Page 67

“I am serious.” Picking the clay from my nails, I half smile. “Look, I know why you do this, Jonah. Why you’re so dedicated to finding this guy who’s kidnapping these girls. I know … you’re just … watching out for me.”

The troubled look on his face sends my stomach into knots, because it’s coming. I brought it up and planted the seed in his head and now he’s going to drag me back through those memories. It’s how we torture ourselves, Jonah and me. When one brings it up, the other is tasked with punishment so we don’t forget her.

Shaking his head, he crosses his arms over his chest. “I remember the night Nora went missing. The look on Dad’s face. All my life, I saw him as this invincible man who took down the bad guys. My own personal Superman. And I realized in that moment, he wasn’t invincible at all. Even Superman had a weakness.”

“She might’ve run away, you know. She might still be alive.” Even my belief in that has shriveled a bit through the years. Why wouldn’t Nora try to contact the two of us?

“Maybe so. That doesn’t make it any easier to accept.”

“It doesn’t.”

The door slams again, alerting us that Oliver is home from school. A minute later, he enters the studio, backpack slung over his shoulder.

“There he is! Muhammed Oli!” Jonah snaps from his somber face like he switched the channel from emo to pop, and he hops to his feet, pretending to spar with Oliver.

His memory of Dad still twists inside my gut, but I chuckle at the Ali reference and wait for them to finish goofing off.

Oliver’s eye has healed significantly over the week, turning to a yellowish bruise, and I’ve not had any issues getting him up for school since that Monday.

“Your eye is lookin’ good, man. All packed for tonight?”

Oliver nods and glances over at me, since I was the one who packed his bag this morning.

“Everything’s in there. Earbuds, books, broccoli and Brussels sprouts.”

With a roll of his eyes, Oli snorts, and makes his way over to me. His arms wrap around me, and my heart damn near stops right there.

Hands hanging loose at my sides, I have to tell myself to hug him back, or risk him pulling away in some unrequited show of emotion. Tears gather in my eyes while I hold him to me.

It’s been months since he last showed me affection like this, without my prodding him to, and I almost don’t know how to respond anymore.

When he pulls away, he raises his hands between us and signs I love you.

All those months of him basically ignoring his ASL teacher, and he pulls this shit now, of all times? When I’m already beating myself up at the idea that I’m sending him off again?

Damn it, I can’t help the tears.

I echo his sign and kiss the top of his head. “Be good. I love you, Oliver.”

With a nod and a sheepish smile that borders on embarrassment, he heads back into the house.

“We’ll see you after your show tomorrow, then?” Jonah asks.

Wiping my eyes on my shoulder, I force a smile, as Jonah bends forward to kiss my cheek. “Tomorrow. Thanks Jonah. For everything.”

“Stay out of trouble.” He lifts his gaze past me toward Voss’s apartment in the back, then follows after Oliver.

* * *

Rubbing the knot in my neck, I dip my toe into the bathwater, shivering with anticipation of the toasty temperature that hits my skin, and step inside. The heat washes over me like a cozy blanket, and I settle back against the curved basin. In less than a minute, the tension in my muscles sizzles away, and I close my eyes, breathing in the thick steam that coats the back of my throat.

Tipping my head back, I submerge my ears to just below the water, muting out the rest of the house, and my thoughts drift to earlier in the evening, with Jonah. His comments about Voss.

Jonah’s always had pretty sound judgment when it comes to people, but I can’t help thinking he’s wrong about my neighbor. Sure, Voss is quiet, maybe even borderline asshole, at times, but he’s not a bad guy. Not from what I’ve seen, anyway.

And I’ve seen quite a bit of him. His body pressed into mine earlier today was a reminder that he’s not the kind of man who minces words when it comes to what he wants. It’s obvious he came to visit me for one thing, and I can’t say that turns me off. We’ve had this maddening dance of tension for the past week now, with our little niceties that leave each encounter feeling open-ended. As if there should be more.

The two of us are like day and night, though—light and darkness. And his sexual prowess scares me a bit, because I’m certain the man is far more experienced with women who are far more practiced in things he likes.