I’m not.
Holy. Crap.
His dark eyes. His gait.
His hair too. Duncan had the same thick hair, worn exactly like this. A little messy on top, shorter on the sides.
It’s too much to be a coincidence.
The RestorerisDuncan.
He’s filled out since we were kids, but there’s no doubt in my mind. This is him.
I school my expression while I figure out my next move.
Inside, everything is chaos. My heart races, adrenaline humming so loud it drowns out reason.
Longing and grief tear through me, betrayal following close behind and cutting me deep enough to wound.
I love him, but he’s been unfair. Never gave me a chance to apologize. Never tried to work things out, didn’t even want us to stay friends.
He just disappeared. For over a decade.
And now that he’s finally back, he’s choosing to do all these awful things to me?
At that, a full-body ache slams into me, crushing me under its weight.
Why would he do that?
What if you’re wrong? What if it’s not him?
The rational question silences the rapid-fire thoughts. It splashes ice water over the fire lit by my intense memories.
Be it Duncan or a man who enjoys touching me in my sleep, I have to stay sharp. At the very least, hold on to my consciousness.
I clear my throat. “Hello?”
He gives me nothing until he’s back to facing me.
His glare is practically a declaration of war. Like he’s letting it sink in that he’s taller, bigger, and fully clothed, while I’m a woman half his size and basically naked.
Why?
“Hello?” I repeat, my mouth the only part of me that’s working.
If I could move, I’d rip the mask off him and be done with it. If the air in the room were any less suffocating, I would’ve screamed.
“Please,” I whisper.
He shakes his head.
“Say something.”
This time, he lifts his hand in a stop gesture, warning me to be quiet.
He’s close enough that I can tell his fingertips are textured, a little calloused. They remind me of mine.
Not that our similarities do anything to calm the erratic beating of my heart.
