Elect - Dyken Rachel Van - Страница 39
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I took a sip of the warm liquid and choked. “Is that straight whiskey?”
“With lemon.” She shrugged and took a seat.
“I saw him, Mil.”
“Who?”
“Nixon,” I whispered.
“No you didn’t,” she said simply. “What you saw was your imagination conjuring up images of your dead best friend in order to alleviate you of the guilt you feel for wanting to get into his girlfriend’s pants.”
I squinted and said slowly, “Who are you?”
Great… No answer. She was officially back to reading and ignoring me again. I threw a pillow at her face. “And just so you know, I’m not feeling guilty.”
Her arched eyebrows and snorting were enough to make me want to throw my drink in her perfect face.
What the hell?
Where did that come from?
Shit.
I looked down at my cup and shook my head for the third time. I seriously must have hit it hard if I was suddenly finding Mil attractive.
“You feel guilty,” she said without looking up from her book. “You feel like you’re stealing his life, but don’t worry. Things always have a way of working out.”
It was my turn to snort and roll my eyes. “Yeah, I highly doubt there will come a day when I won’t feel like the worst friend in the world for living while he didn’t.”
Mil licked her lips and closed the book. “Chase—”
“Oh my gosh, what happened to your head?” Trace ran to my side and ran her fingers over my temple. “And your eye?”
“My eye?” I repeated.
Mil snickered behind her book.
“What the hell is wrong with my eye?”
“It’s turning black and blue.” Trace’s brown eyes filled with concern as she touched the tender flesh.
“Care to explain, Mil?”
“Nope.” She got up from her seat and threw the book back onto the couch. “I’ll see you guys in the morning. It’s going to be… a busy day.”
“It’s Thursday. Why would it be busy?” Trace asked. “I’m the only one with lab.”
“Just trust me.” She gave us both a weak smile and walked off toward the bedrooms.
I scratched my head. “Raise your hand if you think she’s up to something.”
Trace and I both raised our hands and smiled. I grabbed hers midair and pulled her onto the couch with me. We lay like that for probably ten minutes before her heavy sigh begged me to ask the question. “How was your near brush with death?”
“Great.” She sighed. “How was my acting?”
“Too good.” I groaned. “You almost made me believe I shot you.”
“Why did you shoot?”
And there it was.
I didn’t know how much to tell or how little, but the problem was she was involved. She needed to be on her guard.
I reached into my pocket and pulled out the picture that my father had given me earlier that evening.
“Look.” I pointed at the red marks across Nixon’s face as well as hers.
She took the picture from my hands and then thrust it back into my face as if it was burning her fingertips. “Why? Why would he want me dead?”
“Loose ends,” I whispered. “You’re a flight risk? I don’t know, had I been conscious the past hour I would have probably gotten further than asking myself the same damn question.”
“Right, and why were you unconscious?” She was still in my arms but she turned to face me. Our lips were only a breath away from each other.
I knew what I’d seen was real. I knew I’d seen Nixon, but for some reason both Mil and Nixon needed me not to know. And for reasons I knew I had to keep secret—Trace could never know there was a chance Nixon was alive, because if she did, and he died again…
Shit, she wouldn’t make it through.
I wasn’t sure I would make it through.
Panic seized my chest as she reached up and traced my lips with her fingertips. How horrible did it make me that my first thought was if Nixon lived I would lose this. I would lose her. And not just for now—but forever.
Time wasn’t on my side. I had no moment but now.
Every person panics when they realize all of a sudden, their lives are going to change, that they’re going to go in a direction they never saw coming. I felt like my whole life had led up to this moment.
Nixon’s destiny didn’t just define our family or Trace’s; it also defined me. The outcome of whatever happened would define the rest of my existence.
I closed my eyes and swallowed as Trace’s fingers fell to my jaw, lightly caressed my five-o’clock shadow, and then dipped into my hair.
Groaning, I leaned forward. Our foreheads met.
“I love you,” I whispered.
There. I’d said it.
“I love you, too.” She said it too fast, too simply. It wasn’t the same love. She needed to understand.
“Trace.” My voice cracked as I reached for her hand and brought it to my fingertips. “You don’t understand; you never have.”
“What?” Her eyes filled with tears. “What don’t I understand?”
“You. Me. Us.” I sighed and kissed the tip of her finger and then sucked on the end before moving to her next finger and her next. She gasped but said nothing. When I finished my assault, I kissed the top of her hand, and sighed against it. “When I say I love you. I don’t mean it the way you do. I’m not… capable of loving you in that way.”
Her eyes narrowed.
Here went nothing.
“When I say I love you, I mean I love you so much it hurts to be close to you, it hurts to be away from you. I hurt all the damn time because my stupid heart has decided for one reason or another that it can’t survive without being next to yours. I don’t know what the hell you’ve done to me, but I’m a disaster. I’m broken for you and I never want to be fixed. And it hurts like hell because when you kiss me, I know you think of him. When I kiss you, all I see is you, all I feel is you.”
A tear slid down her cheek.
“When you touch me, a part of my heart breaks off, because in the back of my mind I’m always aware that the way you define the touch and the way I feel it are two totally different things. Trace, I love you. I love you. I”—my voice cracked—“I am in love with you.”
“B-but all those times…” she stuttered. “I thought you were kidding, acting! I mean, you’re Chase! You’re never serious when it comes to that stuff. And Nixon—Nixon would kill you—”
“He’s already threatened to shoot me in the head… believe me. I know that loving you will be the highest price I’ll ever pay for anything. But, Trace, you’re worth the cost.”
“What are you asking?” She licked her lips and stared into my eyes. “What are you saying?”
I was going to do it.
Even though I knew he was alive.
I was going to ask.
Because she deserved to hear the question, regardless of what her answer might be.
“Choose me,” I whispered. “Because my heart? My soul? My damn existence? Has already spoken, and it wants you, and only you—forever.”
I felt like I’d just run a marathon without any food or water. My chest heaved with exertion as her eyes searched mine for a minute longer. Then her lips touched mine.
In a real kiss.
She was kissing me the way I’d always wanted to be kissed by her—she was consuming my darkness, and replacing it with her light. And in that instant I knew—nobody would ever compare to her. For my entire life I had been lost, and now I was found.
I molded my lips to hers and wrapped my arms around her. Every plane of her body was touching mine—causing me to burn with need for more of her. I growled low in my throat when our tongues collided. With a jerk, I was on top of her, pressing her down into the couch as sensations of her taste, and her lips, etched themselves onto my soul.
Everything was us. Nothing else existed except for her kiss, her taste, her hands on my body. I pushed my body harder against hers. The need to show her all my pent-up frustration, all my feelings, was so overwhelming I wasn’t sure I could control myself. I was bruising her mouth with mine and I didn’t care. She had to feel me. I needed her to feel me and only me.
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