Page 67 of The Healer

Shit, she hadn’t given them a thought. Though, to be fair, they had a mild case of hypothermia and broken limbs. She hadn’t expected any fatalities, other than a possible stroke or heart attack she couldn’t have foreseen without full knowledge of their medical history.

“Good. How are the boys doing?”

“Boys?” Rhys shifted, a smothered moan implying he settled into a more comfortable position. “I haven’t heard anything, so I assume they’re doing well.”

Silence stretched with only their breathing traveling the miles between them. The water cooled. Not that she was cold. “Why did you call, Rhys?”

He gasped and shifted again, squeaking whatever he sat on. “I plan to call every night at eight, Lona. You left in a rush, and I know, it’s my fault.” His words garbled as if he ran his hand over his face.

So, guilt had driven him to call.

“Night and goodbye, Rhys.” She swiped her thumb to the left, ready to disconnect.

“Lona!”

Pausing, she waited on bated breath for him to continue.

“Please, don’t hang up. You’re killing me here, Ilona. Please.” The pleading in his voice caught tendrils of longing in her heart and tugged on them. “Keep talking to me until I know you’ve settled. Until I know you’re doing well.”

“What will that accomplish, Rhys? A clean break is better. Your affection lies elsewhere, and no amount of conversation will change that. Besides, what did we share other than a few hours of our lives?”

He growled, and the sound shot shards of heat through her. Pebbling nipples aside, the man was mesmerizing. “Tell me spending time with me didn’t mean something to you.”

Her heart leaped to choke her, and she sat up, splashing more water over the side. No, she couldn’t tell him that, and therein lay the problem. She had loved his charisma, his sweet care, as if she mattered. The day and night in his company meant the world to her, too much. Yet, by his own words, she was the substitute.

Her mind scrambled for a plausible lie. His silence pressed on her, forcing her to speak the truth.

“I…can’t.” While shaking her head and flinging droplets in the process, she croaked the words. “Encouraging you isn’t—” She clamped her lips shut.

“So, being truthful about Callie is the only stumbling block?” His voice had roughened. “She’s my friend, Ilona, and yes, I was attracted to her. I thought she was my mate lost to a vampire. But my reaction to you far outstrips anything I ever felt for Callie.”

Her heart ached, throbbed, shooting flickers of pain to her collarbone. She wished she could believe him.

“I tell you what… Let’s take it a day at a time.” He sighed. “At least, give me a chance to prove my sincerity.”

She smiled, flattered by his persistence. He was there, she was here, would it be that bad to let him in, just a little? Long-distance relationships didn’t work, and she didn’t have the energy to argue with him.

Either he would win, and she would come to love him, or it would peter out. “All right, Rhys.”

He roared a violent yes, the kind of victorious cheer that had to go with a fist pump. “If I was there, I’d kiss your socks off.”

She giggled. “Not wearing any.”

“Yeah, figured as much with you in the bath.” He groaned. “Do me a favor, Lona? Eat something, even if it’s just a cracker.”

He was right to be concerned. She hadn’t eaten since lunch yesterday. Studying her pruny fingers, she nodded. “For you.”

“Good. Thanks for taking my call.”

After he hung up, she balanced her phone on the side of the bath again and stepped out. Without his breathing and his sexy baritone in her ear, the apartment was too silent. She donned a baggy shirt and padded barefoot to the kitchen. It took minutes to make a bowl of ramen, and despite knowing how devoid of nutrition it was, she slurped the noodles into her mouth while staring out the window.

The city’s raucous cries, overhead aircraft, and distant sirens did nothing to ease the loneliness and perpetual sadness in her heart. Cursing, she rose, tossed the remnants of her meal, and headed to bed.

Chapter Twenty-Three

UNWELCOME

“Well?”

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