Page 145 of Fall Into Me

The thought that I’d always known I was innately soft was trying to cover my thoughts like a blanket full of static. Whenever you tried to throw it off, it latched on to an arm or a leg.

I’d run then because I didn’t think I was strong enough to withstand whatever conversation needed to follow. I’d been a coward and not what Fane deserved.

He deserved someone to show up for him, to be patient while he found the words he wanted to say. Someone to helphimpick up whatever broken pieces he was still trying to collect, his own hands still ravaged while he’d bound mine and helped them heal.

Tears slipped down my face, silent and regretful. All this time, I’d been running back to Darling, watching and waiting for him to come home, for him to fly around that goddamn bend in the road, when I should have been running to meet him halfway.

The car zipped down the dark, empty highway, my sights set on the stretch of road in front of me that would take me back to Artington.

I’d find him. He didn’t even need to meet me halfway. I’d follow him all the way to his doorstep so he knew that there was no one else in the entire world who loved him like I did.

That I was so fuckingluckyto be the person he’d picked. Like when our eyes locked at the bar, those violet all-seeing eyes of his had looked right at me. Bright and assessing. They’d seen everything and decided that if he was going to love someone for the rest of his life, it was going to be me.

I was so focused on the patch of road illuminated by the headlights that I almost missed the truck that flew past me, heading back to Darling. Almost missed it, but not quite.

“Fane!” I yelled his name like the chance of him hearing me through car doors and wheels on pavement was remotely possible. Jerry jumped in the seat next to me, startled out of his mind.

I did a double-take at him because he was sitting right in the front seat with the seat belt pulled across him.

I knew that I had done it, but I couldn’t really remember doing it.

The image of that split-second moment when our windows lined up flashed through my mind—Fane’s confused, amused frown directed right at us.

I pulled the car off onto the shoulder of the road, my hands shaking because I fucking hated driving at night. My eyes still blurred with tears as I got out and stalked right for him.

I watched him climb out of the cab of his truck, that small, amused smile still tugging at his lips. His mouth opened like he was about to say something, but then he caught sight of me. His expression went blank, and we both froze, the few feet left between us feeling like a bottomless chasm.

“You left.” My chest was heaving, my voice scratchy and clogged from the onslaught of tears that refused to stop. “I gothome, and you were gone. All your stuff was gone, and I couldn’t find you or call you or—”

He stepped forward, his hand wrapping around the back of my neck like it was instinct—like heneededto touch me. The rough pad of his thumb brushed against my cheek, swiping away the tears. His brow furrowed as he shook his head, a small, almost helpless gesture.

“Baby,” he murmured, shaking his head again. “I was just driving home.”

“Where did you go?” I felt my face crumple, words cracking under the weight of that one question.

“I…” He cleared his throat, his expression twisting into a cringe, like he hated what he had to say but couldn’t take it back. “I can’t tell you. It’s a surprise.”

I tried to step back to look at him properly, but his hand was locked onto me. “What?”

“I had an idea,” he said softly with a small shrug. “I went to try and see if I could get it sorted, but it ran a little over. I texted you, and then remembered you don’t have a phone. I tried calling your mom, but she declined the call.”

A choked laugh blubbered out of me, and I reached up to try and swipe a hand under my nose, realizing that I probably looked fucking insane.

“I thought you left,” I said again, like it was the perfect explanation for the reason I looked like…likethis.

“I’m not going anywhere, Calista.” The edge of sadness in Fane’s voice wasn’t acceptable, and the idea that he didn’t fully grasp that still made me mad.

My hands pushed against his chest, my fists clenching and unclenching. I pointed a shaky finger at him, dropped it, lifted it again, and dropped it once more.

He looked equally as bemused as he did terrified.

“I heard you,” I blurted out. I cleared my throat and swiped my tears off my face with the palms of my hands. “The other night, I heard you.”

He didn’t say a word. Just tilted his head in that way of his, waiting, patient as ever.

“When you asked me if I could ever love you again—I heard you.” My voice cracked, but I pushed through. “And the thing is, I can’t tell you that.”

I watched as his body seemed to fold in on itself, like he was bracing, trying to shield whatever soft underbelly he had left from the blow he thought was coming.

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