Page 47 of If Our Hearts Collide

“You’ll see.”

“So you aren’t going to tell me?”

“I’m not planning on it.”

“So this is how it’s going to be?”

“Most likely.”

“Grrr…”

I pick up my pace to keep up with him as he hits the button for the elevator. Our descent to the lobby is less ceremonious compared to our frantic arrival earlier, where my indecisiveness got the best of me.

When we cross through the open space, several employees tilt their head toward us, as a sign of respect—at least I would assume. I think the attention is primarily directed at Collins, who spends exponentially more time here than I do, but I smile in response anyway. I can’t even assume people know who I am. It’s not like I’ve been back in the area long. But who knows when it comes to my brothers. There may have been a special briefing among staff where a printout of my face was used for reference.

The warm Portland air hits me as soon as the glass doors open to allow us out. Any day here without a canopy of rain clouds in the sky is a good day. Everything can look so doom and gloom when the sun is hidden.

Collins opens my passenger door and helps me inside with a gentle hand to my elbow and one to the small of my back. I don’t need that assist, but the gesture feels nice.

I’m still trying to figure out why some people can touch me and nothing scary happens inside my head, while others can cause such unrest and madness.

I dig into my bag and pull out the new journal he got me. Earlier, I transferred my goal list to the beginning pages, letting this gift be my main keeper of my thoughts.

If there is one thing I’ve learned through the numerous daily therapy sessions I endured, it is to write things down. There is something magical that can happen when I release my brain from holding on to the lingering information that could potentially be dragging me down.

Collins opens the driver’s side door and slides into his place behind the wheel. His eyes catch the journal he got me, and I can see a slow smile brighten his otherwise emotionless expression.

My lips pull into a smirk. “What are you smiling at?”

“Oh, nothing,” he says, clicking his tongue.

“Liar.”

“Perhaps.”

Every encounter with this man brings me more information that I’m trying to piece together. Why is he the way he is? Does he always use his calmness to subdue those around him, or does he really not have that much to say?

“I love the journal, Collins. Thank you.”

“I’m glad, Penelope.” Upon my groan, he chuckles and then corrects himself. “Penny.”

I look out the window as we pass through the city, heading northwest. Based on the direction we are taking, I think I know where we are going. However, I don’t bother asking. I know Collins won’t tell. He is the type to dole out information if he chooses—not answer questions like an interrogation.

But I can’t resist filling the silence. So I do what I do best. I make things awkward. “Do you have any family?”

I glance over to see Collins looking extra uncomfortable. His eyes darken, and I can see the twitch starting in his jaw.

“Doesn’t everyone?” His words are cold. Calculated.

“Not an active one, no.”

“Then, no.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I don’t need pity.”

“Good thing I’m not giving it. What happened to them?”

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