Page 68 of Thin Lives

“I’m not me,” he told her softly.

Emma blinked, her fingers twitching with the urge to reach out and stroke his face. One little touch wouldn’t hurt, right?

So she did.

His skin, warm and smooth under her palm, sent a fire raging up through her arm. At the touch—as innocent and comforting as it was meant to be—Calisto closed his eyes and let out a slow, but shaky, breath.

Like he’d wanted that.

He wanted her to touch him.

“I was using the girls as an excuse to myself,” he said, “for why I came here tonight. I thought if I said it enough times in my head—for Michelle and Cynthia, because they’re scared and alone—then it would make me believe it, too.”

Emma chewed on her inner cheek, knowing what he was probably going to say next. “But?”

“But then I got here. And even when I was talking to them, the silence was too loud. I wanted to ask about you, anything about you at all. I’m always worrying about you, and I don’t even know why.”

“It’s okay to worry.”

“Maybe, but the other things—the stuff I remembered, what little it was—isn’t okay.”

Emma pressed her lips together, knowing he meant the Vegas memory. “You’re right, it’s not.”

“And somehow, I just knew …”

“Knew what?”

“That wasn’t the last time,” Calisto said.

Emma quieted altogether, not wanting to give away all their secrets. Would he run again if she did? Would he deny the truth if she told him about the baby’s paternity?

What would he do?

Emma couldn’t risk it.

“So I know it’s wrong,” Calisto continued, seemingly oblivious to her inner plight. “But I keep coming back here—I keep wanting to, I guess. And maybe that’s because you make me feel normal, Emmy. Or more normal than I am. I can’t think right because I’m always so focused on what should be in my head, or what I’m missing. I can’t breathe when I get in that head-space.”

“Cal, it’s—”

“But I can with you,” he interrupted quickly. “You make me feel more like me, even when you’re across the room, and all I can do is watch you. I do that, you know, a lot more than I should. Just like when I think about you more than I should. And that’s when I knew.”

Emma didn’t want to ask, because she wasn’t sure her heart could take it.

But she did.

“Knew what?”

“You’re what I’m missing. You’re hiding it—hiding a lot, and I’ll figure it out—but right now I just needed to breathe.”

“Breathe,” she echoed.

“There’s too many lies, too much shit in my head. I just need to think for a while. You let me do that, and it’s what I need to do right now to figure the rest out.”

Emma felt his hand slide under hers, unfurling her fingers from the sheets as he twined their fingers. She stared at their connected hands, unsure and wary.

This was going to hurt her in the morning.

It would hurt when he left again.