Let the Sky Fall (Sky Fall #1)(64)

“Audra.”

I spin toward the sound and lock eyes with Vane as he rides past me. We only hold each other’s gaze for a few seconds, but it’s clear: He knows me.

I gasp as someone grabs my shoulder.

“Hey, easy,” Vane says, holding his hands palm out. Showing me he means no harm.

I clutch my chest, wishing I could reach inside and steady my hammering heart.

“What’s wrong? One second you were behind me, and then I find you here, pressed up against the glass, white as a ghost.”

“You saw me that day.”

“What?”

After Vane saw me, my father’s voice disappeared. I didn’t know if part of him was really there or if it was all some big mistake, but I did remember that I’d promised him I would take care of Vane. I never let myself forget that again. And I never let myself think about that day or wonder what it meant. Which is probably why I missed the most important part of the memory.

“Nine years ago, you came here with your family,” I remind him. “I followed you to keep an eye on you. And while you were riding the carousel, you saw me in the crowd, and you knew me.”

He shouldn’t have known me.

I was supposed to be erased.

He stares into space and a slow grin spreads across his lips. “I forgot about that. That was the first time I started to think you were real. I wanted to jump off the carousel and find you, but my mom had her arms wrapped around me. And by the time the ride was over, you were gone. I figured I must’ve imagined seeing you.”

A few seconds of silence pass as I digest that.

“So, how does it work?” he asks. “How did you make me dream about you every night?”

“You dream about me?”

The idea stirs such a mix of hot and cold I don’t know which sensation to settle on.

“That’s how I recognized you.” He keeps his voice low as a fisherman passes us, whistling a tune that feels far too cheerful for the moment. “I’ve dreamed about you almost every night for as long as I can remember.”

I never realized. I’d assumed he only recognized me from the few times I’d revealed myself. But if he’s dreaming about me . . .

There’s only one way that could be possible. His mind would have to separate my voice from the whisper of the wind. We can do that with the people we care about. Like how I’d dream about my father after he sent me his lullabies.

But . . . how could Vane care about me? Before his memories were erased, he barely knew me. And in order to find my voice on the wind and attach it to my memory—a memory he should have forgotten?

He’d have to love me.

“Are you sure it’s me?” I ask, grasping for some other explanation.

“Trust me, it’s you.”

There are dozens of different ways to love somebody. But how could Vane Weston feel any of them for me—especially back then?

“Your hair’s always loose,” he adds quietly.

“Loose?”

“Yeah. It’s not in the braid. It’s free . . . and beautiful.”

His voice is soft. Tender. Laced with the kind of emotions he needs to cast away.

I shouldn’t meet his gaze—I know what I’ll see. But it’s like he draws me to him, and when our eyes lock I find the same intense stare I’ve seen too many times in my brief days with him.

I feel the air heat up as he takes a step closer, and I can’t believe we’re here again. I have to say something—do something to stop this. But my head is swirling too fast. I can’t think.

“Why didn’t we fly here, Audra?” he asks. “You must have flown here when you followed me as a kid. So why not tonight—when we were in such a hurry?”

“I couldn’t.” The words slip out before I can think them through.

“Couldn’t do what?”

I look away, trying to recover. Trying not to imagine myself wrapped in his arms, surrounded by nothing but wind and darkness and stars. Our warmth blending into one as his hands slide down my waist . . .

“I was too tired.” I finally answer.

“Is it because of the water?” he asks.

I don’t want him to doubt my strength. But the lie is easier than the truth. So I nod.

He takes another step closer and cups my cheek, so soft. So gentle. “I’m sorry I gave it to you. I didn’t realize—”

“I know,” I whisper. I lean against his hand, closing my eyes and giving myself one second to let his warmth erase the chill that’s settled inside me from the strange winds and the stranger memories. Then I turn my face away.

“We should get started. We’re losing time.”

He takes a step away. “Where do you want to do this?”

“Down at the end. The winds should be strongest there.”

I expect him to turn and head that way, but he holds out his hand. When I don’t reach for it, he sighs. “We’re in this together, right?”

“Yes.”

“Then walk with me.”

I should protest. But after the emotional roller coaster I’ve just ridden, I’m not sure I can keep going on my own.

I take his hand.

Waves of heat rush up my arm as our fingers lace together, and I feel Vane shiver at the same time I do. Neither of us says a word as we walk toward the end of the pier. It feels like we’re both holding our breath. Waiting.