Page 49 of Leon

The silence between them was thick with both longing and the inevitability of parting. Above, the city's lights blinked through the misty cold, casting silver halos over the damp street. He pressed his forehead to hers, breathing in the warmth of her skin—a memory he knew would have to sustain him for the coming days.

She traced the line of his jaw with her thumb, memorizing the gentle bristle beneath her touch. "Text me when you get in," she whispered, her voice trembling despite her best efforts.

He nodded, reluctant to let her go, every instinct screaming at him to hold her tighter, shielding her from whatever shadows lay ahead. But the world outside their little cocoon waited, impatient, and reality pulled at them like the tide.

Easing away from her, he took her hand and guided her to the vehicle parked under an overhanging eave. He opened the door for her and kissed her hand before stepping back. He stood there for a moment more as he watched her taillights disappear. Even when there was no sign of her left, he shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket and simply stood there staring. There was a dull ache inside his chest, and his body was still alive from the potent kiss. It had felt as if he were telling her goodbye, and he could not shake the feeling of impending doom. Lifting his shoulders in a shrug, he turned and walked to his vehicle, nodding to the driver as he opened the door.

*****

Her emotions veered close to the surface. It took several minutes for her to talk herself out of turning the car around and heading back. There was a sense of urgency, something insidious worming its way through her heart, her mind, and her very soul. Something warning her that something was afoot. Something bad. Her throat was thick with unshed tears, and her chest felt tight.

She had to grip the steering wheel to stop the trembling. Her heart was racing a mile a minute, and her feet were unsteady. Traffic was light at this time of night, but mindful of her promise to her husband, she was not going fast. A look in her rearview mirror showed that his vehicle was two cars behind hers.

She drew in a long, shaky breath, fighting back the urge to look for him one final time. The city seemed to whisper around her—tires on wet asphalt, a distant horn, the soft hum of streetlights. Every sound felt magnified, the world holding its breath right along with her.

She was looking in the mirror when his vehicle turned off at the main road. Taking a deep breath, she headed toward the almost empty street and took the road leading to the bookstore and a place that no longer felt like home. Driving into the parking lot, she sat there—just sat there and stared at the encroaching darkness. The wind whipped at the leaves of the oak trees surrounding the narrow building. Realizing that her fingers were still wrapped around the steering wheel, she let go. Taking a deep breath, she opened the door and stepped out into the icy cold.

Dragging the bags and her case from the back, she hurried toward the side of the building and took the stairs. Entering the warmth of the narrow hallway, she absorbed the heat before dropping the bags and shrugging out of her jacket. Her very firstthought was to go straight to her suite and give in to the despair washing over her, but she could not even afford that luxury. Her dad was waiting for her. He had told her that much when she called him. She had to at least drop into his room and let him know she was home.

Home. The breath shuddered through her body as she realized that was no longer the case. It felt as if she were a stranger just passing through and wanted to leave as quickly as possible.

She pressed her palm flat against the wall, grounding herself in the tangible reality of plaster and paint, before making her way down the narrow hallway. Each footstep seemed to echo with memories—of the way her dad had urged her to take the trip, the words her friend had spoken, the warnings that something was not quite right. Every instinct was screaming at her to listen, pay attention—be prepared for what was coming.

A soft light spilled under her father's door, a golden sliver on worn floorboards. She hesitated, every instinct urging her to retreat to the safety of solitude, but duty and love propelled her forward. Knuckles trembling, she rapped gently, and the door creaked open almost before she could lower her hand.

Her father stood there, hunched in his favorite cardigan, eyes shadowed with the weight of sleepless nights. His face softenedwhen he saw her, relief and fatigue warring in his expression. And just for a moment, she felt guilty about the things she had been thinking. He looked so relieved to see her, so happy that she was home.

"You made it," he murmured, his voice low and rough, as if he'd been speaking only to ghosts.

She nodded, crossing the threshold. The room was thick with the scent of chamomile tea and old paper, the television murmuring quietly in a corner. For a fleeting second, she longed to curl up beside him, to sink into an old familiarity, but the tension in her body remained.

"I just wanted you to know I'm here," she said, her words barely above a whisper. "Safe."

He nodded, reaching out to grip her hand. His palm was warm, steady. "That's all I need to hear. How was it?"

"Wonderful." She squeezed his hand in return, letting the silence fill the space.

"You're going to have to tell me all about it when you have time and allow me to meet the young man."

His voice was light and easy, because he had planned all of it before she came. He would play along, because he had something in store for her. Yes, let her have her fun for now, he thought, masking his bitterness.

After a moment, she excused herself quietly, promising to talk in the morning. The journey down the hall to her own door felt impossibly long, each step weighted with exhaustion and the ache of uncertainty.

Inside her suite, the world narrowed to the scraping sound of her suitcase wheels and the dull thud as it was set aside. She leaned against the door, letting her eyes adjust to the familiar gloom. Nothing had changed, and yet everything was different. The air was thick with unspoken words and the echo of his goodbye—a thread stretched taut between departure and return.

She read his text, her lips curving at the brief message. He was safe and home; that's all that mattered at this point.

She sat unmoving for a moment, longing for sleep but fearing the dreams that might come. And the dreadful loneliness of a bed that felt too cold.

*****

He couldn't settle. After texting her that he was at his place, he called his father and sister to let them know he was back. The shower and the sip of brandy were supposed to relax him enough to try and get some sleep, but it didn't work. He wandered restlessly around the room, eyeing the bed as if it were a mortal enemy about to attack him mercilessly.

He had spent one week with her. Suffice it to say that the one week had spoiled everything for him.

He was no longer going to be able to sleep alone without her body next to his. He was dreading what seemed to be a long night. He supposed it would level out in a couple of nights and things would go back to normal, but something told him it wasn't going to be that easy.

Dragging restless fingers through his still-damp hair, he strode over to the window to stare out at the twinkling lights of the city.

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