Silence.
I turned to him. “Why are you being so difficult about this, Jack? Just tell me already.”
“This means something to you.” He swept a hand over the paper. “Why won’t you tell me what it means?”
Nope. Ain’t never gonna happen.
I brutally pushed everything away. I hadn’t talked about it in the past eighteen years. I most certainly wasn’t going to start now.
And especially not to Jack Knight-Snow. Something in his gaze already saw me too clearly. I didn’t need to slash open my bleeding heart for him, too. The new, scary feeling in my chest was terrified of the thought. What if Jack rejected me?
He poked a transparent finger through the paper, as if that would jog my memory or something.
“I’m not talking about this, Jack.” I clenched my jaw.
He rolled his hand.And you won’t tell me . . . why?
My eyes narrowed.It’s personal. As in, I would like to keep it to myself.
“Why lightning?” he asked, going straight to the heart of everything.
The images from my last dream pummeled me. The horror of that night so long ago. Panic gripped my throat, choking my lungs. The walls closed in. The manhole over my emotional black hole squirmed and bucked. I wrestled for control.
I refused to allow this to catch up with me. I would outrun it and leave it behind.
One deep breath. Two. “Why are you always pestering me with questions, Jack?”
“Occupational hazard.” He swept his hands down his ghostly form. “Ghosts typically seek for absolution.”
Part of me hated that I liked looking at him. That the new, scary feeling in my chest wanted more, more, more of Jack Knight-Snow.
Terror pounded through me.
I dumped sugar and cream into my espresso, stirring. “Why are you being stubborn about this? It’s silly. It’s nothing. Let it go.”
“Precisely.”
Ah.
He would answer questions when I did.
Not gonna happen. All these emotions were too much for me. Retreat was the only reasonable response.
“I see we are at an impasse.”
He nodded.
I nodded.
So be it.
The next few days passed in tense civility. I checked up on Nonna each morning, making sure she was comfortable and having fun. Jack talked with Tennyson and hired an assistant or something. I was fuzzy on the details, but the annoying calls from media outlets ceased. My phone was suddenly blessedly silent.
In between answering work emails, I combed the digital D’Angelo archives for answers. Jack made himself scarce during waking hours, hiding from the technicians who were installing the home automation sensors.
When we did see each other, we said as little as possible. No snark, no teasing, no nothing. And if that new, scary emotion in my chest missed Jack, well . . . I was going to have to be okay with that.
The dream about Jack meeting Sofia had just been the beginning. Night after night, my fevered imagination concocted another ridiculous dream about him.
