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I bite my lip. “No. It’s just that…”
“Just what?”
I grimace, kicking myself for bringing this up now of all the places and times. What if he changes his mind now?
What if he realizes that we can’t do this?
Great, Wyn. Just great.
“It’s just that she knows. About my Mystery Man. That’s what I’ve been calling you. Before I knew…” I stare into his eyes. “Who you were. But anyway, she knows that I met someone and he changed my life and… But she doesn’t know that it’s you. She doesn’t know that we’ve met before and I-I feel like I’m betraying her by not telling her. But I’m afraid if I do tell her, she might…”
“She might?”
“Freak out? I don’t know. She might hate me for keeping all these secrets from her. And besides,” I swallow, still staring into his eyes, “everything is much more complicated now, right?”
Because I’m with you. Here.
Because I was waiting and waiting to be taken. And because you’ve finally taken me.
I don’t have to say that to him. He gets it already.
It’s clear on his features, which are set in tight lines as he stares back at me.
“Not for you, no,” he says at last.
“What?”
“It’s not complicated for you,” he explains, his taut biceps flexing. “It’s complicated for me. Because I’m the one who brought you here. I’m the one who took you. Despite…” His jaw clenches. “Everything. So now, this secret is mine. It belongs to me. I’m the one betraying her. So if my sister wants to hate someone, she can hate me. Not you.”
“But I —”
“Not you, Bronwyn,” he says sternly. “You understand?”
I swallow again, my heart twisting.
This isn’t what I wanted.
I didn’t want to give him any more burdens. Or responsibilities.
“You’re mine now,” he continues. “So your secrets are mine. I don’t want you worrying over something like that. She’s your best friend and she’ll always be your best friend. I’ll make sure of that.”
Even after he’s gone, he means.
That’s what he means, doesn’t he?
After this is over. After I’ve done my job and filled his life with all the colors and all the joy. And after he stops wanting me, he’ll make sure that I don’t lose my friend.
Because that’s why he brought me here. To get me out of his system.
To fuck me out.
I fist my hands at my sides. I suck my belly in.
Because the pain is immense.
And it hits me from nowhere.
But I ignore it because I love him, and I’ll give him whatever he wants. I’ll choose him over myself and this pain.
Swallowing, I whisper, “Okay.” Another swallow, this time with a tremulous smile. “Thank you.”
His features bunch up for a moment as he takes in my smile. As if he’s thinking the same thing. As if he’s thinking about the end before we’ve even begun.
But it goes away quickly and he says, “It was your other friend.”
“Which one?”
“The one who’s always” — he shakes his head with a slight grimace — “giving me looks.”
An almost-giggle shocks me out of nowhere. “Poe?”
“Yeah.”
“So she told you that I was home?”
“No,” he clips. “She told me that it was for her to know and for me to find out. Where you were.”
This time I let the giggle escape. “She didn’t.”
“She did. In those exact words.”
His eyes turn soft when I laugh some more. “So how’d you find out?”
“Your other friend,” he replies, still leaning by the door. “The one who knows how to play soccer. The only one who knows how to play soccer.”
“So Salem then. That’s how you knew to drive to my house?”
“Yeah.”
“And so you did.”
“And so I did.”
“And knocked at my door and asked about me.”
He unfolds his arms then. “And knocked at your door and asked about you, yeah.”
“And —”
He takes a step toward me. “And waited for two hours.”
Shaking my head, I take a step back. “I knew it. I knew it. I so knew you were waiting.”
“And then I watched you flirt with one of your fans,” he says, his voice taking on a dangerous edge, his eyes pinned on me as he keeps moving forward.
My feet stumble but I keep going back, edging closer to the wall by his bed. “What fan?”
His jaw tightens for a second. “The guy you were talking to. Laughing with. In the car.”
“Charles?”
“So there’s a Charles now too.”
“Oh my God, you’re insane,” I say, laughing. “Charles is like… He’s my friend. And he’s old.”
“Yeah?”
“Yes.”
“How old?”
A current goes through me at his words, the familiar question he’s asking me. At the look in his eyes as he advances on me while I keep moving back.
“Older,” I whisper.
“How much older?”
I bite my lip. “Much.” When his eyes flash even more, I say, “He’s probably sixty. He’s got a granddaughter, Janie. I was giving him a sketch that I made for her. She’s into Spider-Man, but I’m trying to make her a convert and turn her to Iron Man.”
