, I never stopped—” I cut myself off from saying any more. There’s nothing good that will come from telling him that I’ve never stopped thinking about him. That it’s almost unhealthy how much I do. How thinking of him is my safe space. When I have days that I want to only think about the bad, the darkness, that I use memories to pull myself out of it. He’s my only memory not connected to my pops, my neighborhood, the people who knew me as the loud smartass.
“You need to tell me what’s going on.”