by Lily Cahill
He smiled kindly. “Not the soundest course of action.”
“I know,” she said. She held out his questions to him, and once he’d taken them back, she curled her arms around herself. “I—I’m really scared.”
“Hey. We’re going to figure this out, don’t worry. I’ll help you.” The look on his face was eager and assured, and she nearly believed him. “Let’s start with the easy stuff. How does this usually happen?”
Ruth took a deep breath, steadying herself. Getting emotional had proved to be a detriment to her powers in the past. She did not want to embarrass herself more than she already had when she’d nearly thrown herself at him.
“It happens in my sleep sometimes. Or when I’m very upset. Or last night, when we …,” she trailed off, not wanting to put words to their actions. How was she supposed to describe what had happened inside her when she’d been pressed up against his body?
Henry tapped his fingers against his chin, brows drawn together. “Okay, so it seems to affect you most when you’re out of control, like when you’re sleeping or emotional. And emotional either way, happy or sad. Does that sound right?”
She considered it, and then nodded. “So I just have to never lose control?”
He laughed, and she dropped her gaze to the ground, flinching back. She hadn’t expected him to find the situation amusing. She hugged herself tighter, trying to fight down her emotions before she had another outburst.
There was a gentle touch on her elbow, and her eyes snapped up. Henry was frowning, apologetic. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t laughing at you, I promise. It’s just—it’s impossible for you to be in control all the time. You’re not a robot.” A small smile touched the corner of his mouth. “You’re human. You’re going to get emotional, and that’s fine.”
She gave a frustrated groan. “Then what am I supposed to do?”
“You can’t control how you feel, so you have to learn to control how you react.”
His hand was still on her elbow, and it slowly inched up her arm. Ruth tried to quash the part of her that insisted she throw herself into his arms.
“Let’s try something,” Henry said. “I’ll try to provoke a strong emotion, and you just … let yourself do whatever comes naturally to you.”
“How do you plan to do that?”
He shrugged. “Well, what tends to cause you to react?” He took a few steps back, getting clear of the area where she could conceivably catch fire. “We could talk about your father.”
She felt her temperature climb a few degrees. “I think that’s a bad idea.”
“Maybe, but you’re already flushing.” Henry shoved his hands in his pockets and toed at the dirt beneath his sneaker. She’d never seen him in anything other than dress shoes before. There was something endearing about seeing him in something so casual. “I’m just … worried for you, Ruth. I heard what he said at that sermon yesterday. He’s trying to galvanize the whole town against people like you. Like those meetings he’s holding.”
Everything was too warm. “Henry ….”
“Or when he put those bruises on you. I think we should go talk to Officer Harris. We could get Matt’s perspective on things, find out if we can legally keep your father away from you. Have you ever met Matt?”
The fire seemed to burn through her veins and then, suddenly, her hands were aflame. The fire crawled quickly up to her forearms. Surprise gave way to panic, and she shook her hands. The flames got bigger. She looked up to catch Henry’s eye, to scream at him to help her, to put her out, but he was nowhere to be seen.
“Henry!”
“I’m behind you,” he said, his voice surprisingly calm in his ear. “Are you in pain?”
It was hard to be hysterical around someone who sounded so soothing. The flames licked at her skin, and it prickled uncomfortably, but it was not unbearable. She shook her head. “It’s not pleasant, but it’s not terrible. It only hurts me if I lose my concentration, or if I let it go on too long.”
“If it becomes even a little painful, I want you to try to stop, okay? But don’t worry if you can’t.” He went quiet, and then added, “You’re amazing, you know?”
Instantly, her arms were just her arms, the flames disappearing. She felt almost disappointed. It was the longest she had been able to sustain them without hurting herself. Henry’s words echoed inside her head, and she turned to look at him.
“You can’t say things like that,” she said, hoping she sounded more convincing than she felt.
He smiled at her, all teeth and crinkled eyes. “I am going to give you as many compliments as I like.” Before she could react, he plucked up her hand and brought it close to his eyes so he could examine it by the light of the moon. “How are you feeling? A little tender?”
She shrugged but made no move to take her hand back. “A bit.”
He nodded, considering. “You did a nice job keeping your head this time, and you were able to hold the flames for just over twelve seconds without major pain. How does that compare to your usual …,” he hesitated over the word. “Reaction?”
“That’s the longest I’ve been on fire without hurting myself.” The thought was cheering. Maybe this wasn’t as hopeless as she thought. “Can we try again?”
Henry grinned. “You bet.”
An hour later, Ruth lay in the grass by the water, panting. “I never want to see fire again.”
It had been a productive night. Henry had helped her manifest her power seven times, and each time, she’d held onto the flames a little longer, had felt a little less pain. She’d managed to control herself for almost forty seconds in the most recent trial before the flames had extinguished themselves from her sheer exhaustion. Her head was starting to throb.
Henry sat down next to her, picking at the blades of grass and tearing them apart. “I think—and this is just my theory at the moment, I haven’t actually looked at anyone’s records to confirm—but I think your powers are a sort of … mental muscle. Tonight was your first time giving it a proper workout, so of course you’re tired. But I think if you keep practicing, you’ll build it up. Make it stronger, have more control.”
She looked up at him, and a part of her ached at the sight. He had not again stood nearly as close to her as he had during those first moments when she had arrived, and she wanted him to. But she didn’t want to ask and be wrong. Being wrong about this was the most terrifying thing she could imagine. It scared her more than her own abilities.
“That makes sense,” she said, trying not to yawn. “It also explains why my head feels like it’s going to explode.”
He shook the grass from his hands and scooted closer to her. A moment later, she felt his fingertips against her temples as he rubbed slow, soothing circles there. “Is that any better?”
It wasn’t, and yet it also really, really was. She couldn’t find her voice; her tongue was thick in her mouth. Instead of saying something, she closed her eyes and nodded. His fingers kept moving in their steady pattern.
“You did so well. I wasn’t sure how much I was going to be able to help, but—wow. You tripled the amount of time you could control yourself. Imagine what you’ll be able to do if you keep up the good work.” His rhythm faltered. “And, you know, I’d be more than happy to meet you here again. If you want.”
“You’ve done so much for me,” she said. She had to fight to enunciate, the words inside her chest threatening to choke her. “I don’t know if I can ask you for any more.”
The tips of his fingers moved away from her temples so that he could brush her hair away from her face. Opening her eyes was terrifying, but she forced herself to do it. He was staring at her, biting his lip, nervous, and she had the feeling again … that she wasn’t alone in this thing, whatever it was.
He swallowed. She watched his Adam’s apple bob up and down. “I don’t mind. I really don’t.”
“Okay,” she blurted out, before she could stop herself. “What about tomorrow night?”
Henry gr
imaced, and her heart dropped. She could have sworn they had moved back onto the same page—where was the man who had kissed her in the kitchen the night before?
“I can’t, but I wish I could,” he said. The disappointment was too much for her to hide completely, and his brows drew together. “No, really. It’s just that Tuesdays are reserved for my weekly dinner with Granddad and my mother. Which is just ….”
He gave an apologetic shrug. His hand was inches from her own, within touching distance, and she wanted to bridge the gap between them but didn’t know how.
She moved hers an inch closer to his, gratified to see him do the same. Slowly, their fingers tangled together. The dread and upset were coming off of him in waves. It was only the second time he’d talked about his mother, and the words came slow to him, as if he were choosing them carefully so as not to seem uncharitable.
“Don’t go,” Ruth said quickly. “Not if it upsets you so much.”
“It’s not as simple as that.” He squeezed her fingers with his own. “It’s what Granddad wants, and I owe him so much. And you know, no matter how poorly she treats me, I still can’t completely kill the hope that one day we really will make amends.” He sighed. “I thought maybe she’d approve of me if I became a doctor. Carrying on the family tradition, following in her father’s footsteps. It didn’t work. I’ve made my peace with it, though. It doesn’t bother me.”
Ruth could tell Henry was lying, and he was doing it poorly. It was obvious in the taut line of his shoulders that his mother’s love and acceptance meant more to him than he was saying. She understood that. She understood it so well.
Something like bravery stirred inside her, and Ruth grasped at the feeling with both hands. She cleared her throat. “He—he doesn’t hurt me often. Just when he thinks I need to be corrected. He always tells me that it’s for me, and I’ve always believed him. But now with what he’s been saying about people with powers … I know he’s wrong, and if he’s wrong about that, then what else?”
Henry’s hands were on her cheeks, cupping her face. She followed the pull of his touch and scrambled to her knees, and he pressed their foreheads together. She could feel his breath ghosting across her face.
“Listen to me: We will figure this out. We’ll go to Matt soon, and you’ll be fine. You’ll be more than fine, you’ll be safe, and then we …,” his voice disappeared to nothing, and before she knew what was happening, his lips were on hers.
As his tongue touched her mouth, she parted it, but it was—she let out a frustrated sound. It wasn’t like the night before. Their position was too awkward, on their knees in front of each other.
She pulled back and then moved to straddle him, like she had when he was sitting in the chair. He leaned back and she followed his body down, lying on top of him so their bodies pressed together fully. Every inch of him was touching every inch of her, and she could feel him, hot and hard against her thigh.
It was scary, but it was also … incredible. Her body felt like it was on fire, but in an entirely new way. Her insides felt liquid, molten, and when she leaned down to close the distance between them, his arms wrapped around her, pressed at the small of her back so that she naturally moved against him.
It felt so good. Something inside of her tightened, and it sent ripples of pleasure up her spine. She pulled her mouth away from his and moaned into his ear, hardly aware of what she was doing.
He muttered a curse and pressed an open-mouth kiss into her neck. “God, Ruth ….”
Hearing her name like that, like she was some incredible object of desire—it was like gasoline on a fire. She felt like every nerve in her body was sparking with some incredible, unnameable need. She writhed on top of him, feeling like she needed something more.
Henry’s hands traced up her back, leaving trails of warmth in their wake. He panted heavily against her skin. “We should stop.”
Ruth shook her head. Was he crazy? “Don’t want to.”
“If we don’t stop, I’m going to …,” he trailed off, and there was something dark and promising in his tone that hit her right in that secret, feminine part of herself. His hands moved down, following the curve of her side. “Neither of us should make that decision right now.”
There was a logic to his words that she hated. There was something inside of her that still needed something, and she didn’t know what.
Still, she huffed and pushed herself back onto her knees. He followed her up, and she sat in between the vee of his legs. “How did you manage to keep your head while we were doing … that?”
His laugh was husky, and he raised a hand to tug at his hair in that same nervous, awkward gesture that had so endeared her before. “Trust me,” he told her. “It wasn’t easy. I just don’t want us to make any rash decisions. We have time, Ruth.”
Time. The word was magic, wonderful. They had time. He wasn’t going anywhere. Henry was in this, just as much as she was.
They got to their feet and brushed off their clothes, and Henry grabbed her hand. It was late. She needed to get home. The guilt would come later tonight, she knew, but for now—for now she just basked in the incandescent happiness of what was happening between them.
Ruth’s eyes snapped open the next morning. Never in her life had she felt more abruptly awake. She blinked the sleep away and pushed herself up on her hands, trying to figure out why she felt so strange. Her body felt lax and loose in a way she had never before experienced.
Her mind drifted back to her dream. It was fuzzy, now, the details becoming more and more indistinct as she woke up. She’d fallen asleep quickly the night before, exhausted both physically and mentally from practicing with Henry.
Henry.
She fell back into her pillow and threw an arm over her face, grinning into the crook of her elbow. He’d walked her home last night, and on the way they had made plans to meet again so she could practice her powers.
Henry was intoxicating, all-encompassing. So much so Ruth had apparently forgotten to prop her window open in her haste to get to the lake. She and Henry had struggled to lift the old glass window so she could shimmy through to her bedroom. Then he’d leaned inside and kissed her goodnight. Giddy smile on her face, she’d waved good-bye to him, even though she doubted he could make her out from the darkness of her room. She’d been so dizzy with emotion she had almost forgotten to replace the screen before closing her window.
She’d fallen asleep to thoughts of him, and she was fairly certain those thoughts of him had followed her into dreams. They were back by the lake, and kissing as they had been, and she had been on her back, and his hands had been—had ….
Ruth shivered. This had happened before, and recently. She suddenly remembered what the after-effects of that other particular dream had been, and the pleasant tingling in her belly disappeared. Her sheets, were they …?
She threw back the covers and stared down at herself, relieved to see nothing amiss. The sheets from the other day hadn’t been salvageable, were still balled up in the trunk at the end of her bed. There were no more spares in the house if these were ruined, too.
It was time to start making plans. She couldn’t be herself and live in her father’s house, so the solution was obvious: She needed to leave. Most girls her age had left their childhood homes years ago, were already married with children. But not Ruth. Edward hardly let her out of his sight, let alone allowed her chances to meet men. Other than Arnold, of course. For so much of her life, Ruth hadn’t fought it.
But for so much of her life, she hadn’t known there was more.
Now, there was Henry and the way he made her want to be bold. And her powers, which had felt so much like a burden these past few weeks … last night proved she could control them. Or she could at least try. They weren’t going anywhere, and she was done pining for the simplicity of the past.
Just because things had been easier didn’t mean they were better.
She’d go see Henry, she decided. She’d tell him she was ready to
talk to the police and see what legal avenues existed that would separate her from her father. It would be terrible and heartbreaking, but it would give her the ability to live her life without fear, and that was worth everything.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Henry
Henry paced his office, unable to burn off his nervous energy. He wasn’t sure what was a more dangerous path for his thoughts to follow—Ruth’s blood, put in the mail yesterday and making its way to Denver, or Ruth’s unbelievable kisses.
The second was what weighed heaviest on him, if he were being honest, because as much as he had loved their moments together and wanted more of them, Henry knew he shouldn’t. It was unprofessional. How often had he heard in his studies that doctors should keep patients at an arm’s length? At the time, he’d scoffed at the idea that he could be one of those doctors. He’d been so sure he would never encounter this issue.
But then, how could he have anticipated Ruth Baker?
He could still perfectly remember the feel of her lips moving against his, the delicate touch of her tongue, the feel of her writhing body. Henry’s trousers grew tight, and he shook his head to dispel the thoughts crowding his mind. He was at work! This was neither the time nor place to think about those memories.
Reason demanded that he give her up, but every time the thought occurred to him, his heart rebelled. It was more than physical—there was something between him and Ruth that he didn’t think he’d ever find in another girl. They had a kind of unspoken understanding of each other. He felt transparent around her, like she could look at him and see inside to his very heart. Nothing, no other relationship, had ever felt like that. It should have been scary, but Henry found he … trusted her.
He’d been able to help her with her powers, had stood back and watched her grow, and it was like something snapped together in his brain: This was the girl he wanted, more than anything.
None of it made any sense. Reason wasn’t his friend right now, logic wouldn’t save him—they demanded things of him that he didn’t feel capable of doing. He couldn’t give Ruth up. He couldn’t.