A Want So Wicked (A Need So Beautiful #2)(49)

After a minute, Lucy seems better and shifts the car into gear, driving us home again. “Never give up,” I tell her, taking her hand. She turns to me, squeezing my fingers.

“Never.”

Lucy and I are sitting on the couch watching TV while my father works on his sermon at the kitchen table. The night has been eerily quiet, eerily normal. My phone rang only once. When I saw Abe’s number, my entire body went rigid. So I hit ignore, not sure I could pull off pretending to not know what he is.

But just like always, once I’m back in my regular life, all the talk about Forgotten and Shadows seems surreal. I start enjoying the latest episode of True Blood before there’s a soft knock at the door. Oh no.

Lucy looks at me. “You expecting anybody?”

I’m sure it’s Abe, coming to find me. I nearly call out to my dad, but then I wonder if Abe would hurt him. Marceline didn’t say what Shadows would do to a normal person who wasn’t one of their Wants. “No,” I tell my sister quickly. “But I’ll get it.”

At the door I pause, willing myself to act normally. I can’t let him see.

I open the door and freeze. Harlin stands there, his leather jacket covered in dried blood, one sleeve tattered and torn open. His left eye is slightly swollen with a bruise underneath, his cheek scratched. He’s dirty, mud caking his jeans.

I rush toward him, closing the door behind us. “What happened to you?” I ask, reaching for him. I stop myself. I’m not sure how to act around him anymore.

Harlin stares at me, his face drawn and desperate. “I told myself it’d be stupid to fall in love with you, knowing what you are,” he says. “Knowing that you’ll leave me.”

I swallow hard. I can’t believe he’s standing here, bleeding, to tell me this.

“And I’d be stupid to let you love me back,” he continues. “Especially with the choice you’ll eventually have to make.” He looks at me helplessly. “But Elise, the first day I met you, I couldn’t get you out of my head. And when I saw you at Marceline’s, I figured out why. I had no idea about your past—or if you can even remember.” He pauses, seeming miserable at the thought.

“What are you doing?” I ask, not sure what he wants. “You need a doctor and—”

“I’m sorry for sending you away,” he says. “But I’m more sorry for the fact that I can’t help loving you. And I need you to love me, too.”

Stunned, I’m not sure how to answer. I look over his injuries, his black eye. I think about how alone I felt earlier today and how he walked out of Marceline’s without a word. He abandoned me.

“I’m mad at you,” I whisper.

“I know,” Harlin says, limping closer to me. “But please tell me there’s more than that.”

“There is . . . but I don’t know if I can—”

Harlin puts a hand on my shoulder as he leans closer. He holds his other arm against him as if it’s broken and closes his eyes tightly. “Please.”

His face is pained with more than road rash. My heart aches for him. “I guess I’m stupid too,” I murmur.

Harlin exhales, stepping into me to lay his forehead on my collarbone, as if overcome. I put my hand in his hair. “I’m still really mad,” I say.

“And I’m still really sorry,” he whispers, pulling me closer. We stay like that for a long moment, admitting our feelings for each other but neither knowing what to do about it. Just then the front door opens, flooding the porch with light and startling us. “What—” My father stops when he sees Harlin leaning against me. After a quick flash of fatherly protectiveness, he notices his condition.

“Harlin,” my dad says. “Are you all right? What happened?”

“I was in an accident,” Harlin says. “On my way over tonight I spun out. Wrecked my bike. Wrecked my face a little too.”

“Your face will heal,” my father reassures him. “But I should have a look at that arm. Have you been to the hospital?”

Harlin shakes his head no, and my father sucks at his teeth disapprovingly. He opens the door and ushers Harlin inside just as my sister comes to check what’s going on. She straightens when she sees Harlin, her expression tightening. He meets her stare, but then lowers his eyes as my father tells Lucy to go get the first-aid kit from the bathroom.

In the middle of the tidy living room, Harlin appears even worse. I want to hug him, but he’s holding his arm close to his side, protecting it.

My father rolls up the sleeves of his shirt like he’s getting ready to perform surgery. I touch Harlin’s elbow.

“Let me take your jacket,” I say, moving to unzip it, careful not to bump his arm. “I’ll clean the mud off.” I take my time pulling his arm through. He winces once, but bites it back. When I finally get his coat off, I can see why it was so difficult: His entire arm from wrist to elbow is covered in dried blood, probably from the gash in his forearm. As far as I can tell, it’s not broken. I feel physically ill from seeing him this hurt. This vulnerable.

“Elise,” my father says softly, noticing how upset I am. “Help him to the kitchen table, sweetheart.”

“Were the roads slick?” he asks when I get Harlin settled in a chair.

“No,” Harlin says, careful not to put his bloodied arm on the table. “Something happened with my bike. Locked up on me the minute I got onto the main road.” Harlin shoots me a weary look, but I’m not sure what he means by it.