I drew in what I hoped was a calming breath, gathered myself, and then turned to face Evan.
“I was,” I admitted. “But don’t worry. I’m not suicidal.”
“No,” he said simply, his eyes flat as they assessed me. “You’re too strong for that.”
“That is such bullshit.” I bit out the retort automatically, irritated that he’d so easily pushed my buttons. People had said the same thing after Gracie died, every word like fingernails on a chalkboard. You’re so strong, you’re handling it all so well. And it was all crap, because I wasn’t handling it at all.
I’d moved like a zombie through the days, barely managing to function. The days were bad enough. The nights pretty much fucking killed me.
I sucked in a shaky breath. “There’s nothing strong about surviving,” I said. “All it means is that one more time, death passed you up.”
I winced, because the second the words were out of my mouth, I knew I’d said too much. Shit.
I turned back to the glass and looked out over the world. I didn’t turn when I heard him move up beside me, taking his own position at the barrier. For the first time I could remember, in fact, I wanted Evan Black to just go away.
“I’m sorry,” he said. His voice was low and level, and I liked the way it felt inside my head. I didn’t turn, though. I wasn’t sure if he was sorry for my loss or apologizing for his words, and if it was the former, I really didn’t want to know.
“So why are you here?” I finally asked, my back still toward him. “Did you track me down to give me more grief about the guy I’m dating?”
“Believe it or not, I don’t spend that much time thinking about Kevin Warner.”
I turned, my brow raised in question. “No? Because in the kitchen earlier he sure seemed to be on your mind.”
“Not Kevin,” he said simply. “You.”
“Oh.” I swallowed, liking the sound of that word on his lips. You.
For a moment, silence hung between us. I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know what he wanted. I didn’t know what he was doing there or what was going on between us, or if anything even was going on between us. I waited for him to speak, but he seemed content to let the silence continue. He was doing nothing more than standing there, and yet I felt suddenly trapped, as if he’d captured me in that firm and unwavering gaze.
In desperation, I finally managed to form a sentence. “You’re wrong,” I finally said, looking down at my fingernails so that I wouldn’t have to see his face. “I’m not strong at all.” I thought of how much I wanted to escape this day. Of how much I wanted my uncle back. Of how desperately I wanted to cry, and of how hard I was having to work to keep all that grief bottled up inside.
Mostly, I thought of how certain I was that I wouldn’t make it through the night. That no matter how hard I tried, in the end the explosion would come and somehow, someway, everything I’d wrapped up tight would come completely unraveled.
“You are. I’ve watched you,” he said firmly. “Over the years, I mean. You keep yourself under tight control, Angie. That takes a lot of strength.”
I fervently wished that what he saw was true. It wasn’t, of course. I’d been trying for years to keep myself under control, but the tighter I grasped, the more pieces of me seem to break free.
Stifling a sigh, I turned away again to look out at Lake Michigan and the boats that were now nothing more than tiny points of lights in the distance. “You must not have been watching too closely,” I said.
“On the contrary,” he said, his voice low and even and so intense it seemed to erase all my protests even before I could voice them. “I paid a great deal of attention. I always do when something matters to me.”
“Oh.” My voice felt small and breathy.
From his position beside me, he hooked a finger under my chin and turned my head to meet his eyes. Heat from the contact shot through me, and I half-wondered if I’d see a burn mark there the next time I looked in the mirror.
He moved his hand away, and I wanted to cry out in protest. “Trust me on this, Lina. I know all about control.”
I swallowed. I wasn’t entirely sure I knew what we were talking about. And I sure as hell didn’t know why he called me by my old nickname, but to my surprise, I found myself liking it. I liked even more the way that he was looking at me. I think I could have stood there forever, the city and lake below and the night sky above and this enigmatic man only inches from me.
His lips began to move, and I thought that he had a beautiful mouth. “It’s not a weakness to want to let go,” he said. “To want the thrill of taking a risk. The pleasure of feeling the rush.”
I blinked. “How did you—”
“Shhhh.” His smile was slow and easy, revealing a rarely seen dimple in his cheek. “You need it. You’ve been pent up all night, going crazy. Locked inside your grief. Go ahead, now. Close your eyes and turn around.”
“But, I—”
That finger rose and pressed gently to my lips. “Don’t argue. Just do.”
Unquestioning obedience isn’t usually my modus operandi, but to my surprise, I complied. I closed my eyes, letting the dark take me, and then I shifted, so that I was facing the glass again. If I had opened my eyes, I would have seen the night sky spread wide in front of me. Instead I saw only Evan, larger than life inside my head.
“That’s a good girl.”
I’d worn my shoulder-length hair loose, and I held my breath as he gently pushed the thick waves aside, then pressed his hand to the back of my neck. I shivered from the contact, then cringed with embarrassment because I know he must have noticed. His thumb moved ever so slightly, lightly stroking my skin. I had no way of telling if he was doing it on purpose or if it was simply a reflex. Either way, it was driving me crazy, and I bit my lower lip, thankful that he was behind me and couldn’t see that additional break in my composure.