Page 54 of The Triangle

“Not the whole time.”

“When you weren’t killing people?”

“Why are you so fucking judgey?”

“Because Christine, the thought of someone blowing your fucking brains out just… fucking…” He exhales. It’s his turn to deflate. “I can’t. I can’t fucking deal with that. It hurts, OK? Being without you all these years hurt, yeah. But I thought you moved on. Found a new life—”

“A new life doing what? This is all I know how to do.”

“I never wanted this for you.”

“I never wanted this for me either, but—” But that’s not true. It’s such a lie I can’t even finish my sentence. “I just wanted you back, OK? And staying with Alec was as close as I could get to that.”

He’s frowning. Danny Fortnight is not a frowner. A scowler, almost all the time. He likes to grimace, and sneer, and every once in a while he pulls off a smirk. Danny doesn’t do sad. He’s always said it was a wasted emotion. But that’s what he’s wearing right now. Not just disappointment in me, but sadness. For me.

I take a few steps forward, slip my hands inside his leather jacket, place my head on his chest, and sink. “I missed you,” I say, listening to his heart beat faster. “I’m glad we’re together again.”

There’s a moment of hesitation. A moment when this could go either way. But then I feel the tension flow out of his body. I feel him relax. And when he finally gives in… when he finally allows himself to put his arms around me and hold me back…

I feel complete.

“Thank you,” I whisper.

“What for?” He laughs.

“Finally admitting this is OK.”

“It’s just a hug, Christine. We’ve hugged lots of times.”

I lean back so I can look up and see his face. But I don’t withdraw. If he thinks he can bait me into getting angry with him so we can put this conversation off even longer, he’s wrong.

“I’m not taking your bait,” I declare.

“What bait?”

“You know, the one where you say things I don’t want to hear so you can avoid having the conversation I really want.”

“Christine—”

“No,” I say, cutting him off. “Your turn to listen to me. I love you. And not like a brother, or a father, or a friend.” I have more to say to that. Vulgar things about how I want his cock inside me, and how I want him to fuck me hard, and pull my hair and all that kind of shit. But it’s a shock tactic. A headline from a teen-girl magazine.

How to Make an Older Man See You As a Grownup.

That was a real headline in a real magazine that I picked up in a drug store in Auckland when I was sixteen. And the official suggestion went something like this: Just say, “I want your cock,” a lot to shock and awe him.

I mean, they didn’t say that. They said dirty-talk him to death and then hinted around that he’ll get hard and won’t be able to control himself because all men are nothing but their primal urges.

Voilà. You’re a grownup. And two seconds later he’ll be fucking your brains out.

It’s stupid. It doesn’t work.

I should know, I already tried it when we were in Sydney that one year. I mean, I tried everything that last year we were together. Every. Thing.

And none of it worked. In fact, I think that might’ve been what finally drove him away. He stopped seeing me as a kid, all right. But I replaced the image of sweet-faced little sister with the image of out-of-control slut.

And this might be my last chance to change things, so I’m not gonna fuck it up.

“Danny.” I sigh, placing my face against his chest again, squeezing him tight. “I just… missed you.”