“By us spending all our time together, that will make sure that I’m the subject of your vision.”
“It’s all about you, isn’t it?”
“No, it’s not at all me.” He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Forget it. If you want our powers to be switched for the rest of our lives, go for it. But I can promise that you won’t like mine very much.”
Oh, the bitterness is palpable from this one. So much so that I put my T-shirt giraffe down and say, “Why not?”
He closes his eyes. “I could have saved my parents if I’d known about my power.”
My heart instantly drops. In that moment I forget all about my Asian artwork and the fact that I hate Devlin. I quietly sit on the edge of the bed. “What?”
He pauses for a long moment, and I wonder if he’s going to shut down the conversation. And surprisingly, I find myself not wanting him to stop talking. I want to hear this, know this. The great Devlin Ross can feel pain? Hurt? Regret? He has a human heart?
It takes a long moment before he starts talking, and when he does, I’m holding my breath. “It was the first time that my power ever came in.” His eyes remain closed, and he’s so still that I don’t want to move and disturb him. “They were going on a trip across country. My father wasn’t a wizard, so they often used human means of travel, so this wasn’t strange. But what was strange was that the night before they left, I had a vision of them boarding the plane and of it exploding after takeoff. I was only five, and I didn’t know what to make of it, so I didn’t tell anyone. I just thought it was a dream.
“My grandmother and I took them to the airport and said goodbye. Then we went to the observation deck to watch the plane leave.” He opens his eyes and lifts his arm like his hand is riding an air current. “The plane lifted into the air, and right before our eyes, it exploded, just like in my vision. I could have told them, Blair. I could have stopped it.”
During the speech I obviously suffered some sort of brain damage because I’m now stretched out across the bed, facing him, feeling my heart breaking for him. I know, I know. The brain damage is worse than originally thought.
I lick my lips. “I didn’t know that.”
“That’s because I’ve never told anyone. Well, Hands knows.”
“But it’s not like Hands is going to spill the tea.”
He turns his head to me. Our gazes latch and we each laugh. Why am I laughing with him?
I don’t know, but it feels good.
When the laughter dies down, we glance at one another again, and the air between us has changed. It’s no longer crackling with anger. It’s simmering with something else.
He speaks first, quietly, as if talking too loud will shatter whatever this is between us. “I was going to tell you when we were in high school, but the time was never right.”
“It’s okay,” I murmur. “I understand why you didn’t.”
He just nods, still keeping those hazel eyes on me. I don’t think there’s any air in my lungs anymore, but strangely they keep right on working.
“I wanted to,” he confesses. “But then…the time just wasn’t right, and I blamed myself for what happened to them.”
Without thinking, I grab his hand and squeeze. His fingers are warm, and they squeeze back.
And now I’m stuck holding his hand. How am I going to get out of this?
Best to pivot. “You were only a child when it happened, and it was the first time that your power ever showed itself. You didn’t know what was going on.”
“No, I didn’t.”
He’s still holding on to my hand.
His fingers send pulses of heat wrapping around my forearm and tightening on my elbow. I can barely think. We’re facingeach other. We’re touching. We’re talking about something intimate.
And then he shifts toward me, still holding my hand. And I shift toward him. Involuntarily, obviously, because the bed dipped when he moved.
And we’re still touching.
“I gave myself a lot of grief for that. A lot of blame.”
“But you were just a child.”
