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Crossed the distance between us.
And, with one swipe of his rough thumb, wiped the tear off my face.
I’m looking up at him, speechless and bamboozled and all the synonyms that go with this situation that cannot possibly be real.
He’s even more beautiful up close. But it’s a harsh kind of beauty. Like a profile carved out of stones that have been around for a long time and seen a lot of hideous people do a lot of hideous things.
Sharp jawline. Wicked chin. Eyes hard as ice.
Only his lips are soft, and the image of them tracing up my inner thigh flashes through my mind like a comet before I snuff that shit right out.
“I’m sorry,” I blurt again.
He rests his thumb on my closed lips. “Don’t apologize. You are not the one who has done something wrong.”
I sniffle and try to stop the flow of tears. But my cheeks keep getting wet. It takes me an embarrassingly long time to realize that that’s because the clouds overhead have opened up.
I turn my face to the sky and get rewarded for my curiosity with a fat raindrop directly to the eyeball. More rain comes after, plastering my already-sweaty hair to my scalp.
“Do you have somewhere to be?” the man murmurs. Somehow, his voice slices right through the growing cacophony of the storm.
I hesitate, then shake my head. “I… I don’t really want to go home, actually.” I know my dad and sister are probably worried about me, and if Mom heard the argument or the slamming doors, then she probably is, too.
But I just want a minute. Maybe two. Just three calm, quiet, silent minutes for me to pretend that my life isn’t in shambles.
“Why not?”
“Why not? Gee, let me count the ways. My dad is a wreck and my mom is really sick and my sister is just overwhelmed. I feel like I’m the only one holding it all together and I’m doing a worse and worse job of it with every day that passes,” I whisper. The words fall from my lips as easily and heavily as the rain. “They all hate me and I don’t want that, because they’re my family, you know? But part of me is so angry with every single one of them, too. I’m angry with my sister for trying to pretend like everything is just so fucking peachy all the time. I’m angry with my dad for, for… for hitting me, of course, but also for being so paranoid. The world isn’t out to get us, you know? But he acts like it is. He acts like if he doesn’t keep us locked up in this miserable little cage, that some big bad wolf is gonna come swallow us whole. Hell, I’m even angry at my mom for getting sick. How messed up is that? And then, most of all, I’m angry with myself. I should, for once in my life, just do whatIwant. No one’s ever asked me what that is. I don’t even ask me what that is. I just put my head down and hold onto this crumbling fucking family with my bare hands. And I’m failing at it. I really am. I’m failing so bad and I don’t know how to stop.”
My voice dies only because I’m doing my damndest not to burst into tears. At the end of this torrent of completely unasked-for word vomit, I risk a glance up. The man’s face is wet and his hair is dripping, just like mine, but you wouldn’t know it from the calmness in his eyes. Those haven’t changed one bit since he got out of that car.
He doesn’t seem to care that he’s wearing what I would guess is an extremely expensive suit in the middle of a thunderstorm.
He doesn’t seem to care that he’s holding a strange, blubbering girl he just met who’s telling him way, way too much about her personal life.
He doesn’t seem to care that none of this, not one bit of it, makes any goddamn sense.
He just puts that rough, soft, strong, tender thumb under my chin, lifts it up so I’m forced to meet his gaze, and he whispers a few little words that change the course of my life.
“So tell me then,tigrionok.What do you want?”
3
ILARION
The doors slam shut in unison. Rain thunders on the roof of the car, but in here, it’s dry and warm.
I kill the engine so that the only sound is the crackling of thunder and the girl’s quiet inhalations.
“I probably shouldn’t get in cars with strangers,” she remarks suddenly. “Not unless I want to end up on a true crime podcast, and believe me, I do not.”
“You just told me your whole life story without pausing for breath. We might not be friends, but I don’t think we’re strangers.”
She laughs for a second before she kills it nervously. “Sorry for that.”
“I told you once not to apologize. I’m not the kind of man who repeats himself.”
“What kind of man are you then?” she asks. “I wouldn’t have pegged you for the white knight, lay-your-jacket-over-a-puddle-so-the-lady-doesn’t-get-her-feet-wet kind of dude.”
