Page 61 of Ravaged With You

He seems less agitated now. “I’m sorry about pulling you away,” he says as we step outside and start walking to his car. “But I have a bad feeling.”

“Why? You said nothing happened.” I glance around, looking at every stranger. When he doesn’t answer, I shift my attention back to him. “Red? Tell me what’s going on.”

He looks sideways at me, but doesn’t stop walking. “I thought I saw her.”

“Her?” I stop on the sidewalk. “The woman in Romania?”

He’s a few steps ahead now, and has to backtrack to me. We get a few looks from beach-clad twenty-somethings who have to step around us, but I don’t care.

“The woman you killed?” I whisper. “That’s not possible.”

“Of course it’s not possible,” he snaps. “But I fucking saw her.”

“I believe you. I’m sorry.” I take his hand. “But you’re not in that room anymore. All of that is over.”

He draws in a breath, then nods. I step closer and give him a hug. I’m tentative, not sure he wants to be touched, but he goes all in, pulling me hard against me, as if he never wants to let me go.

“Maybe it was my imagination. Maybe it really was a goddamn ghost. I don’t know. But it spooked me.” He pushes back, his eyes searching my face. “Do you know why?”

“No.”

He draws in a breath, and I notice him glance around, checking our surroundings. It’s the third time I’ve noticed it on this short walk, but instead of being nervous, his alertness makes me feel safe.

“Red?” I press.

“Because of you,” he says. “It spooked me because of you.”

I gape at him, completely confused. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what—”

“No,” he says, twining his fingers with mine. “It’s a good thing. Don’t you get it? I died in that room.”

I have no idea what he’s talking about, and he’s starting to really scare me. I tug him to the side, next to a small shop window. “What are you talking about?”

His shoulders rise and fall as he takes one deep breath, then another. “I’m trying to say that I’ve been dead for years. I’m trying to tell you that you were the one who brought me back to life.”

I can only stare at him. “Oh,” I finally say, the word too small for the emotions rising in me. I feel a little bit like the Grinch, my heart expanding inside my chest. “Well, that’s good, isn’t it?”

His smile flickers. “It is. But it’s hard. It’s fucking hard walking and feeling and loving. And risking,” he adds, his gaze meeting mine before flicking away.

“What are you risking?”

“You.”

I shake my head, once again not understanding what he means.

“I’m terrified that you can’t handle the man I am. The man they made me into. But, Jo—I swear to you, I will do everything I can to be the man you need.”

“Are you saying you’d try to be something else for me?”

“I’ll be whatever you need, if only I can.”

A knife-edge of anger shoots through me, and before I even know what I’m doing, I’ve reached out and slapped his face.

He staggers back a step, his expression an odd combination of anger and bewilderment. “What the hell was that for?”

I take a step toward him, my own anger still hot. “I don’t want that. God, Red, you are so dense.”

Maybe it’s the alcohol that’s fueling my fury, but I give him a hard shove with the heel of my hand. A passing couple gives us a wide berth, and the whole situation is so ridiculous, I almost laugh.