Chasing Time

by Mia Downing

  “Fuck whatever moves,” I finished for him.

  He shook his head with vehemence. “I never did.”

  Suddenly, her motives made a lot more sense to me. To know we had no choice but he could choose anyone…at any time…

  The anger in me wanted to toss the proverbial match and set it all on fire.

  Instead, I took a calming breath, got up, and grabbed another cookie. He’d chosen me. He could have been whoring around while he waited for me, and I know he hadn’t. I had to remember that.

  As I sat back down, I asked, “So what did she do?”

  His brow wrinkled in a way that said he wasn’t expecting that reaction. Good.

  “I went home and found our kitchen like this”—he gestured to the piles of cookies—“because she felt so horrible. All she’d wanted was hot cookies. She shared that was her secret way of dealing with the stress and being gifted is full of stress.”

  I hated feeling gratitude toward her, for making him sympathetic and kind when he could have been an ass. “Did she make chocolate chip?”

  “No, some sort of sugar cookie. Chocolate exists in the future, but it’s a rare and expensive commodity. We can afford it now, but not so much then. We ran into true chocolate chip cookies when we had to lay over for a break in between jumps. It became her favorite after that.” He shrugged, uneasy as he glanced at the mess on the table and the timer on the stove, counting down the next batch. “I know you don’t like talking about her, but she was my life.”

  I sighed and admitted so many levels of defeat. If I wanted to know him, she came with him. “I’m going to have to get used to that, I guess.”

  He finally met my gaze, unsure. “She was my best friend and partner for nearly half of my life. Hell, for all my adult life. Then that jump happened, and I found myself utterly alone for the first time. Ever. It’s terrifying, and I can’t imagine how you’ve faced being alone in your life and yet still ended up sane.”

  “Sane is subjective.” I tried to put myself in his boots, to have lost everything. I could sympathize with the level of hope and fear he’d had to have at finding me again. But that was another issue.

  “Marek, the problem is, I’m not the one you wanted when you came looking. You expected to find her, and you ended up with me. I can’t move forward unless you can admit that I’m not her and mean it.”

  The slight slump of his shoulders told me his energy churned that dull yellow with a hint of gray. “Okay,” he said slowly. “You’re right. You’re not her. Not entirely.”

  I blinked in surprise. “And do you still believe that if we jump back in time, I’ll become her again?”

  He shrugged, poured more whiskey, and downed it. After setting his glass on the counter, he finally glanced at me with a sigh. “I don’t know.”

  I leaned to ease the whiskey bottle from his hands. “Well, I do know you’ve had enough of this. And I can suggest is that we both concentrate on now.”

  “Now.” Brightening a little, he arched a brow.

  I nodded. “We’ve got five months. What do you want to do that you couldn’t in your time? Because we’ve got time to do it.”

  “I don’t know, but I’ll think about it.”

  “Okay.” The timer went off. “Let’s start by getting the cookies out.”

  “And then?” His smile grew, slow and sensual as his gaze dipped to the vee in my shirt that showed a little cleavage as I pulled cookies out of the oven.

  “Might as well get started on that sex list of yours.” I set the cookies down and raised a finger as his grin widened. “But you can’t sleep over, and I’m not sleeping at your house. I don’t want to be your girlfriend. We’re…exclusive friends with benefits.” I couldn’t risk getting that comfortable. I’d give him a chance, but I had to shield my heart in some way.

  “Skye—”

  I shook my head. “I’ll give you the energy you need, and at the end of the five months…we’ll have that talk.”

  There. Done.

  “Okay,” he said slowly. “But we have one more thing to get out of the way. We have to discuss what happened during that last jump…and the night before that.”

  I brushed that away with my hand. “That didn’t happen to me. I don’t care.”

  He sucked in a breath and shook his head. “I really think—”

  I placed a finger to his firm lips, silencing him. I’d beaten down the lust for him all night. “Do you want to think, or do you want to work on your list?”

  He licked his lips and glanced down at my breasts again but said, “Skye, you’re going to be upset when—”

  “Yeah, well, I’m always upset.” I clicked off the stove and headed down the hallway. “You coming?”

  Marek

  Nervously, I put the last touches on what was her favorite meal in this time—roast chicken with mashed potatoes and gravy. I’d made homemade rolls and the green beans she liked, and Jay’s mom had sent up another pie. I loved cooking. That wasn’t new from the future. But here, I had time and resources to create meals I’d only read about. I guess that was different about me.

  Tonight, I had to tell Skye the truth about that last night in 1892.

  I was about to be a published author in a few weeks. And though I didn’t need the money, I now had a unique identity that wasn’t as a son, a husband, or a time traveler. My fame as a time traveler had been linked to Skye as she’d been the most powerful gifted ever. Granted, all I’d done was tell our story. But those were my words on the page, describing an adventure that had changed my life.

  I had to tell Skye about it…tonight. She thought I’d sold a dry, boring non-fiction book about artifacts. And technically, it was non-fiction. But who in this time would believe a diary of a time traveler as the truth? I had more marketing things coming up, and someone from some big newspaper wanted to interview me.

  At first, I’d said no to the interview. We weren’t supposed to leave our mark in time. I could have left a journal in the vault in the cellar, but at this point, there was no guarantee any of it would survive to tell my story in the future. I’d been here too long not to make a lasting mark in this decade. Anything I did here could change things in the future.

  Getting my story published had been a fluke. I’d made the mistake of leaving an open journal on the kitchen table, and Jay’s mom had read some when she dropped off groceries. She’d loved it and recommended I finish it and send it to her sister, who was an agent. So when they’d offered me representation, and then when the publisher wanted it… I’d caved and signed on the dotted lines.

  And the more time I spent with this Skye, the more accepting I became about my future. This was my life for now. The chances of her going back with me were slim to none. So if I was dying alone in the 1800s, I wanted to go out big, knowing what it felt like to celebrate the one thing that was all me.

  Things with Skye in the past two weeks had been good. Really good in a “this is my new life” way. But we were at the beginning of November. My book went on sale the beginning of December, and Todd wanted to feature it at the bookstore and have a signing the night it went on sale. I’d avoided telling her because she’d be pissed.

  Well, I had tried a few times. We’d gotten as far as what the book was about. I’d told her it was about the Rai necklace, which was true…sort of. And to give her credit, she’d been so busy with her graduate class that some days, I didn’t see her. So she wasn’t a bad girlfriend. She was just busy. The other times she’d asked, I’d chickened out and changed the subject.

  I couldn’t change the subject any longer.

  The back door banged, and Skye shed her coat in the mudroom before coming into the kitchen. She wore her usual outfit of all black, and for once, I wanted to see her in some color. Just a little to brighten what I had to tell her.

  She took a deep breath and smiled. “Hey. It smells great.”

  I wiped my hand on a dishrag and waited for her to greet me. Even though she could touch me, she d
idn’t, the toll of what it had been like to have all that energy while I was in another time still too much to overcome. She’d hesitate and waver, and then she’d come to me.

  That hurt. The other Skye would run to me, covering my face in kisses as she grabbed my ass. I shouldn’t compare, though. I’d made this Skye this way by leaving her, and we’d both pay the price now.

  “Good day?” I asked as I took the rolls out of the oven.

  “Yes, we discussed the layout for your book promotion. I have to set that up. We’re taking pre-orders for your signing.”

  “Ah, good.”

  “I’m supposed to ask you what you want to do for decorations and theme, though.” She ran a finger along the back of a chair at the kitchen table. “And I was too embarrassed to admit to Todd I’d never read it. Or even asked about it. I’m sorry.”

  “You’ve been busy.” And I didn’t want to tell you. “Look, let’s have dinner first. We’ll celebrate your paper getting an A, and then…” I took a deep breath. “I’ll give you a copy of the book.”

  She smiled and took those last steps to me, and I wrapped an arm around her. As she leaned close, I inhaled the mix of new and old books, her signature lavender scent weaving its way to my heart to clench it tight.

  Tentatively, she kissed my cheek. “You’re amazing.”

  “Thank you.” I buried my face in her hair, inhaling for a long moment. She still smelled the same, even if she looked slightly different. “Why don’t you head into the library and relax for a moment while I finish making gravy?” I dropped a kiss to her lips. Once she made up her mind to come to me, I could touch her all I wanted. “You could pour us something to drink.”

  She still hesitated, though, and she paused a moment before she kissed me back, a quick peck that made me ache. “That sounds as good as this dinner smells.”

  “Good. I’ll call you when it’s done.”

  As she left, I prayed her good mood would continue. I wanted her to be excited about my book. I needed that. I just wasn’t sure if she could get there given the topic.

  Skye

  I went into the library, leaving Marek behind in the kitchen. I hadn’t been this bone-tired in a long time, the stress of work and school and having a boyfriend taking its toll. It was good, though. I didn’t let him use the term “boyfriend,” but that’s what he was except for the sleeping over and the exposure of the bond. I’d told him I didn’t want to get used to that, either.

  I stared out the bow window at the darkness, the clouds meandering across the moon, veiling the light with wisps of dark gray. In the distance, moonlight sparkled off the water of the cove, the tide high.

  I went to sit for a moment, and the cushion slid off the window seat. I took it off to fix it and found a lid built into the platform.

  My world shifted, and one of those weird memories happened. Feminine hands opened that lid, dug under stuff to the side, and pulled out…something, her energy sad and angry, swirling dark and fierce.

  The weirdness faded, and I blinked away the shock and the threads of fear that always followed one of those episodes. I hadn’t had one since that first week with Marek. Come to think of it, the vivid dreams had stopped, too. I no longer had to paint or draw to purge them.

  I glanced over my shoulder. I didn’t want to snoop in his house, but the need to find the “something” drove me to open the lid. Inside was some spare stuff—a blanket, a pillow. I dug deeper, over to the side as she had. My fingers hit a wooden something—a box? I dropped to my knees to angle in there better and reach far enough to pull the box free and set it on the wood platform of the reading nook.

  Stunned, I sat back on my heels as I trembled. The wooden box had my tattoo engraved on the front. I traced the edge of the gear, darkened to show up on the wood grain. This was hers. I almost didn’t open it. I mean, why would I want to see what she kept hidden in a box in a secret place? Marek couldn’t know about this, or it wouldn’t be here. I glanced over my shoulder again.

  But I didn’t want another memory I had to purge. Indecision churned in my gut, and I was glad I had Marek blocked or he’d bolt in here to find out why. Knowing I’d regret this, I bit my lip as I opened the lid.

  I removed brittle sheets of paper and gently unfolded them. I’d found a letter with torn edges addressed to Marek, written in handwriting similar to mine, the signature at the bottom eerily like mine. It had been penned in their language, though, and I had no clue what it said. But the bottom margin had been stained with water droplets suspiciously shaped like fallen tears.

  I set that aside and peered in to see what secrets the other Skye kept. I pulled out a worn, leather-bound journal, the front and back identical. I opened it to the back by accident, my finger running over a few ragged edges. This paper didn’t match the letter, though.

  I flipped the journal around and leafed through it, stopping at a spot where she’d written in English. She’d jotted a pros/cons list about going to a party of some sort. She’d underlined a name under cons—Leah. Under that, she’d written Marek’s name. The pros list included finding a journal. Disturbed, I shut the journal and set it on top of the letter.

  I looked inside the box again and found an old ballpoint pen. I opened the journal again. She’d written the last few entries in that pen. Those weren’t invented until the 1930s, so she had to have taken it back with her. Did they always break the rules? Even I knew that was bad. I shook my head and dug into the box again.

  Odds and ends shifted—a seashell, a rock flecked with mica, a pretty piece of fabric. Under that, I found a familiar silver ring, the feminine version of the one in the box with the Rai necklace, the delicate band engraved with a vine pattern. Hers. My hands shook as I dropped the ring back in the box before I got ideas. With my luck, it would fit. I wasn’t his wife. Not then, not now, not ever.

  I closed my eyes, trying not to shake harder as feelings I didn’t understand overwhelmed me—fear, sadness, jealousy. He swore I was a part of her, but these items meant nothing to me.

  “Hey, dinner is—” Marek drew in a sharp breath behind me, probably startled at the mess I’d made. “Skye?”

  “She left you a letter.” Numbness flooded me as I slid the pages out from under her journal. I held them over my head without looking back at him. I couldn’t. I had no clue what those pages said, but they could bring no good. I wanted to lower my protection from his bond to feel what that letter meant to him, but I gave him his privacy.

  The pages vibrated as he took them from my hand with shaking fingers. I busied myself with putting the items back into the box. Rising, I brushed my dusty hands off on my thighs and turned. I still couldn’t look at him and instead stared at his feet—bare despite the cold. He had perfectly trimmed toenails.

  A laugh bubbled up, and I forced it back down before it could burst out. It had to be shock or fear. I wasn’t right in the head.

  He whispered something in his language as he drew in another deep breath, the page rattling as he flipped it over to look for more of her words. “She broke the bond on purpose.”

  My head popped up at the desolation in his tone, but the meaning didn’t quite sink in. They needed the bond to travel. He’d assumed it had fractured when they’d made that last jump, creating me.

  He stared at those pages with disbelief as if she’d pop out of them and explain herself.

  Maybe I’d heard him wrong. “She did what?”

  “She…broke it before we jumped. She must have left just enough bond to travel with. I guess she needed only a sliver to be carried forward, too. I knew she was angry. She had every right to be. But I don’t understand why she’d risk herself. Why she’d risk us.”

  Oh, if she were anything like me, I understood all too well why she’d tossed the match. But it mattered who had flung the gas on the sticks in the first place, and it sounded like he’d been the one with the gas can. “I think you need to tell me the story behind this.”

  He sank to the now-bare wood o
f the reading nook, staring at the pages of her letter. “We’d gone to a dinner party to get the journal that contained the key to opening the vault. A woman we’d met—a relative of Burke’s—had it, and she’d shown them to us at one point. So the idea was I would keep a look out and entertain her while Skye…borrowed them.”

  This “woman” must have been the Leah from the cons section of Skye’s list. “You sent your wife to steal shit while you entertained a woman?”

  “She can crack safes. I can’t.”

  “I see.” That made weird sense. An eerie calm descended over me, one that allowed me to sink down next to him. “But was she worried about…something happening?” Because that list had made it clear to me she was.

  He closed his eyes, the picture of guilt and despair. “I told her she was reading too much into it. Leah was demonstrative, a lonely widow. She was a little older than us and quite attractive, though I wasn’t interested. I’m used to women being attracted to me. That sounds conceited, but I never cared. I had Skye. She was all I ever wanted.”

  It stung to hear him say that, but I shoved that aside. He was mine now—not hers. She’d broken the bond and his heart. And if I played this right, he’d stay mine.

  In the past few weeks, I’d gotten a first-hand taste of Marek’s level of “attractive” and could see the potential issues that could cause. Yeah, he was hot, but damn, the women didn’t seem to care that he was with me. I wondered if his energy had something to do with that, being bright and sunny and optimistic. He drew them in while I repelled everyone. And if she had been worried about the whole “choice” aspect, then she’d be even more jealous than I’d been when a skank had slipped him her phone number.