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Storm’s frowning at me from the doorstep, one hand clasped to the back of his neck. His eyes meet mine, and I turn away, toward the sea, a blue reflection beyond the fence.
I want to trust him. I need reassurance. I need him to promise he’s with me.
And that scares me to death. Who am I anymore? Since when do I need someone to stay with me and look after me? Not to abandon me.
Stupid, Ray.
“What’s going on?” he finally asks, and I know he’s approaching me. “Ray, talk to me. Is there someone else after you?”
“No.” I gasp when his arms wrap around me. “I swear.”
“I believe you.”
Again. Just like that. “Suspicion can save your life.”
He says nothing, his arms tensing minutely. “I agree. But I’m not suspicious of you. I told you.”
He did. His words are still ringing in my ears, warming up my heart.
Trust him, Ray.
Trying. I’m trying.
“I told you I was in a car crash four months ago,” he says and turns me in his arms, then drags me back until we land on a chaise-lounge, him lying on his back, and me sprawled on top of him. He laughs at my squeal of surprise. “Comfortable?”
“Yeah.” Strangely, I am. I’m sort of straddling him, my knees drawn up at his hips, my breasts mashed to his hard chest, my head resting on his padded shoulder. “What about the crash?”
“I’m not sure it was an accident.”
I tense and try to sit up, but his arms lock around me, keeping me plastered to him. “Please, stay.” His heart booms. “I like having you here, like this, in my arms. Makes me feel everything will be okay.”
So I settle back down, inhaling, drawing in his scent. “I like it, too.” And I’m curious as all hell. “So… not an accident?”
His hands move up and down my back, and it feels so good my lids grow heavy. “The police said it was. That the other driver was drunk. He came out of the blue, on an empty highway, and smashed into us.”
“And wasn’t he drunk?”
“We don’t know. Nobody knows. He crashed into the side of our car so hard we skidded across the highway. He should have been knocked out, but he obviously wasn’t. He drove away.”
“You’re shitting me.” I look up at his face, not drowsy at all anymore. “He just drove away?”
“Yeah.” He chews on the inside of his cheek. “We were in my car. Normally I’m the one driving. But that day I let a friend drive because I had to go through some documents on the way. My friend died on the spot. It would’ve been me on any other day.”
A chill hits me. “That’s crazy. But it might have been a coincidence. All of it.”
His lips flatten into a thin line. “That’s what everyone says.” He frowns, gaze fixed somewhere over my head. “They say the same about the bullet, and the explosion.”
“What?” Now my eyes are bugging out of my head. “What are you talking about?”
“About nine months ago, I met up with a couple of old friends of mine in a bar. Our new tradition, since I returned home. We went there every Friday night. So that night, we met up like always, when a bar fight breaks out. Before I know it, bullets fly in our direction. One grazed my hip. Another my head.”
Jesus. “Where?” I reach up, and he guides my hand to the side of his head. Under his thick hair, I feel it. An upraised line. “Oh God.”
“My friends threw me to the f
loor, and we waited it out. No more shots were fired. Nobody was caught.”
“Shit.” I lower my hand, shaken. “That’s…”
