Page 135 of A Stop in Time
The instant I make it around the bend and see the front gate open just enough for me to get through, my lips part, releasing a hopeful breath.
I edge inside, closing the gate, and take three steps up her driveway before skidding to a stop. Raking a hand through my hair, I stare ahead at her property. “What if he couldn’t do it? What if he couldn’t save her?” My ragged whisper echoes in the air. “The fuck am I gonna do then?”
Either way, I’ve gotta know. This thought has me sprinting toward the outside stairs leading up to her place. I climb them two by two, and once I reach the top, the door swings open and the man stands before me.
He regards me warily, and I realize I’m panting, sweat covering my forehead and chest.
“Is she alive?” My words rush out in choppy breaths. “Did you save her?”
All he says is a simple, “Yes,” but that single affirmation has me dropping my chin to my chest. My eyes fall closed in relief only to fly open the next instant.
“She’ll be okay, but she needs her rest,” a woman answers from behind him, startling the shit out of me.
When I pin the man with an accusing Who the fuck is she? look, it has no effect on him, of course. He just offers a placid, “She helped revive Mac.”
I forge inside for a look at the woman only to falter when I encounter a white-haired woman with copious wrinkles. I force the words past my surprise. “Thank you.”
She nods with a smile, and her eyes…they’re unusually youthful looking. “She still needs plenty of rest to fully recover.”
“You need it, too.” Something in the way the man says this defies his usual placid demeanor. Do I detect affection?
“I will,” she says calmly.
He grunts and sidles up beside her. His eyes rake over her worriedly. “Sooner rather than later. That took way too much out of you.”
I rush to interrupt, antsy as fuck. “Can I see her?”
The woman’s expression morphs into one of deep remorse. “Unfortunately, she doesn’t want any visitors.”
“I’m not a fuckin’ visitor, I’m her—” Christ. What am I? I scrape a hand down my face. “Please. I need to see her.” My voice cracks, and I don’t even give a fuck. “I need to know she’s okay.”
“I’m okay.” Our heads whip around to find Mac braced against the bedroom doorjamb. She looks pale, but alive, thank fuck.
I start toward her, but when she holds up a hand, her expression shuttering, I stop in my tracks. “Please don’t, Daniel.”
“Don’t what?” I glance at the others. What the fuck’s goin’ on? “You died in my goddamn arms, and now you’re here and you won’t let me feel that you’re really alive?”
She sends a brief glance past me before leveling me with a look that cuts me at the knees. Resignation. Defensive wariness. As if she’s concerned that if she lets me get close, I’ll hurt her.
Her voice may be subdued, but it’s underlined with steel. “You have an out, Daniel. Take it.”
I stare at her in disbelief. “An out?” My voice rises incrementally. “I don’t want a goddamn out! I want you!”
She yells back, “No, you don’t! Nobody wants to be with the person who murdered someone they loved!” before her tone morphs into something ugly and snide. “How do you think this’ll turn out? With you introducing me to everyone you know?
“When they ask how we met, are you prepared to tell them that I was the monster who ended your sister’s life? And a handful of other people’s, too?” A harsh laugh falls from her lips. “I’m sure that’ll win them all over, won’t it?”
My lungs constrict, because I don’t fucking know what I’d say. I’m staring at the woman who managed to make me fall for her while at my lowest.
I want to lash out and tell her she’s wrong, but I can’t. Something holds me back. She killed Emilia. She’s a murderer. The truth locks down my vocal cords, and the instant she sees it, her expression crumbles.
She averts her gaze, sadness rolling off her in thick waves. “Once the shock of this wears off, you’ll realize this is for the best. We both know you’ll never be able to look at me the same way. All you’ll feel for me will be resentment…and hatred.”
Slowly, she lifts her eyes, the desolation in them flaying me wide open. “You’d never see me as just Mac. Not after all this. You’d only look at me and see the person who murdered your sister.”
Jesus fucking Christ. My heart feels like it’s bleeding out of my goddamn chest, because even though I’m heartbroken over my sister, a part of my heart belongs to Mac.
The version of Mac you thought you knew, an insidious whisper reminds me.