Put Me Back Together(64)

Peeling off the dress, I yanked on a pair of yoga pants and a Queen’s sweatshirt and pulled my nightmare hair into a ponytail, all the while peering at the crack at the bottom of the door to try to discern a shadow. But there wasn’t one. I assumed he’d gone home. Maybe he’d left a note.

My glance moved to the bed.

Or maybe not.

I didn’t touch the bed. I didn’t go anywhere near the bed. I stepped close enough to see that the red letters were not painted in blood, but in red paint, the paintbrush and tube pilfered from my supplies on the floor by my desk. Having seen this, I turned and left the room.

When I walked into the living room I saw some movement out of the corner of my eye and started, ready to scream, but it was only Lucas getting up from the couch. We stared at each other for a moment. His hair was sort of sticking up and his clothes were rumpled, but he was still the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. Even if his expression was unreadable. The emotions that bubbled up in me at the sight of him were so strong they were almost frightening, mainly because I didn’t feel as though I had the right to them anymore. I’d never really felt like I had a right to be with Lucas. It figured that I was about to lose him.

“I didn’t think you’d stay,” I said. It was the only thought in my head.

Lucas practically gaped at me. “You thought I would leave you here alone after seeing that?” He gestured in the direction of my bedroom. “Katie, what the hell is going on?”

He stared at me as I tried to avoid his gaze. He hadn’t exactly raised his voice, but he was as worked up as I’d ever seen him, his every muscle tense as if he expected some nameless enemy to come crashing out of my room at any moment.

“Nothing, it’s fine,” I answered, though since my voice was shaking when I said it I think it was pretty unconvincing. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Lucas flexing his fingers as though he was considering strangling me.

But he’s not going to strangle me, I reminded myself. Lucas is not Brandon.

Still, when he moved toward me I took a step back automatically. It seemed important to keep some space between us. I felt shaky and easily startled, like a wounded animal that has to be trained to trust again. I wasn’t ready to be touched. I didn’t mean to upset him, but the look of hurt that passed over his face said it all.

“Tell me you’re okay,” he said tensely.

“I’m really fine,” I answered, remembering how I’d said the same thing to my mother just a few weeks ago. It was as much a lie now as it had been then. “I just…overreacted a little about…something, but I’m really fine. Everything’s fine.”

“You’re fine,” he repeated, his tone fully implying how little he believed me. He picked up his cell phone from the coffee table. “Are we calling the cops?” he said. His thumb was poised over the call button and I could see that the numbers 9-1-1 had already been entered. I wondered how long he’d been sitting on the couch staring at those numbers.

“No,” I practically yelled, lunging forward and taking the phone out of his hands. He let me do it. “No cops.”

He stared at me.

“I’ll make some coffee,” I said, trying to sound normal, chipper, but I suspected I came off as mildly deranged instead. “Do you want eggs?”

I heard him make an exasperated noise, and when I stepped toward him to get to the kitchen, steadily avoiding his eyes, he took my arm and pulled me down onto the couch. He wasn’t forceful about it, but the way his hand was clamped on my arm definitely indicated he wasn’t about to let me go anywhere.

“Katie, you just spent about ten straight hours crying while I listened to you through the door, basically losing my mind with worry. You say you’re fine? You are about as far from fine as you could possibly be, and I’m not feeling exactly ship-shape myself. We are not going to sit down and have breakfast like everything is normal right now, okay? That is not going to happen.”

I could feel him peering down to get a look at my face as he’d done to me so many times before, but I’d tucked my chin in so tightly there was no way he was getting a glimpse. Taking a different tack, he leaned forward and placed one hand on the armrest and one on the cushion behind my back, forcing me to lean back and raise my head.


“There she is,” he said as my eyes met his at last. His gaze was steady and unflinching and it hurt like hell. I didn’t want him to see me now, like this. I didn’t want him to know the girl who’d spent the night lying on the floor. I wanted to get away, to hide, but he had me pinned. Ducking under his arm and scurrying back to my room was a little too pathetic even for me, but that didn’t mean I didn’t consider it.

He reached for my face and I had to grit my teeth to stop myself from turning away. Ever so gently he removed my glasses then smoothed his thumb over my throbbing eye. His palm cupped my cheek and a current of warmth flowed through it and into my body; it felt so good, so safe and comforting that I felt tears welling under my eyelashes. I clamped my eyes shut, trying desperately to keep those tears from falling, but one escaped anyway. Lucas’s thumb brushed across my cheek and smoothed it away.

Then I was in his arms, though I wasn’t sure exactly how I’d gotten there. His body finally seemed to relax, the strain in his muscles disappearing as I buried my face in his shirt and his hand smoothed my hair. I heard him let out a long sigh. Though no more tears came, I felt an aching deep inside, as though I was still weeping. A desperate need I’d been ignoring for such a long time was rearing its head at last—the need to be held, to be known, to be loved.