Page 70 of Never Quite Gone

The kiss was gentle, questioning, perfect. Alex's hands came up to cradle my face like he was holding something infinitely precious, infinitely breakable. I tasted salt and realized he was crying, though my own eyes were dry. When we broke apart, neither moved far – foreheads touching, sharing breath in the quiet street.

Neither of us spoke. There would be time for words later, time for complications and explanations and all the ways this could go wrong. For now, there was just this: the lingering taste of tears and hope, the echo of jazz in our blood, the sense that something important had shifted into place.

My hands hadn't shaken once all night, I realized. Not during the dancing, not during the kiss, not even now as they rested against Alex's chest, feeling his heartbeat steady and strong under my palms. Whatever this was, whatever we were becoming, it feltreal in a way that had nothing to do with past lives and everything to do with present choices.

“I should go,” I said finally, though I made no move to step away. “Early rounds tomorrow.”

“I know.” Alex's thumb traced my cheekbone gently. “This was worth every broken vase during those dance lessons.”

The laughter bubbled up unexpected and free, making him smile in response. When he kissed me again, it felt like punctuation – not an ending, just a pause in a conversation we'd be continuing.

We parted without promises or plans.

The walk home felt different somehow, like the city itself had shifted slightly to make room for new possibilities. My wedding ring caught streetlight as I unlocked my door, but the sight didn't ache like it used to. Michael would always be part of me, would always be the love that taught me how to love. But maybe, just maybe, there was room in my heart for something new too.

Something that tasted like jazz and hope and the salt of joyful tears. Something that made my surgeon's hands steady and my heart remember how to beat in time with another's. Something that felt like coming home to a place I'd never been before.

I touched my lips gently, still feeling the echo of that kiss. Tomorrow would bring complications But tonight? Tonight there was just this: the memory of dancing, the lingering warmth of Alex's hands, and the quiet certainty that whatever came next, it would be worth facing.

Above the city, stars continued their eternal dance, watching as two souls found each other again – not because destiny demanded it, but because they chose it. One kiss at a time, one moment at a time, one beat of newly-steadied hearts at a time.

For the first time in longer than I could remember, I fell asleep without dreaming of past lives or ancient loves. Instead, I dreamed of jazz and autumn air and the taste of possibilities yet to come.

CHAPTER 22

Breaking Point

The 47th floor of Rothschild Development felt different at midnight. Emptier, older somehow, like the modern veneer had worn thin enough to show the centuries beneath. I sat at my desk reviewing acquisition papers, but my mind kept drifting to last night – to jazz notes and gentle dancing and the perfect simplicity of Eli's kiss.

The memory made me smile despite the late hour and endless paperwork. My fingers touched my lips unconsciously, still feeling the echo of that moment outside the club. After centuries of searching, of finding and losing him, the tenderness of that kiss had felt like coming home.

Movement in my doorway snapped me back to the present. Will stood there, and something in my chest tightened at the sight of him. My brother's usually impeccable appearance was disheveled – tie loosened, hair wild like he'd been running his hands through it repeatedly. But it was his eyes that made ancient warning signals fire in my mind. They held a manic energy I recognized from other lifetimes, other versions of this soul that had once been friend, then enemy, now brother.

“I've been having dreams,” Will said, stepping into my office without invitation. His movements were jerky, uncontrolled –nothing like his usual calculated grace. “Dreams about power. About immortality.” His voice cracked slightly. “About you.”

I rose slowly, recognizing the dangerous edge in his tone. This was what Marcus and I had feared – memories surfacing too fast, too violently, without context or understanding to temper them.

“Will,” I said carefully, keeping my voice steady. “You should sit down. We can talk about whatever's troubling you.”

“Talk?” He laughed, but the sound held no humor. “Like you talked about the hospital project? About Dr. Monroe? About all the lives you've lived while the rest of us just die?”

His hands shook as he moved closer to my desk, and for the first time in centuries, I felt real fear of this soul that had been bound to mine through lifetimes. Not for myself – I'd faced his rage before, had survived his betrayal in that first life that started all this. But this version of him, this brother I'd grown to love in this particular present... I couldn't bear to see him torn apart by memories he wasn't ready to understand.

“How many times?” Will demanded, closer now. “How many lives have you collected? How many chances have you had while I...” He stumbled slightly, catching himself on my desk. “While I remember things that can't be real. Lives that aren't mine. Power that should be mine.”

Moonlight caught something in his hand – my antique letter opener, silver blade gleaming with deadly purpose. The sight sent memories crashing through my mind: other blades, other confrontations, other times this soul's jealousy had turned violent.

“Will, listen to me.” I kept my voice gentle despite the tension thrumming through my body. “What you're remembering – it's complicated. Dangerous. You need to let the memories come naturally, not force them.”

“Naturally?” His laugh held edges sharp enough to cut. “Like you? Perfect Alex, who gets to remember everything? Who gets to live again and again while the rest of us stumble through one life at a time?”

He moved with unexpected speed, the letter opener slashingwhere my throat had been a second before. Training from countless lifetimes took over as I dodged, unwilling to hurt my brother but seeing no recognition in those familiar eyes.

“Why you?” Will screamed, grief and rage twisting his features into something ancient and terrible. “Why are you the one who gets to remember? Who gets to find him in every life while I...” His voice cracked on something between sob and snarl. “While I dream of power I can't reach, of knowledge that burns, of lives I should remember but can't?”

His next attack drove me back against the window, forty-seven floors of empty air at my back. The letter opener pressed against my throat, its blade colder than it should be, older than its apparent age.

“I should have this power,” Will growled, his free hand fisted in my shirt. “I should be the one who lives forever. In that first life, I was the one who found the scrolls, who understood what they meant. But you...” Tears tracked down his face, though he didn't seem to notice them. “You took it all.”

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