Space (Laws of Physics #2)(49)

“Hi, Kaitlyn.” Mona’s voice moved over me like a crashing wave, and I closed my eyes for a beat, frustrated because the sound made me hungry.

“Did you like the song?” Kaitlyn asked, tugging on my bicep to turn me around. “If so, which part did you like best? I like the part where he becomes hers completely.”

Shooting my writing partner a look I hoped conveyed the full force of my murderous thoughts, I readied myself for the next several minutes and gave Mona my eyes, but just my eyes.

Or, that was the idea. But then, I saw she was still misty, her expression still open, vulnerable with raw hope. I had to swallow. The impact of this image, the sight of this woman as she was now, it struck out, overwhelmed.

“Can I talk to you?” She tilted her head toward the uninhabited part of the large room, her typically staid voice laced with optimism.

I nodded, mesmerized by this version of her and mutely followed where Mona led, walking where she walked, stopping when she stopped. She faced me, lifting her chin, her gaze conducting a cherishing sweep of my features. I held my breath.

“Here,” she said, giving me a smile that looked brave and nervous. “This is for you.”

I blinked at her, confused. And then I glanced down. There, extended between us, was the envelope she’d been unfolding with care.

“What’s this?”

“It’s a letter.”

A letter.

And just like that, all hope, all anticipation, all madness ended. The spell was broken.

“Another letter?” I sounded bitter. I was bitter. The last thing I needed from Mona was another of her letters. The last one might not have been a memo, but it read like one. I didn’t want any more fucking correspondence with a salutation of Regards or Best wishes.

“Uh, yes. But this one is much—much—wait. What are you doing? Wait.”

Crumpling the envelope in a fist, I walked to the fireplace.

“Abram.” She was right behind me, at my shoulder, her voice edged with panic. “Wait, what—what—oh my God!”

I tossed it in the fireplace, toward the very back where it was hottest, and turned back to her, prepared to tell her where she could shove her memos. The words expired on my tongue.

Her eyes were big, so big, and her mouth gaped wide open with shock, hurt, and what looked like unfiltered rage. I allowed the sight of her obvious pain and fury to slip past my barrier of indifference, because it surprised me so damn much. Mona was looking at me like I’d tossed her into the fire instead of her letter.

Jaw working, up and down, big movements, like she might yell at me. Like she might growl and scream at me instead of the snow this time. But she didn’t.

At length, she expelled a short breath, I caught the scent of whiskey and peppermint. Using an extremely low voice that sounded barely controlled, she said, “You, Abram Harris—”

“Fletcher,” I corrected, noting that she’d slurred Harris.

“Harris, preside over a kingdom of lies! You call me a liar, but you are the liar.” The word lies was also slurred. Is she drunk?

“I’m the liar?” My glare flickered over her, the bright red flush to her cheeks. She wasn’t drunk, she was angry and Mona DaVinci looked scorching hot like this. Eyes flashing, a bundle of restless, ferocious energy. I hated that my body took notice, coming to life, the beat of my pulse encouraging me to do unwise things.

“Yes. Your song? ‘Hold a Grudge’? It’s a lie. You’re a siren selling lies to hapless hopeful sailors, where I am the seaman!”

I stepped closer, shoving my face in hers, heedless of the crowd of people on the other side of the room whose voices I could no longer hear.

“Mona,” I said, matching her volume, but lowering my voice an octave, “You can keep your fucking memos. I don’t want them.”

“It wasn’t a memo!” she said between clenched teeth, her eyes moving from mine to my mouth.

“Oh, it didn’t have a subject line?” I taunted, enjoying this, her reaction, far too much, because—damn— at least it was honest.

“It. Was. A. Letter.”

“I’m sure you can write another one. But you should know, I’ll just burn that one too.”

Mona looked like she was choking for a moment, and she lifted both of her hands. I thought she might grab me. I thought maybe she might shake me.

Instead, she pointed at the fire. “You, Abram of rotating last names, are a gamma-ray burst! But not in the strong, blinding and beautiful way. Yes, you’re that. But I’m talking about the destructive, horrible, chaotic side of a GRB. And you don’t deserve honesty, because when it’s given to you, you throw it in a fire. You destroy it. Here is my official I bid you good day, sir.” She turned, slurring sir, and released a low, wrathful low growl.

Without thinking, completely on instinct, I reached for her.

“Mona—”

“I say, good day!” she whisper-yelled, yanking her arm out of my grip while doing an absurd little twirling thing with her hand, almost like a salute, and marched away.

Watching her go, my hands on my hips, I slid my teeth to the side, fire in my lungs. Instead of leaving, which was what I’d expected her to do, she rejoined her friend on the couch, Allyn, who was shooting poison darts of dislike in my direction. What else is new?