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Rio threw out her hand, but he shifted away from her touch.
“I’m just going to choose to believe in my fantasy,” he said. “They’re never real, right? But they feel great, don’t they, especially when there’s nothing to compete with them when it comes to hope and validation. And hey, for me, I have one further than most people. Mine is not just a conjecture, conjured by the mind, but an actual memory. A tangible experience.”
She squeezed her eyes shut. “Luke, it wasn’t like that for me—”
“It was. But you always were too good for me, and I’ve known this all along. And not just because I’m a drug dealer and you’re—”
Sitting up to cut him off, she held a stripe of blue velvet to her chest. “I never lied to you.”
“Except for about who you really are.” He looked down at his hands. “But like I said, it’s okay. You have very, very good reasons for keeping that shit to yourself. I don’t blame you, and I’m just lucky I got to be with you, no matter the reason or the pretext.”
“Please let me explain.”
“There’s no way you can without more lies, and I’ve made peace with the ones that are already between us.” Luke turned to the stairs. “I’ll give you some privacy to let you get dressed. See you up there.”
He walked away, moving in that beautiful way he did, and as he disappeared up the rickety stairs, tears started to fall from her eyes.
But if she was honest with herself . . . how else had she thought things would end?
“Oh . . . God,” she said into the candlelight. “It’s really over.”
When Rio emerged into the kitchen, she opened the door slowly. Luke was over at the chipped counters and the ruined sink, leaning back with his arms crossed over his chest and his eyes on his boots.
He looked up and smiled a little. “You ready to trade?”
“I’m sorry?”
“Keys.” He held out a collection of silver slips on a metal ring. “To the vehicles? It’s better for you not to be in something that came from my place.”
He tacked on the extra explanation because clearly her brain wasn’t processing anything and he knew it.
“Oh, right.” She walked over to him, fishing around in her pockets. “Here.”
Their hands barely touched as they exchanged what they had, and she looked out over his shoulder at the old car in the dull moonlight.
“I can’t believe this is happening,” she said, unsure what part she was referring to.
“I’m going to ask you to do something for me.”
“Anything.” Within reason.
“Close your eyes, and forgive me.”
“For what—”
All of a sudden, there was a piercing headache in the front of her brain, and her thoughts got muddled. At first, she had no idea what was happening—but then she remembered the way she had felt as the guard had somehow commanded her body in that workroom.
I only took as much as I absolutely had to, she heard Luke say in her mind.
A wonky feeling of disassociation took its time receding, and then she rubbed the eye that stung. “I’ve got a headache.”
“Goodbye, Rio.”
She wanted to hug him, but she could feel her emotions already starting to choke her. And then there were the fuzzy thoughts in her head, nothing organizing into anything that made sense.
“Goodbye, Luke,” she mumbled.
“Ladies first.”
With her heart in her throat, she turned away. Opened the squeaky door. Stepped out into the not-really-much-colder night because the house was unheated.
She looked back as she closed things up. Luke was still leaning against the counter, staring at his boots, a lone figure in an abandoned, ruined kitchen, with the weight of the world on his very strong shoulders.
Her fingertips lingered on the dusty glass. And then she turned away to the car.
As she got inside the Monte Carlo, she was aware of the mental spaciness persisting, but at least the pain in her head was easing, and she knew what to do with the car key, and where the pedals were, and how to put the engine in gear.
She remained absolutely clear, however, on the fact that her heart was breaking.
Turning the POS around, she headed off down the lane, moving the car around potholes in the dirt and a fallen trunk.
Images from being with Luke flashed in front of her eyes: Coming awake in the clinic and finding him beside her. Kissing him. That shower in the private quarters. She remembered the other two men, his friends, and the patient as well. Plus her executing that . . . well, Executioner.
There was also her squeezing into the dumbwaiter. And hiding under the locked-up blocks of drugs in that room.
And yet . . . something was wrong. She couldn’t seem to recall where she had been. It was like a dreamscape, where nothing exactly fit together, even though all the pieces were intact. Also, the harder she concentrated, the more indistinct everything became, and the more her head hurt.
