Page 38 of The Boy Who Loved Wicked
And something about the way he stood there in the dim lighting, suited, intense yet impassive made me ask. Made me secretly hope. “Are you jealous?”
“Of course I am, Phoenix. You’d do well not to exploit that.”
I discreetly folded my hands in front of my fly. He didn’t miss the significance of that.
“When will I be seeing you again?” He stalked toward me, and for a brief moment the lamp’s light brushed against his eyes. They were so dark they were navy, like that first day of class. My hands pressed down harder and under my arms began to prickle with the first signs of sweat.
“Maybe tomorrow—”
“—Tomorrow would be perfect.” He raised my chin and kissed me.
I pushed to the tips of my toes to chase his mouth, but he left me bereft. “Okay. Yeah. Tomorrow.”
“Have fun. And wear this jacket tomorrow.” He headed back to his study without waiting for an answer. I sagged against the wall. “And Phoenix. Be sure that Mr. Jones keeps his hands to himself.” The door closed behind him.
I got home that night, kicked out of my clothes and debated taking a shower, if only to wash all the product out of my hair, but ultimately sided against it and slinked under the covers. My text alert chirped, and I swore, throwing the covers back to dig my phone out of my inner jacket pocket.
I don’t deserve you. See you tomorrow.
Sebastian must have found the monogrammed journal I’d left wrapped on his night stand.
Speaking of journals... I wrenched the curtain aside and brought my binoculars up to see into Emily’s lit bedroom. With her back to the headboard, and the journal propped against her bent, bare knees, she read the final page and closed the book, hugging it to her chest and gazing ahead in deep thought.
It was over. She’d reached the end. Maybe now she’d have some closure. Maybe now she wouldn’t cry herself to sleep anymore. She gently settled the journal onto her nightstand and reached over to turn off her lamp.
I fell asleep that night with a question weighing heavily on my mind.
Was it over, or had it only just begun?
We held hands across the center console of Sebastian’s Range Rover as we drove farther upstate to the lake house that held the best and worst of my memories. When he’d asked me where I wanted to go it was the first place I’d thought of. We were short on time, with only the weekend, so this was perfect. My hand tightened on his as we got closer. We were taking the same route we took when I was a kid, and passing by all the landmarks again after so many years was both exciting and heartbreaking.
“How was Thanksgiving with your mom?” he asked, and I appreciated his attempt at distraction.
“Odd,” I said.
“How so?”
“Well, for starters, she cooked with real meat and cheese.”
“Sounds like she’s trying?” he said encouragingly.
“But why? Why now?” I shook my head and stared out the window at the desolate dairy farm we passed. The clouds were gray. The weather man had reported a chance of snow.
“Maybe she realizes that you’re still here, and she still has an opportunity to make things right. Being a parent isn’t easy, Phoenix.”
I nearly asked what he could possibly know about that, but then I remembered that he’d lost a child. He didn’t have the same chance at mending things as she did. “A few years after my dad died, she started dating. I was such a shit to her.” I’d accused her of not loving my father, of trying to replace him. I never gave her dates a fair shake. “I think she was trying to give me back something I’d lost. Looking back, I don’t think it was ever about her.”
“And then she gave up?”
“Yeah. After I unloaded on her and made her cry. Right after, she gave me a letter that my dad had left behind for me. She didn’t think I was ready for it before then, because I was such an unstable monster.”
“Hey. Don’t do that.” His hold on my hand strengthened.
“It was sealed. She had no clue what it said. His words could have freed her from so much guilt, but I never told her what was inside.”
“It’s not too late,” he said. He’d lost Alex, his parents, and a child. If anyone was versed in missed opportunities, it’d be him.
“Yeah.” We rode the rest of the way in silence.
