Let the Sky Fall (Sky Fall #1)(59)

“Hey, I—” I start, not sure where I’m going with this.

“It’s a recent development,” Audra interrupts. Then she leans forward and strokes my face with her fingers.

Not playfully.

Possessively.

I don’t pull away. I might even lean into her hand as ten thousand sparks shoot through my skin at her touch. What can I say? I’m weak.

The difference between the way my body responds to Audra and to Hannah is night and day. Everything about them is night and day. Hannah’s blond hair and blue eyes are the sun to Audra’s dark-haired, dark-eyed night.

“I’d like to go home,” Hannah announces. Her voice sounds choked, like she’s seconds from crying.

She doesn’t deserve this.

I owe her the mother of all apologies. I just can’t figure out what to say.

She doesn’t wait for me to try. She doesn’t even wait for me let her out of the booth. She pulls her feet up on the bench and climbs onto the table. Plates and glasses rattle as she crosses to the edge and jumps, racing for the door as soon as she lands. Shelby shoves Isaac out of the booth and chases after her—shooting me a death glare on her way out.

Isaac laughs. “Well, I gotta hand it to you, man. You find the most unbelievable ways to ruin dates.”

“I—”

He raises a hand. “I’m dying to hear what’s up, but I’d better take the girls home. See what kind of damage control we need.”

I nod and he turns to leave.

“By the way”—he turns back and points to Audra—“Niiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiice.”

I wonder which one of us blushes brighter, me or Audra.

When Isaac’s out of sight, I force myself to meet Audra’s eyes.

“You went on a date?” she snaps. “Have you lost your mind?”

“Me?” All my anger races back. “I love how you think you can just throw on the ‘Vane’s girlfriend’ hat whenever it’s convenient for you. Jerk me around, screw up my life, then stomp on my feelings as soon as we’re alone. All to please your precious Gale Force.”

“We can’t have this conversation here.”

She stalks toward the exit, and I dig my wallet out and toss all the money I have on the table before I follow.

I figure Audra will be miles above me, flying home so she can rip me a new one the second I get there. But she stands against my car, her arms crossed, her eyes trying to bore holes into my skull. I’m just as furious with her, but my heart still skips a beat when I think of the long ride home, just the two of us.

She doesn’t look at me as I open the door for her. Just climbs in and slams it.

I know my car is small. But filled with me and Audra and the mountain of complicated emotions between us, it feels like a shoe box.

“Why aren’t we leaving?” she asks.

“You need to put on your seat belt. Or do you only follow the Gale’s laws?”

Her sigh is epic length. Then she fumbles with the seat belt for a hilarious amount of time, twisting it all kinds of wrong ways. “How does this infernal device work?” she finally asks.

I snort and lean across the seat.

She jerks away. “What are you doing?”

I lean closer, my eyes glued to hers as I take the seat belt from her hand and pull it across her body. My fingers brush her arm as I click it into place, and I hear her breath catch at my touch.

“Oh,” she mumbles as I back off.

I throw the car in reverse.

She watches the strip malls blur by, her fingers resting on the glass. I hit the button and roll down her window, grinning when she jumps.

The night is hot and sticky, but wind streams through the window and Audra stretches out her hand, waving her fingers in the breeze.

“Do you have any idea what you could have done tonight?” She doesn’t look at me, and her voice is hard to hear over the wind. But she doesn’t sound as angry.

I sigh. “I don’t buy the bonding thing.”

“That’s because you’ve never experienced it.”

“Have you?”

“Of course not.”

We stop at a red light and I turn to face her. “Then how do you know it’s not some story they made up to keep kids in line? Like parents lying to their kids about Santa Claus to make them be good all year? How do you know it’s true, if you’ve never kissed anyone?”

“Because I’ve seen the effect a bond has. My mother is still bonded to my father, even all these years after his death. She’s never recovered from the loss. And I doubt she ever will.”

Well, that’s . . . sad. But it doesn’t prove anything. “Human couples have that happen too—doesn’t mean they were bonded or whatever. And besides, I thought you said the bond ends at death.”

“It does.”

“So then, your mom might not be bonded at all. Maybe she just loved him.”

She doesn’t say anything. Just stares at the stars.

I have no idea what she’s thinking, but I’ve never seen her look so sad. I want to reach out and take her hand, but I know I can’t.

The light turns green and we start moving again.

“You didn’t answer my question. Do you have any idea what would’ve happened if you’d bonded yourself to that girl tonight?”