Page 31 of Wooing the Wiccan
“We’re going,” replies my… I don’t know what he is anymore, and the man nods, stepping back and blocking passersby so we have room to leave the row.
I lead the way, mostly because I have no idea what else to do, but it’s loud and chaotic in here, I’m surrounded by people I’m not even sure are people, and if I want answers—or even just to put this whole experience behind me and convince myself it was a crazy dream—I need to leave this place.
So I walk up the stairs and through the lounge, pushing through the crowd without my usual manners. At one point someone shouts, “Hey!” but nothing comes of it. I wonder if he just let it go or if Raðulfr intervened. I wonder if Raðulfr and the other guy are even following me. Maybe I’ve lost them, and now I’ll never get answers. Maybe he let me go.
I don’t know which pisses me off more.
When I finally step outside, I stop and take a deep breath. The cold night air stings my throat and makes my lungs ache, but in a good way. It reminds me that I’m real. That I’m awake. That whatever the fuck happened in there, the world is still the place I know it to be.
“You left your sweater,” Raðulfr says, coming up beside me with said sweater over his arm. He holds it out to me, and I stare at it. If he’s got that, then what am I?—
The fucking jersey.
I rip it over my head and throw it on the pavement as viciously as I can. It’s fabric, so it doesn’t have the impact I need. I want acrash, damn it. I stomp on it, hard, but even that doesn’t satisfy the anger in me.
I haven’t been this angry for so long. Not since I rebuilt my life. And that makes me want to cry—thejerseymakes me want to cry, because less than two hours ago, I was so happy. I was making plans to get involved in a fucking “local” hockey league, because I thought it was important to Raðulfr. That jersey stood for a new phase of my life where I was part ofhislife. The people in that stadium? People I thought were just like me, hockey fanswith regular lives who wanted to get involved with a sport they loved? I was going to join their community.
Now I don’t even know what they are. What he is.
Snatching the sweater from Raðulfr, I yank it on, then turn on him. “What are you?”
He glances around. There’s nobody nearby except the guy who called him Sir, standing five paces away and pretending not to listen. “It’s cold out here, Jared. Let’s go back to your house, and I’ll explain everything.”
“You think I’ll let you in my house?” I ask incredulously, and his whole body jerks like I’ve struck him. Guilt tries to rise, but I push it back down. I’m not sure how deep the lies run, but hehasbeen lying to me, hiding things. I don’t know what to trust anymore.
“You don’t have to if you’re not comfortable,” he rasps. “We… we can’t talk about this in public, though, and I thought you’d prefer to go to your house than mine.”
It’s a fresh stab at my battered sense of self. In all the time we’ve been together, he’s never invited me to his home, even when I hinted about it. That’s his right, of course, but it hurts that I’m suddenly welcome there now that my happiness is shattered.
“You got that right,” I manage. “I’m not going to your house. Am I even safe alone with you?”
He sucks in a breath, and this time guilt wins. I open my mouth to apologize?—
“Yeah, okay, we’re done with this part of the night,” the other guy says, striding forward. “Mr. Veddy, my name is Eoin, and I’m the head of Raðulfr’s security team. I understand that you’re pissed off and probably embarrassed right now, but if you want answers, you need to tell us where we can all go. Out here is not an option.”
The apology dies in my throat. “Fuck. You.” I turn and walk away.
A hissed conversation takes place behind me as I try to work out what to do. I got a rideshare here, figuring Raðulfr would be coming back to my place after. I need to find a car to take me home.
“Jared?” Footsteps chase after me, and I sigh. “Jared, please. I’ll tell you everything, but?—”
I turn around, then stumble back. I knew he was close, but I didn’t realize he was that close.
“Please,” he repeats, but it’s the wrecked expression on his face that convinces me. Whatever he’s guilty of, deliberately trying to hurt me isn’t it.
“My house,” I declare. “I’ll meet you there in half an hour.” That should give me time to find a car, get home, and prepare myself.
“We can drive you,” he begins, but I shake my head.
“I’m not ready to get in a car with you yet, and I’m definitely not getting in a car with him.” I nod past his shoulder to where the other guy—Eoin—is hovering a few feet back.
“How are you getting home, then?”
I glance around and spot the pickup zone. “Rideshare.”
Raðulfr winces. “At least let us wait with you until you’re in a car.”
That doesn’t seem unreasonable. I hate that he’s not being unreasonable. Hate that he’s showing concern for me. Hate that I’m so angry right now.
