Fallen Eden (23 page)

There was silence. More silence. I opened my eyes to watch her face wring the wrinkles away. And then she laughed.

Cora’s cheap shots hurt worse than Patrick’s because I’d always considered her my friend, whereas Patrick I’d considered more as a fiend.

I was preparing to stand up, leave this house, and try to surgically remove the part of my brain that held on to long-term memories when her laughter cut off.

“Does this look like the room of a man who’s in love with someone else?” she asked, pointing at the room wallpapered with photos of a couple that exuded love in each cheesy smile and exaggerated pouted lip face. “The only person more dense than him is you.”

Instead of rushing for the door, I rushed to her. I grasped her shoulders, trembling with anticipation. “Like you said, I’ve been walking the crazy path for awhile, but did you just say—in so many words—that there isn’t someone else? No one that slid in my place to be Mrs. William Hayward?” I thought I’d heard the words right, but given what she’d said, it was more likely I’d crossed into a dream.

She gripped my shoulders back, although her tiny arms really had to stretch to cross the distance. “Listen to me. No. N.O.,” she mouthed, looking at me straight on. “No. One. Else. Besides, I don’t think there’s room on these walls for anyone else. Not to mention room in his heart.”

Warmth trickled into my veins, like I’d just been hooked up to an IV drip with a potent solution of euphoria. I threw my arms around her, squeezing her to me, managing to perform something of a happy dance with Cora swinging in my arms.

“Yeah, I missed you too,” she said, her voice tight. “But I’m still angry at you. Really angry.” She pushed back from me, looking at me as sternly as I’d seen her. “You broke his heart, Bryn. You absolutely, positively, crushed him,” she said, looking like she was the one choking back sobs now. “I mean, gosh darn it, you left him when he needed you most, for some other guy of all things. Never, in a hundred-thousand years, would I have guessed you were capable of such cruelty.”

I winced—replaying in my mind that night I’d left him more dead than alive—but now I’d been given a taste of hope, I wasn’t about to be detoured from it. “Cora, look at me. You know me nearly as well as he does.” I crashed down beside her on the bed—the bed he’d placed in the exact spot we’d designated last summer. “You know my feelings for him. Do you really think I would have left him for someone else—especially someone as infuriating, egotistical, and downright dimwitted as Paul Lowe?” I guess I still had a ways to go on working through my anger issues over Paul’s kiss.

“No, not really,” she said, twirling the hair curling behind her ear. “It didn’t make any sense, none of it did. But if you didn’t leave because of Paul, why did you leave?”  Her face was exuding concern as she tucked her hand into mine.

“You
know
why,” I answered, offering nothing more.

“I suppose I do,”—she sighed, her head dropping—“I guess I always knew why, somewhere deep down that I kept repressed. Why are the bad things easier to believe than the good things?”

I laughed. “I’m not going to answer that. We don’t have enough time for me to give you my thoughts on that and you’re too sweet and innocent for me to corrupt with my gloomy ramblings of a wannabe philosopher.”

She rolled her eyes, giggling all the while. “I really have missed you. So you’re back?”

I smiled, nodding my head.

“For good?”

“That’s up to him,” I said.

She threw her arms around me again. “What took you so long, girl?”

“I think you know the answer to that one, too.” I pulled her away from me to emphasize my point.

“You feel in control of it?” she asked, her face serious.

“I think I’m as in control of it as I’ll ever be and I don’t have to worry that I’ll kill him if he touches me now.”

“You know that was a risk he was willing to take—”

“But I wasn’t,” I said firmly. “I’m still not, but I think we’ve proven that I pose a greater risk to him being away from him than I do with him.”

“So you left because you didn’t want to kill him. I get that,” she said, crossing her legs beneath her. “But why did you have to let him believe it was because you’d fallen for someone else?”

I tilted a brow at her, surprised I had to explain. She’d been witness to William’s unfailing devotion several lifetimes over. “I had to make it about someone else because I knew if he found out I’d left to protect him, he’d search the world looking for me . . . again. But I knew if I made leaving him for a selfish reason, he’d let me go.”

“That’s beautiful,” she said, patting my hand. “In a weird, sick way.”

I knew we could have wasted the night away catching up and devouring licorice ropes in between gallons of coffee, but there was something else that required my immediate attention. “Do you know where he is?”

“Not a clue,” she said, her sapphire eyes sparkling in the dark. “But I think I know someone, or some
ones
, who would. If you thought those three brothers of his kept close tabs on him before,”—she shook her head—“well, now they’re watching him like he’s a woman four weeks past her due date. It’s like they’re just waiting for him to lose it.”

I was already across the room, heading into the hallway when she rushed past me, pulling me down the stairs and out the door. “Come on. Let’s go get your man back.”

FAMILY FEUD

The door was barely opened before my words spilled out. “Where is he?” I’d never been a particularly tactful conversationalist and now wasn’t the time to start.

“Hi, sunshine,” Patrick said, lowering the playing cards staggered in his hands. “Nice to see you, too.”

Cora came up behind me, winding an arm around my waist. The glare she had pointed at Patrick had Joseph fighting a smile. “Knock it off, Patrick,” she said, sounding no meaner than a mewing lamb, but I had to give her credit for trying. “You’ve done enough already. Where is he?”

“Someone’s returned exceptionally crabbier than when she left,” Patrick mouthed to the four members circling the table, eyes pointing at Cora before finding me. “You have a special way of bringing out those kinds of emotions in our family.” He smiled spitefully at me before turning his attention back at the cards he was hiding in his lap. “Thanks for retrieving her, Cora. I wasn’t in the mood, but sorry it made yours so sour.”

Cora marched forward with me in tow, braking once our legs rammed into the side of Joseph’s chair he’d purposefully scooted out. “I’m
sour
”—she said the world like she’d just bitten into a lemon—“because of you and the lies you’ve been telling.”

The outside of Patrick’s eyes crinkled, the most masterful wince he was capable of. “Something tells me I’m going to be in the dog house with the girls,” he looked to Joseph, petitioning for support. “Let me guess, you didn’t find her where she was supposed to be waiting?” he asked Cora.

Cora pounced her hands on her hips. “Like you really thought I would. You don’t have me believing for one second, Patrick Hayward, that you didn’t know where she’d wind up.”

“Well, I don’t think I’ll need twenty guesses to figure it out,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “Given your expressions.”

Cora’s foot began tapping noiselessly. “I’ll give you
one
guess.”

He threw his hands in the air, his cards scattering behind him. “I knew I should’ve vaulted up that freaky shrine of a room before snoopy found it,” he said, accusing me with his eyes. “So, big deal. I lied about William being all hot and bothered for another woman. I was only doing it to piss her off and to keep him from coming across as a pathetic sucker still in love with her.”

He paused, looking around the room at six sets of eyes staring at him. “What? Why are you all looking at me like I’m the enemy? I’m not the one who played a game of hacky-sack with William’s heart.”

Cora lurched forward, stalled again by her husband, but Joseph couldn’t wrangle both of us.

“Where is he?” I demanded, swinging around Joseph’s chair, giving Patrick’s tilted one a shove with my foot. Unfortunately, he moved quicker than lightning, catching himself before he fell, but I’d achieved one thing—I had his attention and had wiped the smirk off his face.

I was nearing my eruption point, thankfully not
that
eruption point, but it wasn’t all due to Patrick and what he’d lied about. He’d only lied to protect William and I couldn’t fault him in this, as mangled as his delivery had been. However, I was beyond anxious no one seemed to know where William was. Given the recent events—that being John Townsend’s bloodhounds on the sniff for Haywards—that wasn’t a good thing.

Patrick shrugged. “I don’t know. He said he needed some time away. It seems him finding you making out with your boyfriend sent him over the edge.”

“What boyfriend?” Paul hollered, bursting to a stand.

“He’s talking about you,” I said, squeezing the bridge of my nose. There was so much to explain and I didn’t have the six months time it would take to give a full disclosure.

“Me?” Paul’s voice sounded a few octaves higher.

“I understand, given her track record, I should use a first and last name—maybe even the last four digits of their social security number—when I’m making a reference to one of her boyfriends,” Patrick said, undoing the top button of the dress shirt he’d changed into, “given the multitude of them out there, but in this case, I was referring to you when I said boyfriend.” Patrick smirked at Paul; Paul stared at Patrick.

“You’ve got the wrong man, bud,” Paul said finally. “Although it isn’t for lack of trying. Isn’t that right, Bryn?” All eyes in the room shifted to me, waiting for an explanation, but I wasn’t sure where to begin.

I decided to let the eyes that were narrowed the most severely on me get me started. “Paul isn’t my boyfriend. Not now, not then, not
ever
,” I said, letting some of my pent up annoyance with the new Immortal seep through.

“You told me there was someone else,” Patrick said through his teeth, “that night at the airport. You said you were leaving William because of someone else.”

“I had to tell you that or else I knew you’d hog tie me and hold me hostage until William woke up,” I said, biting at my lip. “And I knew once he was awake and assuring me that everything was fine, I couldn’t go through with it.”

Patrick looked me over, up and down, not so much intentionally, but like he wanted to ascertain if the woman before him was me. “You lied to me?”

“I had to. I knew that’s the only way you’d let me go,” I whispered. “And I couldn’t live with myself if I hurt him again.”

Patrick snorted. “So you thought by leaving him behind, letting him think you’d left him for this loser”—he motioned at Paul, but flashed him an apologetic look—“that you
wouldn’t
hurt him?”

“No, I knew leaving him would hurt for awhile,” I said. “But I really thought he’d be able to move on one day—find someone else—forget about me—”

“Yeah, that sounds like William,” Nathanial said, sarcasm making its debut appearance since I’d known him.

“And when you told me he had found someone else, I was happy, well, I was devastated, but you know what I mean,”—Patrick lifted a brow, looking indifferent—“but then as I started to master my gift and knew I wouldn’t kill him, I wanted to come back. The only thing keeping me away was this other woman, but since I know you were just lying to me about this, that changes everything.”

“That changes nothing,” Patrick said. “It doesn’t change that you left him and let him believe you left him for someone else.”

“No, it doesn’t change that. I know I went about this all wrong. I know I hurt him, but that’s only because I was scared I would wind up killing him, but I know now that whether we’re together or apart, we’re going to have death nipping at our heels.” I met Patrick’s eyes. “I’m going to quote a wise man by saying,
we can survive alone or we can live together
. I know which one I’ve chosen, I’m not going to run away from it anymore. I don’t know what he’ll choose after everything, but I’m going to find out.” I scanned the room; Joseph and Cora were smiling, Nathanial and Abigail were considering, Patrick was scowling, and Paul was . . . ready to erupt.

“Hold up a minute,” Paul shouted, rising and slamming his hands down on the table. “So you just used me as your pretend boyfriend?” The turquoise color of his eyes had changed, but they could still narrow with the same degree of accusation as they had before. “Did you plan our so-called ‘coincidental’ run-in back in Paris?”

“No,” I shouted back at him. “Of course not. I had no idea you were in Paris, but after the events leading up to us leaving that night, I knew I couldn’t let you out of my sight. When this guy arrived”—I tilted my head to Patrick—“I knew what conclusion he’d arrive at.”

“That I was your boyfriend,” Paul said.

I shrugged, gnawing at my lower lip. “Yeah.”

“So the only reason you kept me around was that I was a convenient ruse in the tall tale you told everyone. The whole time, you were thinking of him, wishing I was him,” Paul said, his voice tight.

“No, that’s not the only reason,” I said, hearing my own voice tighten. “I care about you, Paul.” I saw him ready his mouth to object. “Let me define—specifically—what I mean by ‘care’ about you. For the second time,” I said, garnering the desired effect. His mouth clamped shut. “You are my
friend,
as in: let’s hang out, let’s go get coffee, let’s high-five and play punch each other. I don’t mean friend, as in: let’s spend the rest of our lives together, let’s share a milk-shake from the same straw, let’s make-out.” I crossed my arms, drilling holes into him. “Emphasis on, let’s not make-out. Or force your lips on the other’s why they lay helplessly beneath you.”

Paul’s face reddened. “About that . . . I feel like an apology’s in order, but since I don’t actually regret doing it, an apology seems kind of forced. I wish I could say I didn’t feel anything from that kiss, but I did.” He looked away from me, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I guess I just had to see if you felt the same way. Considering your lips were about as welcoming as a clam, I guess you could say I figured out my position on the Bryn totem pole.”

I swallowed, wishing I could carve out that soft spot I had in my heart for Paul. As infuriating as he could be, there was something so raw and likeable about him. I couldn’t stay mad at him. “I’m sorry for everything, Paul. I really didn’t want to hurt you,”—I looked down, neither of us able to look at one another—“although I knew I probably would.”

“Forget about it,” he said, sniffing. “I let myself get carried away with it all, even though I knew you likely didn’t feel the same way. Would
never
feel the same way. Deep down I knew you’d always have it bad for that chump.”

“That
chump
is the one that saved your life,” Patrick snapped, glowering at Paul.

Paul’s face did the confusion thing. “What are you talking about, goldilocks?”

“What did you think happened?” Patrick asked, shaking his head. “You had a little fairy dust sprinkled on you and voila, you’re an Immortal?”

I wasn’t sure who was looking at the other with more doubt, but it lasted a while before Paul was able to collect his thoughts. “Since we’ve been a little preoccupied, I hadn’t given it a whole lot of thought yet.” His words were sharp and Patrick looked ready to snap back with the same edge before Joseph broke through the tension.

“Looks like someone needs to get enrolled in class.” Joseph smiled, raising his brows between Cora and me, waiting for us to join him in his tension diffusing mission. He was on his own.

“Better put genius here in base level moron,” Patrick said, having the courtesy to say it under his breath.

Paul’s eyes narrowed, but more out of confusion than anger. “Why did he do it? He can’t stand me almost as I can’t stand him.”

Patrick looked up, eyes like lasers penetrating me. “He did it for her.”

Paul’s face jumped up a few levels on the perplexed scale, before a light-bulb clicked on. “Because he thought I was your boyfriend,” he said, looking at me, not waiting for a confirmation, or maybe not needing one. “He’s a saint and I hate him. What am I supposed to do with that?” He turned away from us, moving towards a window, lost in his thoughts.

“This is all so very touching,” Patrick interrupted. “My heart is feeling all mushy-gushy after that pathetic make-up, break-up. . . whatever that was.”

“Oh, shut it, Patrick.”

I had to turn my head, close my eyes, and reopen them twice before I could believe who’d said it. Abigail was standing to the side of Nathanial, arms crossed and eyes slanted at Patrick.

You’d have thought Abigail had just swung a two by four at his head from the way he was looking at her. I’m sure my expression wasn’t far from that either, but Patrick recovered, a devilish grin taking over. “It looks like a bit of Bryn has rubbed off on you, too, Abby. It seems this whole family has a bad case of Bryn-fever.”

Abigail slid her hands down her dress, recomposing herself. “Well, you can’t thoroughly appreciate a prim and proper woman unless she raises a little hell every decade or two.”

Nathanial rung his arm around her waist, looking proud.

Abigail had achieved in one sentence what I wouldn’t have been able to accomplish in a decade. Patrick’s face was recomposed, like everything made sense now. “You love him?”

“So much I’ve become a complete idiot,” I said, nodding. “Obviously.”

“You always have?” Still the composed expression.

“Yes.”

“You always will?”

“Yes,” I vowed. “Forever.”

He studied my face, maybe looking for any sign that would prove my answers false. I wasn’t worried though, I knew he’d find nothing. There wasn’t a molecule of my make-up that wasn’t entirely devoted to William.

A smile cracked through, genuine and wide. “Well, what are you still doing here?” he asked, shrugging. “Go get him, killer.” I didn’t miss the irony in his voice, but I wasn’t going to waste any more time here now that everyone knew where I stood.

“Do you have any idea where he is?” I asked. “Any idea where I can find him?”

I looked around the room, but it was Patrick that answered, “Yeah, I’ve got an idea for you.” I snapped my head back to him. rrieHead north until you can’t go any farther. Don’t find him along the way, turn right and head east.” His smile resembled William’s one of mischief so close I almost felt butterflies. Almost. “If you don’t find him that way, turn right again and head south. Still nothing, one more right and head west. And I’ll tell you what. Even if it takes you fifty years of non-stop searching, you’d still have another hundred and fifty more to go to get a feel for what he went through looking for you.”