by Mia Downing
Grace said nothing, but she didn’t stop me, either.
Emboldened, I asked, “Has she ever told you what they’re about?”
Her top teeth worried at her bottom lip as she shrugged. “Just one.”
“When the man gave her to foster care.” I don’t know how I said that without flinching, but I did.
Her eyes widened. “Yes.”
“She has others, though.” She had to, or she would have just admitted to having the same one again.
“Yes.”
“You’re her best friend. She’s never told you what they entail?”
Her gaze narrowed. “You’re supposed to be her boyfriend, and she hasn’t told you, either.”
“I’m sorry. You’re right.” Dejected, I sighed. Way to piss off her bestie.
I glanced out the window toward the bakery, unsure what to do next. Skye had been clear she didn’t want to hear from me, but did she really mean that?
Something poked the side of my hand. I stared down at one of Grace’s glittery nails. I raised my head and my brows in silent question.
“Has she ever told you that she paints?”
“What?”
She cocked her head as if thinking how to word something. “Sometimes, if you can’t talk about something, therapists suggest painting or drawing to get it out.”
“Oh.” Clarity dawned. “No, she’s never told me she paints.”
That told me a ton without actually betraying a confidence. The other Skye had never painted. She’d doodled a lot, and I’d often find scribbles and decorations along the sides of paper or books. But knowing this Skye painted to help sort out her bad dreams… The ache pinged at my heart. “And is she painting a lot?”
Grace gave me a slight nod. “She reached her breaking point the other night.”
“And…did dumping me help the issue?”
She shook her head.
I wasn’t sure if that made me happy or sad. I didn’t want her in agony. I cocked my head, thinking back to January when we’d switched to sleeping at her house only. I’d never seen any paint or painting supplies. “Where does she do this?”
Grace glanced away and then back at me as if torn. “This is bridging into stuff you shouldn’t know, but you do.”
I shouldn’t know, but I do. She wouldn’t sleep over at my house at all. If she did, there wouldn’t be any paint if she needed it. I raised a brow at Grace. “She has a second bedroom she keeps locked.”
Grace nodded. “I’ve seen some of her drawings. She’s really good.”
Her talent didn’t surprise me. That she’d hidden it so well did. “But she’s never shown you the bedroom stuff.”
“No.”
“When I’ve slept over, I often imagined I smelled paint. And I know she gets up early. Sometimes, she would wake me when she crept back to bed.”
A slim shoulder shrugged again.
“Wouldn’t I know that she has nightmares when I’m with her? Wouldn’t she turn to me for help?” I had no clue what to do with this information, and why Grace chose to share it. And it hurt so much. This time when I ran a hand through my hair, I gave it a hard tug, the pain making my eyes sting. I deserved that. “Fates, what kind of a man am I that she can be in hell right beside me and I don’t even know it?”
Her hand gave mine a single, sympathetic pat. “She’s spent her entire life hiding in plain sight, Marek.”
“Yeah.” And that was my fault, too.
Grace patted me again. “She hides from me. It’s taken me years to see when she does it. You’ll figure it out, and hopefully, you’ll learn what she needs.”
“I hope so.” I swallowed the lump in my throat. “I love her, Grace.”
“I know.”
I had no clue what to do next. “Do I give her space? Do I push her a little? I can’t lose her.”
“What does your gut tell you?”
That was easy. I had history with her original, and they were the same in this aspect. “If I don’t remind her that I exist, she’ll drag her feet until it’s too late.”
Grace gave me a small smile and a nod of approval. “Don’t do anything stupid.”
Great. As if I knew the limits on what she’d consider stupid. I ran an anxious hand through my hair. “Thanks.”
A sharp fingernail dug into my other hand, and I met her glittering gaze with dread.
She said in a low voice, “This is between us, because I feel down deep that she needs you. But if you tell her I said any of this, you’ll rue the day, and I don’t mean it in a simpering, Shakespearian way.”
My balls clenched at the warning. Skye had shared Grace’s favorite threat to mankind. “I understand. Thank you.”
The nail didn’t release me, though. “And if she goes on that trip with you, you owe me something really, really good.”
I’d give her whatever she wanted. I nodded. “Done.”
Skye
I finished putting cookies in the oven and jerked my head as I heard a noise outside. The bond wrenched, and I felt Marek. Outside, somewhere. The bond wanted him.
Over the last few days, the pain had lessened to a bearable level that still made me ache with my stupidity. Yet I soldiered on, going to work, finishing up my class material so I could take next week off for Spring Break. I’d also started Marek’s first book. I hated to admit it, but I enjoyed it so far, and I’d gained some insight about him and his last jump through time.
But for some reason, the real Marek lingered outside. I could feel that pull just as I had that first day in front of the bakery only stronger. That same tug of awareness begged me to notice him now.
Unable to stop myself, I went to my bedroom and peered through the window into the dark. It overlooked the Young Mausoleum, and a crisp snowfall made it even easier to see the dark shadow rattle the wrought iron gate. A glow of an ember sparked from where his mouth would be, and I followed his progress as he walked along the wall of the tomb to where it met the picket fence. He jumped that nimbly and snuffed out the cigarette with his boot before he rummaged in the pocket of his long coat.
Why? My mouth went dry. I’d told him to stay away. It had been a few days, and yet he stood beneath my window, holding a…
I leaned closer to the cold glass. His cell phone lit up as he held it over his head, and the faint strains of a song we both loved floated up to the window. I could see his face better to know he still hadn’t shaved or gotten a haircut, or anything else he’d said he had to do before he left.
And I wanted him anyway.
I flung the window open. “What the hell are you doing? You’re going to wake Joyce.”
“I’m trying to get you to see me.”
“Have you been watching movies again?” He looked like a modern-day wet dream from “Say Anything” with his long coat and sad face, his phone still over his head.
“Maybe.”
I rolled my eyes. “Turn off the music and come to the door.”
I shut the window, checked the cookies, and ran down the stairs to open the door for him. “Come up, but you can only stay a second.”
He followed me up the stairs, and I shoved him into my little hallway before I closed the door.
Fighting the bond and the urge to kiss him, I poked him hard in the chest. “What the hell is your problem? I told you to leave me alone.”
He grabbed my finger and kissed it, his lips cool. “I was making sure you didn’t forget me.”
I’d never forget you.
“It’s only been a few days.” I yanked my finger away and smacked his chest again. “And since when do you smoke?”
“Uh, always?”
I smacked him harder, and he gave an “oof.”
“Don’t lie to me. I’ve only seen you smoke once before, and that was at the cemetery as well. That first night I talked to you.” It seemed like so long ago.
“Well, that’s where I stash my private stuff, in the mausoleum. It’s tobacco from home. I smoke it when I’m homesi
ck. Just like you bake cookies when you’re sad.”
He was homesick? And I ignored the whole cookie discussion. “Did she know you smoke?”
“Yes, she hated it.” He narrowed his eyes. “And since I don’t have a girlfriend or wife or anything right now, I’m going to smoke now and then, since that’s what bachelors do.”
Bachelor, indeed. “What were you doing over there besides annoying me?”
“Checking supplies.”
“You keep supplies in the tomb of your ancestors?”
He arched a brow.
My cheeks heated with embarrassment. “There are no ancestors.”
“No. I had it built when we were renovating the house in the 1880s, so I could have a place to store things we needed.” He shrugged.
I had no clue what to say about that.
“I miss you.” He stepped forward and traced his index finger along the collar of my sweatshirt.
I wanted to lean in and inhale him, but I’d be lost if I did that. The bond wanted him too much. The energy swirled, begging to be released to join his. But maybe he knew that would happen. “I told you that you could stay a second.”
“Mmm.” Bending, he kissed me softly, his lips tasting of sweet tobacco. Lifting from my mouth, he bent to nuzzle my neck. “You know you can tell me anything.”
“I don’t like you smoking.”
“Duly noted.”
Gah. His mouth made my skin tingle as his tongue traced a path to my jaw. The bond tugged harder, the pain fiercely sweet. “You should go.”
I had a hard time resisting as he kissed me again, his lips lingering a little longer. Groaning against my mouth, he tugged my hips against the full length of him, growing hard-on and all.
Warning bells went off, ones that reminded me I’d regret the decision if I repaired what I had broken.
“Marek.” Both hands on his chest, I pushed him firmly back one step. Then two. “I desire you. The bond wants you. None of this is in dispute. You know you’re the only man within centuries who the bond would claim. But I need to choose you. Somehow. I don’t know what I need, but I need to figure that out on my own. Do you understand?”
“No.”
“I don’t know what to tell you.” I blew out a harsh breath. I wanted him so badly. Need curled inside my belly and demanded I take him to my room and let him take control. I squirmed, and that only made my clit throb harder. “I need time. Go, and let me figure this out.”
He sighed, his blue eyes dark and tortured. “Then I’m going to keep smoking.”
“You do what you must.”
“Can I have a cookie before I go?”
“You can take one with you. Stay here.” I went to the kitchen and packed him a plastic baggie with a bunch of cookies. Then I felt bad, so I packed a second bag. I took them to the hall only to find it empty. “Marek?”
Damn him. If he was naked in my bed… I stormed down the hall, only to find him standing in the open doorway of my second bedroom.
Oh, God, I hadn’t locked it. My heart leapt to my throat, and I grabbed his arm as I checked the room. None of the paintings were visible. They leaned against the walls in horizontal stacks with the backside of the canvas or board facing out. “What are you doing?”
One hand swept over the room. “I didn’t know you painted. When were you going to show me?”
“Never!” I yanked his arm and shoved him out into the hall, slamming the door behind me. “I don’t share that with anyone. That’s mine.”
“You can tell me anything, you know.”
The only thing I wanted to tell him was to fuck off. Red-hot anger flooded my veins, my face, and flushed my skin. I dragged him by the arm to the front door, opened it, and tossed the cookies down the stairs. “Get out.”
“Skye—”
“Nope. I have nothing to say to you. I asked you to stay away, and you barged into my home and started snooping. I never snooped once in your home.”
He arched an indignant brow. “You found her letters in a box under the window seat. We know how that turned out.”
My face burned a hotter red. “Get out.”
He took a step down but held a hand in the door jamb so I wouldn’t slam it closed just yet. “You can tell me anything, Skye. Anything.”
“I have nothing to tell you.”
“I think you do.”
He’d stomped halfway down the steps before I had the door slammed. I leaned against it and sank to the floor, the tears hot on my face as they streamed over my cheeks, dripping to my shirt and hands. The energy rose inside me, pining for that snooping jerk of a man.
I only got up when the timer went off for the cookies. I took them out of the oven and tossed them right in the trash.
I was too sad for cookies.
Skye
That night, I had no dreams.
But I still awoke drenched in a cold sweat and shaking, with my hand shoved into my mouth to keep from screaming.
A sinister, female voice had said, “He’ll be mine without your bond.”
That’s it.
And it chilled me to the bone. Thanks to me, Marek had no bond.
What had I done?
Chapter twenty
Skye
Somehow, I made it through the rest of the week. When I’d told Grace about Marek showing up, she’d whispered something about him doing stupid things, and she wanted to use that rusty spoon of hers. I had to make her promise—again—not to maim him.
I now fidgeted in my therapist’s waiting room, waiting to see her. I’d reached out after hearing those horrible words spoken in my mind that night. I couldn’t take the dreams any longer. I had to talk to someone who could help me find a path to sorting this out.
Speaking of Marek… I hadn’t heard a peep from him. I hadn’t seen him smoking in the cemetery or felt his presence lurking under my window. I had nothing on my phone, and no one had seen him at the store. It was like he’d disappeared. That worried me slightly, but he’d promised me he wouldn’t jump. I could no longer feel him on the bond, so lowering my shield would do me no good. I had to trust him.
I’d finally finished his first book, Diary of a Time Traveler, and despite knowing this was a memoir of sorts, I loved it. He’d renamed her Raine, and his name was Jensen. I’d learned a lot about him in the process—his background, his life, how deeply that man loved. I almost believed that maybe he could feel something for me.
I paid attention to the ending to see if I could insert my nightmares into the holes in his memory. I couldn’t. Not enough to fully believe these were anything but nightmares with a coincidence.
The one thing his book did was help me to understand how deeply he believed in his curse and the reasons why. Everything that could go wrong had from the moment they’d stepped into the past. She hadn’t believed. I wondered if she would believe now.
I didn’t want to start the second book, though. I feared how that one ended, and I wanted nothing more than for him to end it happily.
The therapist finally called me in, and I settled into a yellow armchair that reminded me of Marek’s bond.
Donna sat across the small room in her own yellow chair with her notebook on her lap. If I had a mother, she’d probably be about her age. “So what do you want to talk about?”
I hesitated at first, because that’s what I did. But once I started talking about Marek, I couldn’t stop. I told her that I couldn’t believe he loved me.
She thought that the disbelief would fade if I gave it time. He’d come from a loving home and family. It made sense that it would be easier for him to say and feel than for someone like me who had a bleak childhood. I had to be patient with myself. That made me breathe a sigh of relief, knowing I wasn’t weird or abnormal. Well, I was, but at least, not in that way.
I then told her about the dreams, and how I was still drawing them to purge them. However, I began to weep silently as I told her about the flowers. I fudged a little and said it was my dream. But I
didn’t get why I would cry about her flowers.
Donna pondered that for a moment. “I wish you had relatives who were alive. I’d suggest you reach out and ask if someone recalled an event surrounding those flowers and what it meant to you. That might be enough to solve some of these issues.”
“Really?” It seemed so simple. Just…asking someone. Yet telling Marek wouldn’t solve my issues. He wasn’t around when she was little.
“Yes, because it could be an event you’re just repressing. And asking could be the connection you need to understand why this upsets you.”
“But…they’re just flowers.” My eyes welled up again, and I grabbed a tissue from the box on the side table.
“It’s not the item that’s important. It’s the connection of the emotions that go with those flowers. Something happened in the background that you’re not able to see in the dreams. You’re just seeing the flowers.”
I didn’t want to be seeing her flowers.
“And what about the words with no dream?” I couldn’t really tell her what they said. She’d lock me in a padded room somewhere.
She pursed her lips. “That could be something you heard, or it could be a manifestation of stress. The mind is an odd thing.”
I’d been terrified to hear those words, though. I thought about the whole thing from a different point of view. “What if…what if I’d overheard it when my eyes were closed? Like I was asleep?” Or blindfolded…
She mulled that over a moment, tapping her pen on her notebook. “That’s a possibility, too.”
We ended the session with making a plan to deal with my anxiety and setting up an appointment for two weeks.
I felt better as I went home until I walked in the door and realized I was alone. Utterly alone. I had no one to talk to but Grace, and she didn’t know anything about my past.
I sank down on my sofa and drawing my legs under me as I closed my eyes, my forehead resting on my knees. The only person who knew anything detailed about my background was Marek.
I didn’t trust him. Not yet. And I had no clue how to get to that point.