To the Stars (Thatch #2)(8)
“Then I’ll wait for you, Harlow,” he promised, and the sincerity in the words stunned me for long seconds. “I’ll wait until you’re eighteen.”
Pushing against his chest, I shook my head. “For two and a half years, Knox? For a girl you barely know? Who can promise that after a week and a half?”
“I—”
“No, I can’t do that to you or me. I get it now—what was so wrong the other night at the concert when you found out how old I was; I get it. You should have told me that this was what you were worried about.”
“Yeah, I should have. I also shouldn’t have stayed out there with you, or called you, but I couldn’t help it. I told you; it doesn’t matter to me. Do you think I usually go after girls your age?” His dark eyes searched mine, and he continued talking without giving me enough time to answer. “No, I don’t, but there is something about you that calls to me. I knew that to continue even talking to you was dangerous because I would keep falling way too fast. But I did, knowing I would be eighteen soon, knowing something like this might happen.”
“I didn’t!” I said too loudly, my hand pressed firmly to my chest. “I cannot let you go into something that puts you at any kind of risk. Or that would be as uncomfortable as that was.” I pointed to the house. “I won’t do that to you.” He started to speak, and I talked over him. “And I can’t let you promise something to me that I can’t even promise you. Two and a half years? You’re eighteen and about to start college. You shouldn’t have to promise me anything. I know I don’t always act my age, but I am still fifteen. And as shitty as the truth sounds, I don’t see boys in terms of years and futures together. I see them in the now, what they make me feel right this second. I can’t even promise you the summer—let alone two and a half years.”
“And yet, you’re crying,” he said gently.
“Because right now what I want is you, and I can’t have you!”
One hand wrapped around my waist; the other moved to fist in my long, wet hair. Before I could think of what was happening, his lips fell onto mine, and a shocked whimper moved up my throat. I clung to his arms as our lips moved in sync for a few short, blissful seconds. When he pulled back, I pressed my forehead to his chest so I wouldn’t have to look at his dark eyes. I would take back everything I’d just said if I looked at them now.
“One day, Harlow Evans, you will be mine. I will wait for you.”
“You’ll be wasting your time,” I choked out. My hands tightened on his arms as I tried to hold back more tears.
A soft, amused laugh sounded close to my ear. “Never.”
Present Day—Richland
TWO DAYS LATER my purse and keys were returned to me, as promised, along with one of Collin’s credit cards. This time he wanted me to buy myself new earrings since I hadn’t screwed anything up in the last couple of days.
I wanted to cut the card in half.
But I hadn’t. I’d gone to a jewelry store downtown and picked a pair of diamond solitaire studs. I think the associate was confused by my lack of enthusiasm with the gift for myself, but it wasn’t his job to know why I was buying them—only that he was getting paid for helping me.
That night I had my earrings on, Collin’s credit card in hand, and dinner on the table when he got home. After inspecting the house as he did every night, he walked up to me with a smile on his face before pressing his lips to mine. Taking the card from my fingers, he glanced at my ears for less than a second before turning toward the table to throw another bouquet of pink roses on top. He’d never once handed me the flowers he brought home for me, always just tossed them somewhere for me to gather later.
“Do you like them?”
“I do,” I answered automatically. “Thank you, Collin.”
“Anything for my girl.”
We ate dinner and he told me about work, spending only a few minutes to voice his annoyance that Alfred McKenzie—the Benton County treasurer, and the man Collin was waiting to replace—still didn’t have plans to retire, then telling me the rest of the new government gossip. My mind drifted as he droned on; it was the same conversation as always. Everything from some of the men’s sexual affairs, cases his dad had handled, to the new chief of police they were all in an uproar about. Collin’s dad, Flynn Doherty, was the prosecuting attorney in our county, and a great man.
Unfortunately, he loved his son and was blind to any bad that could come from him, and had pulled some strings to get Collin a well-respected job in the treasury just after Collin had graduated from college. Alfred wasn’t around much due to his old age, leaving Collin to deal with most of the duties, and I worried about how much worse everything could get once Collin became treasurer—because everyone knew that when Collin ran, it would be unopposed. Even though Collin had been a trust fund baby and had more money than he knew what to do with, I knew he was already using the county’s money to keep police officers’ mouths shut, and I had no doubt it had been used in the incident with the arson in California.
“Did you hear me?” he asked suddenly, and I glanced up.
I had my fork in the air, and wondered how long it had been there. I shook my head once to clear my mind, and cleared my throat. “Um, the new chief of police,” I mumbled, and froze when Collin’s eyebrows slammed down over his eyes. The only relief I felt was that his blue eyes were still his—they weren’t lifeless, they weren’t my monsters.