by Amy Olle
The next day, she wanted to film live from the city center, but he convinced her she needed another day to rest, and so she filed her report from the hotel grounds.
On the third day, he couldn’t keep her from the city.
“We won’t stay long,” she promised him. “I just want to talk to a couple of locals, and then we’ll come right back here.”
But the moment they arrived downtown, Leo regretted not putting up a bigger fight. Bodies packed the city, and the revelry of the two preceding days now carried a much darker vibe. He couldn’t point to any one thing to prove the change, but it was there in the thick, cloying tension that seemed to build as they walked toward the crowded city center.
His skin crawled. Whether from intuition or years of experience in combat zones, everything in him screamed to get them the fuck out of there.
He signaled to Owen, who nodded and turned to deliver the instruction to the others.
With the crack of gunfire, chaos erupted around them.
The crowd surged, bodies pushing and shoving and trampling in their desperate struggle to escape the barrage of bullets.
In the madness, she was torn from him.
He dove for her, but he was knocked off his course by another wave of crushing bodies. Clawing and scrabbling, he fought to reach her. Her name tearing from him abraded his vocal cords. If he could get ahold of some part of her, any part, he’d never let go. If he could just get a little closer.
His fingers brushed hers—then a slash of pain ripped through his hip.
He cried out with the searing agony and stumbled. His hip on fire, he lunged, and his excruciating screams had nothing to do with the stabbing pain in his hip. With one last, desperate plunge, he hurled himself at her.
And caught only air.
Gasping for breath, he jolted awake.
Sweat coated his skin and drenched the hair at his temples. Around him, the black hole of his grief sucked in everything. There was no light. No hope. Only darkness and the crushing weight of the universe pressing in on him.
He wasn’t alone in the bed. Arlo, curled into a tight ball and wedged against his hip, slept on. Leo’s arm stretched out, searching for her. Seeking her sweet comfort.
But she wasn’t there.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Morning had dawned on another bright summer day when he woke with a pounding heart. It ached inside his chest, raw and throbbing, as though it’d done battle with a meat tenderizer. Alone in the bed, he sat and, swinging his feet off the edge, scrubbed a hand over his face.
In the living room, he scooped up Arlo. A quick glance through the patio doors turned up no sign of Prue and when he passed by her bedroom door, the room was empty. He stumbled to a stop with the surge of fear that knocked into him.
The throbbing in his chest grew stronger, more painful.
But his frantic search for her ended before it really began when he spotted her knee-deep in the lake, her face turned toward the sun.
In the moment of relief from the pain, a calming breath rattled through him.
Then abruptly, he stilled.
His senses tingled. Something wasn’t right.
The thought materialized just as a jarring bang ripped apart the quiet inside the house. Leo jerked, then soothed the cat in his arms.
“It’s okay,” he told Arlo as he moved toward the front door. “The bad guys don’t knock.”
But when Leo unlocked and pulled open the heavy door, he recoiled to find Owen standing beneath the archway.
Grief and longing battered him. “Owen. What are you doing here?”
Bags sat under his eyes, and the black slacks and white undershirt he wore were wrinkled, as if he’d been dressed in them far too long in a confined space.
“We managed to wrap things up a few days early.” He moved inside and gave the home’s interior a quick scan. “Nice place,” he said before facing Leo. “Where’s Prue?”
Damn, his chest hurt.
“She’s safe.”
Owen’s sharp gaze homed in on him. “I had no doubt she would be. As long as she was with you.”
Leo looked away.
“You mind if I use your bathroom?” Owen said suddenly. “This place is damn hard to find.”
Leo pointed to his bedroom door. “In there.”
When Owen disappeared into the other room, Leo set Arlo on the chair back and turned toward the patio.
But just then, Prue moved across the deck and came through the screen door. Her hair wet and windblown, her skin glowing with the sun’s warm kiss, she glanced at him warily.
The ground opened beneath his feet to swallow him. He was falling. When she was gone, how would he breathe? What purpose would he have for doing so?
Her expression softened and she closed the distance between them. Lifting onto her tiptoes, she dropped a soft kiss on his mouth. Her fingers touched the side of his face with tiny, feathery strokes that set off a series of tremors in his body.
His heart wedged in his throat. “Prue—”
“Don’t say anything,” she whispered against his mouth. “Please, Leo, don’t speak.”
Her lips parted and she took the sweetest, sexiest little nibble of his mouth.
At the movement over her shoulder, Leo stiffened. He moved his head an infinitesimal amount, just enough to break the kiss and shatter his crumbling heart into a thousand pieces.
She turned her head, and when she saw what he’d seen, she gasped and whirled to face her brother.
“Owen. Wh-what are you doing here?”
Owen’s gaze swung from Prue to Leo. “You two are…?” He seemed to gulp down whatever word he’d been about to say. His expression darkened.
“Let me explain,” Prue began.
But Owen’s gaze remained locked on Leo. “Tell me it’s only the jet lag and that I’m reading this all wrong.”
Unwilling to lie, Leo bent his head, and the movement unleashed a fury in his friend.
“I trusted you.”
“Owen, he didn’t do anything—”
Owen’s dark eyes blazed in his lean face. “Do you love her?”
Prue gasped. “Leo, don’t answer that. Owen, that’s none of your business.”
“I asked for your help.” His words lashed. “That did not include fucking my sister.”
“Stop it.” A hitch of heartbreak weakened Prue’s command. “Owen, it’s not like that.”
“Get your things.”
“No.” Two huge blue eyes, filled with hope and anguish, swung to Leo. “I don’t want to go. I want to stay.”
“Goddammit, Prue, get your goddamned things. Now!”
“That’s enough,” Leo said, his voice even and unyielding.
Chest heaving, Owen stared him down.
Leo held his friend’s gaze. “Prue, can you please give us a minute alone?”
She hesitated, but she did as he asked, slipping into her bedroom.
“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” Owen dropped his voice to a low, seething growl.
“Yes.”
“How could you?”
How could he not? When Leo had nothing, she offered him everything, and he realized now he never really had a choice in refusing her. His need for her was beyond reason or self-control. That was the thing about madness and love.
Leo matched Owen’s low register. “What can I say to make you okay with this?”
“Nothing. There’s not a goddamn thing you can say.” He dragged a trembling hand across his mouth.
“Owen, you’re my friend, but I think you might be overreacting.”
“Am I?” Owen bit out. “After the last guy fucked her over, she tried to kill herself.” His voice wrenched with pain.
“I know,” Leo said. “She told me.”
Surprise penetrated Owen’s anger. “Did she tell you they locked her away?” His mouth twisted. “I didn’t think so.”
“What are you talking about? What does that mean, locked her away?”
“It means they committed her.”
Leo’s heart burst, and he closed his eyes against the eruption of pain.
“They kept her for five days,” Owen said. “Five days of hell for us. I can only imagine what it was like for her.”
“She’s stronger than you think.”
“You have no idea what I think. When you watch them put your sister in the psych ward, then you get to have an opinion.” Owen twisted away, only to wrench back around. “Damn you, Leo, if she goes through that again because of you, so help me God, I will—” He bit off the threat and paced away again.
“I’m sorry,” Leo heard himself say. “I never wanted to hurt her. Or you.”
Silence dropped between them. In the heavy stillness, Prue appeared in her bedroom doorway.
As he looked at her, Owen’s hot fury cooled to a cold rage. “I lied. I am going to ask you for one more favor.” He faced Leo. “Never come near my sister again.”
“That isn’t your decision to make,” Prue said.
Owen strode to the front door and yanked it open. “Let’s go.” He waited. “Prue, I mean it.”
“Just give me a minute,” she said quietly. “Please.”
With a look that’d unleashed terror in hundreds of men but had no visible effect on Prue, Owen slammed through the door.
For several heartbeats, neither of them spoke. She hovered in the doorway to her bedroom, appearing young and vulnerable. The urge to pull her into his chest nearly overcame his wish to abide by Owen’s request, at least for the moment.
She watched him closely, her blue eyes big and guileless. “I mean it, Leo. I want to stay. If you want me to.”
“Why didn’t you tell me about the hospital?”
Her face crumpled. “Probably the same reason you won’t tell me what happened between you and Rose.”
At that name on her lips, he stumbled back until he came up hard against the coffee table. “How do you know that name?”
She started toward him, then stopped. “Sometimes, while you’re sleeping, you talk to her.”
His legs gave out and he dropped onto the table. “I don’t want to talk to you about her.”
“Why not?” He heard the anguish in her voice and regretted it. “Was she so special that you’ll throw the rest of your life away if you can’t be with her?”
Leo made a sound in the back of his throat like a moan, but emanating from someplace darker, more primal.
“Leo—”
He surged to his feet. “She died, okay? Is that what you want to hear?”
“Leo, no. Never.”
“She’s dead and I killed her.” The truth seared him, the fire flaring to consume them both. “I fucking killed her.”
“That’s not true.” She was shaking her head and tears were streaming down her pale cheeks. “Whatever happened, whatever you think happened, it wasn’t your fault. You loved her. I can see how much you loved her. You’d never hurt her.”
A sob choked him. “Stop it. Please.”
She fell quiet. Dropping onto the coffee table, he propped his elbows on his knees and shoved his hands through his hair. He stared down at the floor while a lifetime’s worth of self-loathing and regret crashed over him.
Prue crept closer. “Leo, I want to help you. Please let me.”
He stilled her with a look. “Can you bring her back?” The wound reopened, his heart gushed with agony. “Then you can’t help me.”
“I can love you.”
He wanted it so badly, his body shook with the need. But he also knew what he’d do to her if he let her stay. Far beyond the hurt he’d already caused, he’d ruin her. Like he did them. It didn’t matter if he loved her. It was what he did to the people he cared about.
Arlo bounded onto the coffee table and pushed his pink nose into Leo’s thigh. Leo stared down at the kitten while his heart was dying and suddenly he realized that it did in fact matter that he loved Prue.
He loved her enough to let her go.
Standing, Leo swooped up Arlo and dumped him into her arms.
“Go with your brother, Prue. There’s nothing for you here.”
The Fear thrived in darkness.
Shadows danced along the walls while Leo lay in his bed. He didn’t bother to crawl under the covers, or sleep.
Or bathe or eat.
A week, a month, a year might’ve passed, and he’d still be lying in his bed, unclean and unfed, exhausted, if not for the torment of Prue’s memory.
Her scent lingered in his bedclothes, and the house made weird noises, as if it moaned with pain, empty and ill without her in it. Like him. Even the lake lamented her absence, its waters churning and wailing for her to come back.
He never wanted to see her hurt. Or to be the one to hurt her. But he was. As he knew he would be.
Her bedroom called to him, and he approached slowly, his legs heavy with dread. Standing in the doorway, he leaned with his back against the doorframe, needing the support to stay upright. To keep him from doubling over with agony.
The first time he’d gazed upon this room, when the realtor had shown him the property, he’d been filled with such hope. So much love. A little fear, too, because he wasn’t a complete idiot and knew life had a way of keeping him grounded, but even in the face of the fear, he felt secure, certain they’d be okay.
This should’ve been their home.
When he’d impulsively bought the house, it’d needed a ton of work to make it inhabitable through a Michigan winter, but its ramshackle condition was the only way he could afford so much land with waterfront access. It was the only way to get the yard for their little ones and give Lauren her view. He was a hard worker, and he knew she would’ve had the vision to revive the tired old house.
He’d imagined they’d start here, in this bedroom.
The nursery.
His legs wobbly, Leo sank to the floor in the doorway of what should’ve been his daughter’s bedroom.
He would’ve positioned the crib on the far wall, between the two north-facing windows. When she was older, he’d wanted to teach her how to swim, and sail, and build sandcastles, and execute a leg-sweep on any boy who dared to touch her.
After the attack, Lauren went into premature labor, and in the hospital, Leo got to hold his little girl. She was small. Too small. Beautiful, but fragile.
Precious as a Rose.
That’s what he named her, after she died.
Lauren had been inconsolable. The first horrible day, she refused to let him into her hospital room. On the second day, he refused to be kept out.
“Lauren, honey, we need to give her a name. For her tombstone.”
Silent tears streaming down her cheeks, she turned to her side in the hospital bed, giving him her back.
“Go away,” she’d said, her voice devoid of emotion. “I can’t even look at you. It hurts too much.”
The memories gashed him. Curling into a ball on the hardwood floor in Prue’s bedroom, Leo tumbled down the long tunnel of despair.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Two weeks after he’d come to the island to get her, Owen allowed Prue to return to work. In those weeks, he’d been in constant communication with Claymore, and after determining Paul Cook had in fact died of natural causes, and Aron King had once again left the country, they deemed things safe enough for her to begin to resume her normal life.
But nothing felt normal to Prue. Everything seemed different from when she left it. The packed streets and sidewalks made her long for soft, swaying beach grass and movable sand beneath her feet. She missed the steady, soothing drone of the lake, and tried to convince herself the sounds of city traffic, with its intermittent horns, sirens, and alarms, rendered a comparably pleasant effect.
Adding to the new strangeness of her old life, Owen insisted on delivering her to and from her office, and monitoring her every move, all day, every day, including while she toiled away inside the Institute.
Oh, who was she kidding? Though she’
d missed nearly a month of work, by the end of the second day back she’d caught up on her tasks. With little else to do, she sat at her desk and tried to act as though everything were fine. That her life hadn’t been threatened and that she hadn’t had her heart shattered by a beautiful, broken, infuriating man.
She missed him. That morning when she’d awakened, her first thought had been of something outrageous she would say to coax a shocked smile or a laugh out of him. Anything to get him to react. To jolt him out from behind that deadened stare, or the lifeless wall that struggled to confine him.
Her heart ached for him. For what he’d told her about Rose. She’d once thought him too cold, his heart too hardened to love her. But his heart wasn’t hard. It was big and gentle, and completely lost without her. Prue couldn’t bring herself to be angry at him now that she understood a little of the heartache that had convinced him it was safer to withdraw from the world than risk suffering such anguish ever again.
By the end of her second week back at work, Prue had begun to loathe the new normal of her life. Leo was everywhere, all the time. She kept waiting for his memory to fade, or to be replaced with the newest details from her life, but so far, nothing could compete with him. Impulsively, she’d applied to a job opening for a science journalist with a national magazine, hoping a new challenge would leave little room for him in her mind at least.
He’d always occupy a corner of her heart.
Friday afternoon, she climbed into Owen’s car and gave him a stiff smile.
As he did every day, he raked his gaze over her face, giving her a thorough, somber assessment. Seemingly satisfied, he put the car in gear and eased out into traffic.
She puzzled over that look. Why did he do that? It was strange.
“Do you think there’s still some danger?” she asked.
He turned his head and peered into the side mirror. “The thing is, we just don’t know.”
Prue scrunched up her face at his uncharacteristically wishy-washy reply. “Well, when will we know?”
“Soon enough, I imagine.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Are you okay? You’re acting weird.”
