Page 38 of Lost in the Moonlight

Nothing would ever come of the sparks we felt. Lincoln was off limits to me, even if love wasn’t.

And if that last item on my joyous-experiences list never got crossed off, I’d still live a full and satisfied life by marking off plenty of others.

Chapter Thirteen

Lincoln

SAME AS YOU

Performed by The Fray

Instead of going home to thequiet of my house after dropping Willow at her door, I took my pent-up energy back to the studio. I couldn’t get the smell of her and the way her curves had fit perfectly into mine out of my head. Her courage—her resilience—was as big of a turn-on as that scent.

But I was also frustrated she’d reduced the threat of Poco to a passing inconvenience. She’d convinced herself it was just random and had nothing to do with her, while every instinct in me was telling me it was more.

In the studio, instead of going back to work on the cemetery scene with Willow, I pulled out a new canvas and tossed every one of my dark thoughts onto the pure white linen. The demons inside men. The shadows that lurked.

Anger. Jealousy. Power. Greed. Control.

Stroke after stroke.

It was gloomy. It was ugly.

But it soothed my soul to splash it onto the canvas. Dark brutal sweeps in dark brutal colors.

She’s what you need.

The voice had me whirling around the studio, brush in one hand, palette in the other, insides screaming objections.

She was sitting on a stool in her black lace prom dress. Pastels and florals had been in fashion that year, so she’d hunted her dress down at a secondhand store, refusing to be seen in “any Easter egg color.” Her hair, so fair it was the color of moonlight, had streaks of dried blood in it from the head wound at the back she was careful not to show me.

“You’re not supposed to be here, Sienna,” I said.

I closed my eyes, rubbing them and hoping it was just the exhaustion and turmoil of the last few days that had my subconscious bringing her back.

Then, don’t make me show up by doing stupid shit,she said, hopping off the stool and sauntering over to the trio of paintings of the cemetery. Her stride had always been powerful. Purposeful. She’d held a confidence that had been hugely out of proportion to her mere seventeen years. She’d been a bright light. One of the ones snuffed out too early. Taken from us when they’d been destined to give the world life-changing gifts.

Every time I saw her like this, a translucent mirage, all I could think was it should have been me.

Should have been me.

Should have been me.

The dark cavern at the back of her head loomed momentarily as she eyed the painting, sinking into my gut along with a pile of remorse before she shifted so I couldn’t see it.

After I’d opened the D.C. gallery and she’d disappeared from my life, I’d been relieved, which, in turn, had only caused meto feel guiltier. But I’d also been glad I’d been able to bring her some peace.

So why was she here now? It screamed something about me and my mental health and the state of my life that I wasn’t sure I wanted to acknowledge. Maybe it was because I’d uprooted myself and was full of indecisions. Or maybe my worry over Willow had my subconscious playing back all my failures.

If you’d paintedmeamongst the gravestones, it would have been a cliché,she said.A Goth girl in a cemetery. Borrrrring. But her? It’s perfect. Do you see how she’s already made you better? She’s your person, Lincoln. She needs you as much as you need her.

Her words swung through me like a hammer on an anvil, sparking and inciting. I’d barely gotten used to the idea of wanting to explore something with Willow, and here Sienna was, tossing around a much deeper meaning, as if the flame I felt could be forged into something permanent.

It was completely ludicrous and yet also felt frighteningly right.

Sienna looked over her shoulder at me, blue eyes seeing beyond skin and bone to the truth. To the scars Willow had said clung to me like a Grim Reaper. To the grief and remorse I hadn’t let heal, but also to the flicker of light Willow had fanned into existence the moment I’d rescued her in the cemetery.

This is where you belong, Lincoln. It’s time to let it all go. To be happy. To move on.Her head tilted.Oh, and you’re going to want to get that… Lyrica is right about that one too.

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