Page 22 of The Preacher's Pet

She bites her lip, and I notice they look a little red, and wonder if it is a regular habit. I get the sudden and debilitatingly strong urge to taste those red lips of hers.

Instead, I swallow hard and force a smile to my face. “I thought we might be able to talk. It’s been a long time, Fee.”

That name doesn’t feel as loaded as Angel, and a ghost of a smile flits across her lips, as fast as the wind, and as pretty as the sunrise. But then it’s gone, and that haunted look is back.

“I don’t know, Cain. I’m not the same person I was when we knew each other. I’m not sure what there is to talk about, anyway. I can’t remember a lot of the past.”

She can’t? Did she have an accident that caused amnesia? Or did her trauma block it out?

I want to ask her, but I’m so scared of making her shut down on me completely. I’ve not felt this way in a long time.Unsure.I’ve spent years building up defense mechanisms to avoid this exact feeling.

“I only want to talk, just a little.” I shrug. “It’s been a long time, Fee, and we were close. Best friends.”

“Lots of people have childhood friends they never see again.” She scuffs her foot against the carpet and glances back over her shoulder, inside her room as though she’s longing to get back inside there and shut the door.

“But wedidsee one another, again, didn’t we?” I push. “That’s the entire point. We’ve come back into each other’s lives.” I’m starting to feel desperate, and I’m not used to feeling this way. “Look, just five minutes. That’s all. I won’t stay long.” Then a realization hits me that makes me sad for her, and angry at myself. “Unless you’d prefer we stay in public. I’d understand. We can go to the cafeteria, if you’d like? Grab a coffee?”

She shakes her head. “I’m not scared of having you in my room, Cain. It’s not that. It’s the talking that bothers me. I’m … I’m not good at it anymore.”

Those words hit me hard and make my chest ache for her.

But, despite her words, she steps back and lets me into her space. I glance around as I enter her room, and the first thing that hits me is how bare it is. Sure, it’s a college dorm and not her own room, but there’s nothing in here to make it her own. No books, that I can see. No girly things. There’s no perfume or makeup out on the small dresser. A couple of small, delicate vases sit on the window ledge, and that’s it. The only thing is a toy on the bed and, as I look at it, my heart squeezes.

Mr. Flopsy. He’d been her rabbit when she was young. A plush toy she’d had from being a baby. She’d joked that he was her best friend before I came along and that he was jealous of us.

I bend down and touch the rabbit’s foot, as though for luck.

“You still have him,” I say, my voice gruff.

“I didn’t. Not for a long while.” She picks him up and holds him to her chest, like a shield.

I want to ask the burning question.What happened?But, if I do, the twenty-ton elephant in the room will go on a rampage and smash up this very fragile beginning I am trying to build. I want more. I know as much acutely, but what, I’m not sure.

Either way, I don’t want to jeopardize this before it begins, and I’m terrified I will. I always do. I’m not good with people. I don’t have light conversations and easy small talk. My world was brutal, and I was forged in that. It’s made me blunt, hard.

Ophelia watches me as if I’m a big, dangerous beast in her territory. For the first time ever, my size feels like a bad thing instead of something I’m proud of and that I worked hard on.

I sigh, then she shocks me by taking hold of my hands in her small, pale ones.

“It’s okay, Cain. We can talk, but I’m not ready to talk about any of that yet.”

She doesn’t have to explain what ‘any of that’ means. I already understand. It’s a boundary. A firm one, and one I hate because I need to know, but for now, I’ll respect it.

I nod and start with something simple.

“So, what brings you to Verona Falls?”

13

OPHELIA

I pullhim over to my bed to sit down. He takes up so much space, sitting beside me. What is he now? Six-two? Six-three?

I clear my throat and answer his question. “Would you believe to study?”

His hands are huge in mine, and, despite myself, I can’t help comparing them to the hands of his dark-haired friend. How strange that I’ve never touched a man so intimately before, and yet here I am, holding two different men’s hands in one day. I gaze over at him, drinking in the waves in his thick, light brown hair. His blue eyes are the same, but his face is that much older. It’s strange seeing eyes I once knew as keenly as my own in a grown man’s face.

He cocks his head. “Only study?”

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