Of course he did. The same way he rented a really expensive place in Key West for us both because his grandmother was going to be rude to me.
I’ve blamed myself for misreading the signs with him, for falling for him in the first place.
But as I tumble into sleep, I’m wondering who wouldn’t fall for a guy who acts as if protecting you is his foremost, and favorite, job?
I wake in a strange,lovely room with late afternoon sunlight glancing through palm trees outside, the quiet hum of a waterfallwall just past them. I slept so hard that I have no idea where I am, so hard that for a moment I wonder if I’m on a trip with Thomas.
Spain?a confused, bleary voice in my head asks.Thailand?
My hand curls into a fist as I remember that Spain was a year and a half ago. That we’ve broken up and that by some bizarre twist in the fabric of the universe, some wrinkle in time...I’m in Key West with Elijah, at last. But nothing worked out the way it was supposed to.
I start sinking back into sleep and have to claw my way to the surface, fighting through layers of fatigue, to finally sit upright. I honestly don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m not sick, though it would be a blessing in disguise if I was—I could stay in bed, avoid some godawful dinner tonight, and then get on a plane in the morning, avoiding Elijah’s grandmother at the wedding as planned.
But I’ve got not a single other symptom. I’m just tired, for no reason at all.
I stagger into the shower, remain there until I’m finally clear-headed, and emerge to remember that I never even brought my suitcase in when I stumbled into the room. Seriously...what the hell is up with me?
I wrap myself in a towel and walk into the living room, where Elijah’s stretched out on a lounge chair with the sliding doors open.
He looks me over, involuntarily—the first legitimate flicker of desire I’ve seen on his face in years—his pupils dilating, his mouth ever-so-slightly ajar.
The air is heavy with something that wasn’t here a second ago.
But he jumps to his feet and it’s gone, replaced with a scowl and narrowed eyes.
“What the fuck happened to your cheek?” he demands. He’s in front of me in three long, angry steps, gripping my jaw in his hand.
“Can we have this conversation when I’m not basically naked?” I counter, jerking free.
“No,” he says. “You can answer in five fucking words. It’s not that complicated.”
“I just bumped into something.”
His nostrils flare. “You are not nearly as clumsy as you tend to imply you are.”
I frown. My dad asked me not to say anything, but why am I still protecting him? “Why is my dad scared of you?”
His eyes narrow. “What makes you think your dad is scared of me?”
“Now who’s not answering questions?” I retort, turning to pull my bag to my room.
“What. Makes. You. Think. That?” he demands.
I stop, looking over my shoulder. “Because the one thing he said when he threw a remote at my face two days ago and gave me this bruise was ‘Don’t tell Elijah.’”
His shoulders rise and lower as he sighs. “I told him I was going to fix up his roof for free, but if he touched you again, I’d fucking kill him.”
My heart hammers in my chest.
There are times—a lot of times—when Elijah acts like someone who cares. When he acts like the guy who whispered, “It’s always been you” before we kissed for the first time. Threatening to kill my father and putting a new roof on his house...sort of seem like the actions ofthatguy, not the one who carelessly blew me off a day later.
“Just leave him alone,” I say, heading toward my bedroom. “It’s nice of you, but just leave him alone.”
“Why the fuck do you defend him?” Elijah asks from behind me.
“Because he kept raising me after my mom left,” I reply. “And if you think being hit with a remote hurts as bad as whatyoudid, you don’t understand a thing.”
I regret it as soon as the words are out. I’m so good at playing dead most of the time. I just can’t seem to do it with him.
