Page 111 of Hell and High Water

Pulling into the office parking lot around back, we slip inside, just like Tell and I did a few days ago, making sure we’re not spotted or followed.

Hellena’s mood seems to shift as we head up the stairs.

“How's Genevieve doing?” she finally asks.

“She’s doing a lot better than we are.” I almost laugh. “I set her up so she’ll never need to work again, and she moved back east to see her nieces.”

“Good. It’s nice to think that we did some good with… this place.”

“I did, and am doing, a lot of good with this place, Hell. We did. We are going to keep doing good.” I’m shocked at my own conviction as I say it, how much I need to believe it.

Hellena stares at me for a while, nodding after a time and heading down the hall. What is going through her head?

Why can’t I just get over myself and ask?

“Tell said he helped out where he could.”

“Surprisingly, he did more good than harm.” I try to joke, but it falls flat. “He delivered on some requests that we really needed the money from, several old ancestry inquiries I was having a hard time hunting down. Oh, and he did a singing telegram for Madam Lettershire.”

At this, she finally cracks a smile. “That kooky old psychic lady who lives in the purple house?”

“The one and only. Tell actually has a pretty good voice. He wouldn’t do the strip-tease she tried to tip him into doing, though.”

“And I’ll bet you’ll never let him hear the end of that.” Hellena chuckles, but the feeling fades.

The ominous feeling in town is too thick.

As is the sense that something is eating at her.

“I was saving it for ammunition. Come on, I have most of the files back in your old office.”

“Almost looks like you’re firing me!” She points down the hall to the file box on the floor.

“I could never fire you, Hellena. I'm much too scared to do that.”

She almost snaps back a retort but falls silent as we pass the dance studio. Pausing in the doorway, she flicks on the light, giving me a side-eye.

Without another word, she sweeps into the room, twisting, spinning. She’s as graceful as ever.

My heart pounds at the sight of her moving, the grace of her steps, the sway of her thick, curving hips.

I’m drawn behind her like I’m on a leash, unable to keep from mirroring her movements and falling into old rhythms.

I can’t believe how much I’ve missed this. How much I’ve stuffed it down and tried not to think about it.

I was prepared to accept that she might never forgive me.

Now I know that I can’t live with that.

I can’t live without her.

After her and Gavin and I had our… encounter the other day, I hoped things were better. They were. Except there’s still this rift.

A rift I am starting to realize is on my side of things more than hers. She sees it clearly.

We’re still in motion, my thoughts churning as fast as our spinning when I twirl her in, fling her back out, and she flies into a leap…

And falls.

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