Page 48 of Touch of Hate
It sounds like Ren. It looks like Ren.
But there’s something else. Some other quality I can’t put my finger on. Something’s missing.
Right, and it was missing in the garden, wasn’t it? Why is my head so foggy? I can’t put it together. I only know I was afraid. Willing to hit, kick, and scream if it meant getting away from him.
He’s always been able to see through me.
“I understand your confusion—even fear. I’m not taking it personally. I dropped out of your life for years and suddenly reappeared in front of you. I’m sure you’re feeling a number of emotions, but I meant what I said back there. You never have to be afraid of me.”
Easy for him to say. It’s like an old movie I once watched with Mom and Adela, where the people in a small town were replaced by aliens who looked and sounded just like them. It was human feeling that was missing. There was no warmth behind the familiar words, no compassion or kindness.
I must be going out of my mind. There’s no such thing.
Chuckling, he runs a hand over his stubbled jaw before standing and going to a small window opposite the foot of the bed. I follow his progress, taking in the rest of the bedroom. A small dresser and armoire occupy the wall to my left, the double bed pushed up against the wall to the right, and a basket of dirty laundry in the corner, telling me he didn’t just get here today.
Outside the window, all that can be seen is trees and brief glimpses of blue sky visible between the leaves. He stands with his back to me, hands in his pockets, his broad shoulders almost filling the width of the frame. His too-long dark brown hair brushes the collar of a black T-shirt that’s seen better days. There’s nobody taking care of him, least of all himself, that much is for sure.
An emotion stirs in my chest. I’ve missed him so much, longed for him, and this is how we reunite?
“That was some storm,” he muses. “But it appears everything has cleared out now.”
Nothing is clear. Not a damn thing. Ren would hold me. Ren would kiss me. He would indulge himself in everything we’ve missed out on.
He wouldn’t treat this like a business meeting.
“Where have you been all this time?”
When he neglects to answer me, I press harder, glaring at the back of his head. “And why didn’t you ever contact me? Didn’t you ever consider what that would mean? How scared I’d be for you? I’ve been worried sick, Ren.” I try not to scold him, but we need to get over this before we can move on to anything else.
A second ticks by, then another.
Nothing. No response. I might as well be talking to myself.
Nausea claws up my throat, and an anxious worry settles into my bones.
This is all wrong.
If he would only speak to me, dammit.
I sit up slowly, cautiously, making the springs creak. My body’s stiff, aching, and there’s a funny sort of pain near my left shoulder. I guess I hit it on a stone in the garden. I look down over my chest and legs, surprised to see he changed me into clean but way oversized sweatpants and a thin Henley shirt. His clothes. A ghost of a smile pulls at my lips.
He does care about me, still, or else he would’ve left me in that muddy nightgown. I need to cling to that tiny bit of hope.
“You know,” I murmur, watching him closely for any sign of trouble, “everybody’s said all these things about you. Stuff you supposedly did. Bad things. I know they have it wrong, but how could I defend you if you never reached out to me to tell your side of the story? Do you realize how it looked when you ran away? Like you were guilty.”
I gulp as his shoulders roll back, his chin lifting. “Right?” I whisper. “But I know you aren’t guilty. You could never hurt Aspen or Quinton.”
That’s enough to make him turn his head partway, giving me a look at his sharp profile. Beautiful but forbidding. “Are you sure about that?”
“What?” I breathe, my throat getting tighter, my heart racing.
“I said, are you sure?” He turns toward me, brows drawn together over eyes I used to know so well. Eyes I wanted nothing more than to fall into and never come back.
“Of course,” I insist, even though it’s a lie. Now, it’s a lie. It wasn’t before when I clung to any last fiber of hope available. Relying on my finely honed talent for refusing anything I don’t want to believe.
But I’m not delusional, either. There are limits to hope.
“Or do you think I’m being noble again?” His lips twist in a sarcastic smirk as he throws my words back in my face. Yes, I did accuse him of that years ago. The Ren I knew wouldn’t make a joke of it.