Page 67 of Thin Lives

Calisto stood in the doorway, haloed by the dim light streaming in from the hallway. Shadows darkened his features, keeping Emma from gaging his current mood, or why he might have shown up again with no warning, and for no particular reason.

He leaned in the doorway, crossing his arms and staring down at the floor like he didn’t want to look up—or maybe he didn’t want to look at her.

Emma wasn’t sure.

Still, it was damn hard for her to force back the automatic reactions of her mind and body every time this man was near. Deep in her soul, her heart screamed for her to tell him the whole story—the truth he deserved to know. Her hands ached with the need to touch him, while her eyes did a new inventory of his features and anything else they could find each time he was near.

She missed him.

All the time.

Terribly.

But she had to protect his child first, herself second, and then maybe … maybe she could save him, too. Emma just didn’t know how to go about all of that at the moment.

Calisto waved a hand at himself, still silent.

Emma’s brow furrowed at the confusing action. “What is it, Calisto?”

“Uh, I didn’t mean to just barge in here.”

“You didn’t—you knocked.”

“Still, here. The house, I mean. The girls are downstairs watching something on the television. At first I thought … well, I convinced myself I was going to come over tonight just to spend time with them. I haven’t seen them in a while, and it’s strange. It’s like they know I’m not me.”

Emma frowned. “You’re you, Cal. You’ve always been you.”

Calisto shook his head, chuckling dryly. “No, I’m not me. Something is missing. I’ve known it since I woke up. I just couldn’t figure out what it was.”

“You’re remembering some things, though.”

“Some,” he agreed. “But I can’t tell anyone, can I?”

Emma fingered the sheets covering her lower half, feeling his eyes watch her every movement. He was gaging her now, searching for lies in her actions, her words, or her tone. Emma knew that without even needing to look him in the eye to see it.

Calisto was different since his accident—he knew less things about his life.

But he was still the same in ways he probably didn’t realize.

“These things I remember,” Calisto continued quieter, taking a step further into the room. “It’s not like I can just … out them to anyone, huh?”

“Depends on what they are.”

Calisto sighed heavily. “The last time I admitted I was having a memory, someone died.”

Emma’s head snapped up, and she found his gaze cutting into hers with an intensity that kept her silent. She wanted to ask what he meant—ask who had died—but a part of her might have already known. Father Day.

“That was when I really started paying attention,” Calisto murmured. “That was the moment when I knew all those things that didn’t feel right … shit, they didn’t feel right because they weren’t right. And lies can only be spun so many ways before the web is just a tangled mess that anyone—even the blindest of person—could see.”

“And can you?” Emma dared to ask. “See, I mean.”

Calisto closed the bedroom door, and it didn’t make a sound when it shut behind him. He took another step closer to her, and then another and another until he was right beside the bed. Without a word, he dropped to his knees, lowering him beneath her gaze. Emma kept a hand on her pup, using the dog’s thick fur to hide the shaking of her hand.

Her other one, however, had clenched tightly into the bedsheets.

What was he doing now?

Emma didn’t know how to deal with this, or Calisto. Her heart tightened to a painful point as the cool, calm facade of his mask faded away in an instant.