Page 75 of Lost in the Moonlight

Chapter Twenty-three

Lincoln

KEEP HOLDING ON

Performed by Avril Lavigne

As I turned back to thetelevision and started searching in drawers for the remote, I was able to breathe again. For a moment, I’d been certain she was going to walk out, certain she was going to leave when all I wanted was for her to stay…stay and stay and stay. Having her here felt like a soothing balm. It felt right.

When she’d looked up from Sienna’s painting, the hurt in her eyes had sliced through me like a box cutter through tape. I’d meant every word I’d said. Other than those first two nights when I’d thought Sienna had returned to haunt me, I hadn’t once thought of Willow as her. If anything, the yin and yang of them stood out more, twining around each other because of their physical similarities but standing out due to the strength of their opposing forces.

Sienna stomping and storming through my gallery and kitchen had only emphasized it more.

In some ways, I wanted Willow for every way her light opposed those gothic images. For the light that promised to always guide me home.

After I finally found the TV remote in a drawer with a pile of cords, I joined her on the sofa. Flicking the television on, I swiped through the movie choices on the streaming service.

“What do you want to watch?” I asked.

“You’ve been here over a week, right?”

I nodded and kept sliding through the movie options.

“You haven’t watched your TV at all?” she asked with a head tilt toward the paintings that had been piled in front of it.

I turned to find her gaze locked on me. “No, I’ve been unpacking or painting.” She raised a brow, and I kept going, “Truth is, reading or listening to music is better than television when I can’t sleep, but sometimes watching reruns helps too. While I can’t actually stay in bed if I’m awake, it’s good to stay close if my eyes do get heavy.” I waved at the stereo system, the shelf of books, and a little makeshift tea center on a corner table. “So I make sure I have everything I need close at hand.”

She frowned. “What do you mean you can’t actually stay in bed? Isn’t that where you’d want to be if you hope to fall asleep again?”

Normally, when anyone probed about my insomnia and my routines, I’d close off, afraidthey’d use some or all of it against me like Felicity had. But with Willow, I found myself wanting to tell her all of it so she’d maybe understand in a way that no one else could.

“Staying in bed is almost impossible because it’s like ants crawling through me. The feeling eases once I move. Plus, it helps keep my brain wired right.” She frowned, and I explained, “I’ve been through a shit ton of therapy. If you can name it, I’veprobably tried it. What works best for me is a combination of several but is closest to stimulus control therapy, which basically has your mind associating your bed with only the necessary activities. You use it just for sleep and sex.”

At my mention of sex, her eyes darted to the bed behind us and back, and that delightful pink tinge hit her cheeks.

For the first time, I really considered her age—twenty-three. Life had already beaten experience into her no one should have had—but especially not at sixteen or twenty or twenty-three. But now, I thought about that delightful blush and the sweetness that followed her and wondered just what kind of sexual encounters she’d had.

Was there someone she’d made love to? Someone she’d cared about? Just thinking about it returned that feral jealousy to me I’d felt when the Secret Service agent had been here. But the idea of her not having had anyone in her life left me feeling almost as ferocious. If she hadn’t had those experiences yet, it was another thing the gang in Chicago had taken from her.

Both times we’d kissed, she’d seemed just as greedy and hungry as me, but now, I was even more relieved I hadn’t taken her to the kitchen floor this morning. If it was her first time, she deserved more than cold, hard tile. I couldn’t make any assumptions, but I’d let her decide how far we took things, and I’d be even more careful about how we proceeded.

I turned back to the screen. “What do you think ofA Knight’s Tale?”

She frowned. “I don’t think I’ve seen it.”

My eyebrows raised. “That’s settled, then. You’re in for quite the ride.”

And when the color on her cheeks grew at my words, my body reacted to it, tempting me to go back on the promises I justmade to myself and show her just what a beautiful ride we could take together.

I cleared my throat and asked, “Would you like to change into something more comfortable? A pair of sweats?”

She looked down at the berry stains on her T-shirt with a wince, fingering her flowy skirt. “That would be great.”

I went into my closet and brought out a pair of gray sweats and an old Penn State shirt for her, pointing to the door on the opposite wall. “Bathroom is through that door.”

She thanked me and went inside.

I tossed aside my jeans for my own pair of sweats and then went to the linen cupboard in the hall, pulling out a blanket. When I came back in, she was on the love seat again. My sweats swam around her legs with the shirt covering her hips, and some animalistic part of me liked her that way. In my things. As if I was marking her with my scent like some ancient Homo sapien throwback.

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