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“You didn’t fail him.” Manon’s eyes glitter with sadness and fierce love. “You and him, you’ve had each other’s backs in every way possible. You’re not superhuman, Seth. You can’t blame yourself for this.”
He says nothing, his gaze bleak.
I get up, a pressure in my chest, sadness weighing on my shoulders. “I’ll do my best not to hurt him,” I promise. “I’ll do my best to help him.”
“How do you know all this? About the techniques and triggers?”
“My brother.” I shove my hands into the pockets of my coat. “He used to have flashbacks and panic attacks after he came back from war.”
“Used to. Did they stop? Did he get over them?”
“He didn’t.” I turn around and walk toward the door, refusing to talk more about Angel. It was too late to help Angel—but not Shane.
I’m not letting him fall, and that’s that.
***
The cold is sharp like a knife by the time I park my car and cross the avenue to Shane’s building. It’s close to midnight by now, and I wonder if he’s still awake. If he’s okay.
I wish I hadn’t left him in the first place earlier tonight.
By the time I ring his bell, my stomach is twisted with nerves, and I’m convinced he won’t even open his door, caught in a vicious flashback.
So of course he opens the door a few moments later, tall and handsome and looking just fine, his dark eyes lighting up when he sees me.
Without a word, he steps aside and sweeps his hand in invitation, strangely, charmingly formal. I take it, brushing past him to enter his pad, then stop to take a better look at him as he locks up.
His long black hair sways as he draws the bolt in, the muscles in his arms rippling, his back so broad and perfect, tapering down to his narrow hips and muscular ass. The lines of a tattoo creep from under the short sleeve of his black T-shirt.
Then he starts to turn around and halts when he catches my eyes on him. His silver dreamcatcher earring flashes like a star.
Any other guy might wink at me and ask if I’m enjoying the view, but this is Shane we’re talking about. He tilts his head to the side, as if trying to figure out something.
“You came back.”
I’m not sure if he’s happy about it or not, his expression closed off, but then I remember the light in his eyes when he opened the door, and what Seth said.
That Shane likes me, more than other girls.
So I grin at him and do what he won’t do: I wink. “Miss me?”
Head still tilted, he studies me, and a tiny crack shows in the blankness on his face. One side of his mouth tips up. “Maybe.”
Aww. Guess I wasn’t really expecting him to admit it. “Sorry I ran away earlier. Mom was waiting.”
He nods. “Is she okay?”
“She’s fine. Drunk off her ass, like usual.” I shrug and walk up to him, wondering if he’ll let me hug him. “You?”
He watches me approach from under his long lashes, warily. He doesn’t reply, but doesn’t move, either, letting me stand right in front of him. If I rose on tiptoe, if he bowed his head, we could kiss, we’re so close.
“We need to talk,” I whisper.
“I need to touch you,” he whispers back.
My breath lodges in my chest, because God, this is what I want, too, touch him, have him touch me, kiss me, have sex with me—but this isn’t about me.
“Then touch me.” I keep my hands down, by my sides, my fingers curling in. “You’re hot, Shane Tucker.”
