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Instinctively, I lift my hand, reaching out to brush her cheek but her glare stops me. Of course I can’t. I lost the right to her. I still ask, “And you? How are you? Still in remission?”
“Yeah,” she says slowly. “I’ve had a few scares, but I’m okay.”
What does a few scares mean? I want to ask, but instead I go for, “Do you get tested every six months?” This time I place my hand on top of hers. Trying to get some kind of connection or reassurance that she’s okay. Because the Ameline I know didn’t take care of herself, and somehow I have the feeling that older Ame hasn’t followed up on her health. This is exactly why she shouldn’t have left me. I could’ve screened her diligently.
She stares at me. There’s anger in her eyes but she doesn’t say a word, and, thankfully, she doesn’t move from my grasp. It’s insane to say that I need this, the connection. Knowing she’s okay and alive—safe.
The urge to ensure her safety is overwhelming. I want to pull her into my arms, but all I do is stroke her skin with my thumb. “You know you can come to me if anything happens, right? I could screen you periodically.”
She pulls her hand back. “You have to stop trying to rescue me, or everyone for that matter. It isn’t healthy.”
I snort, a mix of amusement and exasperation. She sounds like my family. I’m a doctor. Am I supposed to let people die when they come asking for help? My gaze catches on her backpack. “You came all this way for one day? That’s not healthy either.”
Ameline just shrugs, noncommittal.
“Oh, right, for what Lyric mentioned you don’t have a specific day in mind just yet. Friday or Sunday . . . So, where are you staying?” I ask, turning back to continue preparing her a sandwich, my hands busily working while my mind races with concern.
“What’s with the inquisition, Decker?” she questions, irritated either by my presence or our chat. Probably both.
If I recall the last time, she told me that she hated me more than anything in the world and if she never saw me that would be too soon. Yet here we are.
“I’m concerned about you,” I admit, slicing the sandwich into triangles with more focus than necessary, trying to channel my worry into the food.
“Well, don’t be, okay?” she snaps, her fingers drumming on the countertop. “I’ll leave soon, and you can return to your regular schedule.”
Her words should bring relief, yet they don’t. Since the moment I met Ameline, she’s had this uncanny ability to remain engraved in my thoughts. Even after all the years she’s been away, her memories are a part of me. It’s as if every little thing somehow brings me back to her.
I shouldn’t be surprised. After all, I belong to her. Even my shattered heart and dark soul belong to her.
She’s my life and without her I’ve had a hard time getting by.
How am I supposed to let her go again? I should take this as a sign. An opportunity to make things right. Show her that I love her, that she’s everything to me.
Can I be worthy of her? Show her that she’s every beat of my broken heart.
But I don’t know how to do this. And more importantly, I don’t know if I can make it happen.
Chapter Six
Ameline
It’s painfully clear that my trip started on the wrong foot. First, there’s the unexpected encounter with Lyric Decker at LaGuardia. I was at the coffee shop getting something to eat when she saw me, she hugged me tightly. It should’ve been a quick hello and goodbye, but it wasn’t. She not only insisted on paying for my drink but also ordered a sandwich for me despite my protests.
I secretly hoped she’d vanish after that, but I wasn’t lucky. She was also bound for Seattle. I sighed with relief when I realized she was sitting in first class, pretty far away from me. Yet, like her brother, Lyric has a knack for not letting things be.
She attempted to upgrade my seat. And when she failed, she somehow convinced the airline to swap her luxurious first-class spot with the guy next to me in coach.The guy swore he had won the lottery. A hot model look-a-like of a woman not only sweet talked him to change his seat, but he also got a free upgrade.
Lyric is as insane as her brother though. Who in their right mind gives up a seat like that?
A Decker, that’s who. All because she wanted to ‘catch up.’ I have my share of fond memories with Lyric, but the last thing I want is to be pulled back into the whirlwind that is the Decker family.
They’re good people, no doubt, but some of them just don’t know how to . . . My thoughts are interrupted as Gabe sets a sandwich in front of me. His broody expression makes me want to ask what’s wrong and make it better.
I look down at the sandwich, feeling a lack of appetite. “I’m not hungry,” I mutter, sipping the warm milk he prepared without me asking.
“When was the last time you ate?”
I shrug nonchalantly, avoiding his gaze. “Dinner, maybe?” My voice is light, an attempt to deflect his worry, but Gabe isn’t easily fooled.
