He smiled briefly. “But have you even once considered that life with Lara would have its advantages?”
My body was still recalling the proposed advantages. It was uncomfortable. It made me feel ashamed. And other things.
“You shouldn’t be ashamed of wanting to live,” the other me said. “Of wanting to embrace life.”
“Mind your own business,” I snapped.
He spread his hands and gave a helpless little roll of his eyes. “Watch Lara more closely,” he said. “You haven’t been seeing the same things I have.”
“Like what?” I demanded.
“Come on,” he said. “You know that’s not how I work.”
“Not interested,” I said.
He glanced at my hips and then shrugged. “If you say so.”
“Lara is a monster,” I said. “And I have a daughter.”
“Who needs you, and who will need you for a few more years,” he said. “And who then will face the world on her own, like all grown children. You have many tomorrows to think about.”
I let out a half-hysterical laugh. “Figure I should cut them short to be with Lara, eh?”
“Thomas and Justine seemed happy together,” he said reasonably. “What if you could strike a similar balance?”
“I had the balance I wanted,” I snapped.
“Did you?” he asked lightly. “Then why doesn’t Lara burn when she touches you?”
The air turned to crystal.
“You were with her,” said my other self. “You haven’t been with anyone else. If she loved you and you loved her, it should scorch Lara when she touches you. But it doesn’t. Don’t you think there’s some reason why?”
I snarled, surged to my feet, seized the water glass next to the bed, and threw it at the other me.
It shattered against the door to my room.
Two seconds later, Bear slammed my door open, sending the bolt flying across the room as if it hadn’t actually been attached to the door and the frame. She was wearing a long white nightshirt that struggled to contain her arms, and her brown hair was down and fell to her waist. She had a knife with a blade as wide as my forearm in her hand that looked as if it could readily chop telephone poles, and her eyes were wide.
She stared at me and then around the room for a moment, her nostrils flared.
We were alone.
I peered at her blearily.
“You all right?” she asked me.
I started to tell her I was fine.
Instead, I said, “What time is it?”
“Witching hour,” she said. “Three a.m.”
I nodded slowly. Then my stomach rolled and I took a staggering step toward the bathroom. I fell.
Bear stepped over the broken glass and caught me as if I were a child.
“Hey, easy,” she said. “Come on. Come on, you should have drunk that water.”
