Wynter's Horizon (38 page)

“Then confess. You’ve fallen for someone.”

Quinn was almost doubled over now. “Wow, you’re good.” I shot him another look, but it was no use. He plunged ahead, answering before I could. “You’re right, you know. It
is
a girl.”

Fiona cocked her head to the side and appraised me openly with those blazing blue eyes. “Perfectly normal, isn’t she?”

With beautiful long legs, smoky green eyes, and lips that I wanted to devour. I blew my breath out. “Yes.” I turned to Quinn. “And what are you doing betting on me?”

“Hey, it was a good wager. I told Sara she’d figure it out, but Sara didn’t believe me. And, just to clarify, I was actually betting against you. But you
are
different…” He took a sip and added “…in a good way.” I pushed my chair back and strode onto the porch. I didn’t want to talk about this. I had left Wynter back in the States, and that was where she belonged, even if she did keep popping up in my dreams.

“A little short about the whole thing, isn’t he?” I heard Fiona comment.

Then Sara’s voice, filled with disdain, “He almost killed her, which seems to bother him.” Quinn interrupted her, launching off with the details.

I leaned on the railing and watched the small waves lap at the
bank. The fog obscured most of the lights along the river. Even I couldn’t see very far through it.. I thought of what Wynter and I talked about that day on the deck, about the explorers setting off on just a feeling, trusting that there was more than just what they could see. . . I wondered how they did it, not knowing what they would find, whether they would survive, whether they would just slip over the edge as so many people predicted.

The door opened behind me, and I heard Fiona’s quiet footfalls. She leaned on the railing next to me. We had known each other a long time. It was in her arms that I had found the most refuge throughout the years. But I didn’t love her as more than a friend, and she knew that. I wasn’t sure how she felt about me, but she never turned me away.

“Why don’t you go back to her?” She spoke softly, gingerly, as if anticipating my reaction.

“I can’t. I almost killed her. And we weren’t together that way anyway. In the beginning, I thought it might get there, but it just never worked out.”

“So, you love her but you don’t know what her feelings are for you?”

I nodded. Wynter’s bloody, bruised face rose in front of my eyes, and I shut them uselessly.

“Don’t you think you should find out? You owe that to yourself.”

“I don’t know that. Even if she did like me, what do I have to offer her? I’m not normal. I can’t settle down. I can’t give her a regular life. All I have is a thirst for reckless situations, a history of killing and anger, and an inability to connect to anything.”

Fiona covered my hand with hers. She felt the same as me. She had the same strength—and issues—I did. It was amazing how I missed Wynter all the more.

“Are you so sure about the connection thing? Because I think you have, and that scares the crap out of you.”

I just stared at her.

“I’ve known you a long time, Beck, and we’ve gotten close, not as close as Quinn and Sara, but fairly close. Still, I’ve never had an effect on you. But this girl has. I can tell. You’re changed, lighter a little; you smile a little more, too. That’s really something special, to find someone in this world that does that to you. I wouldn’t walk away. And, from what Quinn says, it sounds like she didn’t walk away, not even when you went after her in a drug-induced craze. So, why would you?”

I shook my head. I didn’t have an answer for her. “Aren’t you mad at me like Sara? She thinks it’s insane that I even have feelings for this girl.”

“I garnered that from her
warm
tone. But either Sara’s forgotten or she’s never known what it’s like to be alone. She has Quinn, no matter how badly they fight. And she sees the world very black and white, us and them.”

“So do the others. Can you imagine their reaction? Katherine will flip her lid.”

“I’d be more worried about Nate, but that’s hardly a reason not to act.
It’s hard to find someone out there, Beck. Someone to connect with. There’s only a limited number of us. How the others can expect us to find someone in that pool I don’t know.” She said it with such vehemence I was taken back. I stared at her. Fiona was attractive more than pretty—tall and overly thin, with sharp cheekbones. Her stick-straight, deep-brown hair was cut short by her chin, in some style I knew had its own name but which I could never remember. It swung toward her face, emphasizing her straight nose and overly large blue eyes. She had some metabolic condition, different than mine. Hers wouldn’t allow her to gain weight. In fact, her hip bones and ribs stuck out in a worrisome way and, more than once, I caught women whispering about her obvious eating disorder and how frail she looked. Fiona found it amusing, knowing she could twist a head off with a flick of her wrist if she so desired.

“Maybe we should just shack up,” I suggested. “We could have a good life here together.”

“I love you, Beck, and you
are
rather good in bed.” She smiled at me wickedly. “But you and I know we don’t feel that way.”

She was right. “Yeah, well, nobody’s perfect.”

“Don’t settle for us. Go back and see.” She bumped her shoulder gently against mine. “You’ll always have a place here.”

I dropped my head, clasping my hands behind my neck. “What if it doesn’t work?”

“What if it does?” I peered over at her, and she returned my gaze, unwavering. “Which are you more scared of?”

***

Fiona’s words ran through my brain as I packed my bags the next day.

“So, we did what we came for,” Quinn surmised as he dragged on his cigarette, beer in hand, watching me pack.

I thought of Lilly, of what she had looked like before I broke her neck. “We did, and now it’s over. I hope wherever she went, she finally found peace,” I added thoughtfully. Maybe she was with Wheels wandering around. I hoped not, for Wheels sake.

“Or nothingness. As you always proclaim.” Quinn smirked. I shrugged my shoulders. Maybe now was the right time. I glanced at him.

His eyes grew shrewd. “What?”

“I have something to tell you.”

“You’re not going to tell me you wished it was you or some martyr thing like that. I’ll be royally ticked off.”

“No. I … uh … last year in Colombia. I went somewhere, somewhere else when I was unconscious.”

He ground out his cigarette inside an empty coffee mug. “Went somewhere where?”

“Hey, that’s Harold’s mug. I don’t know where—to a beach where ghosts and people wandered who were also in unconscious states.”

“Whatever.” He poured some beer into the mug to squash the smoke. “And you remember this?”

“Yes.”

“A beach where people and non-people wandered around. Okay. Maybe it was the drugs they injected into you?”

“Funny. And no because I dream about this place too. Now.”

“What else? Because I can tell by your face you haven’t told me everything.”

I looked out the window. The sky was gray. “I met Wynter. She was there because she was in a coma from her car accident.”

“That’s why?”

“Yes. At least in the beginning.”

“Does she remember?”

“No.”

“But you do.”

I nodded.

“That’s fucked.”

It was. I picked up my book lying on the nightstand. A picture of Wynter floated to the floor. I retrieved it, tucking it back into its place.

“Are you going to tell her?”

“I don’t know. I don’t even know if I’m going to see her.”

“Yeah. I’ve heard that before. She was pretty damn upset when we left.”

“I almost killed her.”

“That wasn’t why she was upset.”

I thought of my knife at her throat. It was hard to believe she could forgive that.

“Listen, she has the right to make that decision on her own. You owe her that. Don’t deny her the thing that we never got. Choice. Go see her. And if you do wind up shagging, stay the hell out of my room.”

“Wash that mug. And fuck off.”

“Seriously? Can’t I just throw it out?”

“No. I’m a guest here. They love that stuff.”

He twisted it around to look at the logo. “Starbucks, really?”

“Yeah, it has the original logo. Harold keeps talking about it being worth something someday. “

“All right.” He turned to leave. “Let’s not tell Sara about our little conversation here. I’ll break it to her in my own way.”

“Sure. When are you returning from Dublin?” I asked, shoving the remaining items into my carry-on bag.

“In a few weeks. I figure you may need some time to work out your pent-up frustration if she does take pity on you.” He had walked out of the room, but he poked his head back in. “I was serious about my bedroom.”

“Whatever. I left some money for you. If it’s not enough, let me know and I’ll wire more. And tell Sara goodbye.”

His footsteps echoed on the wooden stairs. “Have fu-un.”

I heard him chuckling as the front door slid open then closed.

Chapter Seventy-One

Wynter—The Wedding

Galen got married at the chapel on our old campus, and the reception was held at a beautiful, secluded inn situated on the Sound, under a tent on the bluff overlooking the water. The night was fantastic, the air warm but not humid, and the stars made a natural light display for us against the black sky. In the distance, I heard the water lapping against the shore. I’d planned to share a room with Annie, but a last-minute family emergency had kept her home so I was on my own. I felt almost good in the gorgeous dress I’d found for the wedding—sleeveless, it draped across my chest and fell to the floor in a cascade of golden butter that highlighted my hair and tan.

In the last few weeks, maybe from lacrosse, maybe from telling Jason off, I’d finally felt better, like my insides had started to match my outsides.

“So, Webster, you got your eye on anyone tonight?” Brian asked as we stood around after the dinner, sipping cocktails and waiting for the cake cutting.

I gave him my best smirk and stuck out my tongue. “No, thank you. I’ve turned over a new leaf. Less alcohol and more discernment.”

“Really? That poor St. Lawrence guy. Going home with your number on a napkin. Not going to get even a little of wintry weather,” Brian teased, using Sophie’s phrase.

“You’re hilarious, Bry. I’m ROTFF.”

“Such language. My virgin ears.” Laughter colored his voice, then his face froze for a second, his hand hesitating as he brought his beer bottle up.

Bumping Julia, who was engrossed in Hailey’s latest story, he raised his eyebrows at me and smiled devilishly. “So, does this new policy apply to English guys?” He pointed behind me. I followed his finger and felt the breath fly from me. Julia gasped.

He stood on the edge watching me—crisp black suit and pristine white shirt, his bow tie undone but draped casually around his neck. He ran his hand through his hair—already rumpled—and started across the tent floor. I placed my drink down on a nearby table, never taking my eyes from him as I walked toward him, meeting halfway. I hoped this wasn’t one of my dreams where I chased him down the beach then jolted awake in my darkened bedroom.

He didn’t hesitate, didn’t even acknowledge the surrounding people. He just reached out and cupped my face between his hands, crushing my mouth to his. And I knew this was no dream because I never felt him in my dreams.

I pressed my body into his, kissing him back just as fervently. I wouldn’t let go, too scared that when we separated it would be over. But when the kiss was finished, he barely moved. Still holding my face in his hands inches from his, he stared intently into my eyes.

“Wynter with a Y, come home with me.” His voice, barely more than a whisper, was tinged with a desire I’d never heard from him. Then he smiled—that familiar crooked smile that took me back to that night in the rain outside of Jim’s bar, to the first night we walked around campus, to his bedroom the night he found me after Jason, to countless other times stored in my mind.

“Yes.” With his hand on my lower back, he guided me out of the party. I fumbled for the room keycard in my bag, stalling for a moment. My heart hammered in my chest, making it hard to think.
Didn’t I have a million questions to ask?
I couldn’t recall one. He silently watched me, but with eyes that held on like he wanted to consume me. Excitement, desire, and fear rolled through me in pounding waves. I’d waited so long for this moment, for him. I took a deep breath, attempting to steady my voice. “I have to get my stuff.”

He nodded, following me into the elevator. As the doors closed, he turned and kissed me again, murmuring my name as he did. “Wyn, Wyn, Wyn.”

I could hear his voice in my ear each time he lifted his lips from mine. My pent-up desire tumbled free. I pressed my body into his, answering his need with my own. My breath was ragged. Fast and uneven. The doors opened and closed. I didn’t care. I wasn’t leaving. I’d waited too long for this. My need overwhelmed any conscious thought besides having his hands on my body. I tunneled my fingers through his hair, pushing us against the wall as his lips explored my face and neck before returning to my mouth again. His hands skimmed every curve of me, sliding over the silk fabric of my dress. I choked back a sob as months of fantasy and reality collided. I tugged at his shirt, freeing it from his pants.