“Say something, please,” he murmured, when the minutes continued to count off while I took the tornado in and viewed it from the center.
I couldn’t explain why I felt so at peace with his revelations that were more the thing of legends, fables or fantasies; but I saw the puzzle come together as the pieces of the mysteries surrounding him from the beginning, to my waking up this morning, came together. “Well, I suppose that explains a lot of things . . .”
His lines of concern flattened under the bewilderment that came next. “You believe me?” he said, looking at me as if he questioned my sanity.
I shrugged. “I trust you,” I answered simply, not able to further verbalize what my conscious couldn’t even understand.
His eyes only grew wider. “And none of this bothers you, then?” he asked, his voice growing as well. He lunged up from his kneeling position and broke into a bout of pacing behind me. “The fact I’ve forever changed you without your consent. The fact I left you with no explanation as to why? The fact you nearly died because of me?” he finished, looking as if he was shouting at the moon.
I shivered from his intensity before I could answer. “No, none of it does,” and as I said the words I’d conjured up to reassure him with, I found they were true. I didn’t want to admit to him why it didn’t matter to me, so I broke into my first question of what would likely be a million to come.
“How did you find me that night in Newport?” I asked, recalling what John mentioned regarding William saving me that night, although I had no memory of it.
I stood up and strolled over to the same navy and white stripped lounge-chair, and plopped down. Given my tendencies towards passing out when an excess of overwhelming information enters me, I thought I’d better keep low to the ground.
“I found out you were in trouble that night—I knew you would be in Newport,” he said, his voice tight with emotion. “I drove there as fast as I could . . . I was so worried. It had been dark for hours, and I couldn’t feel you anymore.”
I didn’t understand how he could have known I was in trouble, or where I was that night, but I remained quiet—saving my questions for a time when I wasn’t so focused on wanting to alleviate the anguish coming from the man pacing in front of me.
“I couldn’t find you at first, so I just kept running up and down the beach . . . searching for you. Desperate to find you before—” His voice caught, and he cleared his throat before continuing.
“And then I saw you,” he whispered. “It was the most overwhelming sense of relief I’ve experienced—spotting your tiny head so far out in the water—knowing you were still alive. I only saw your head for one fraction of a second before it fell beneath the water, but that was all I needed—just that one miracle.”
An owl hooted its song in the distance, sounding as cragged and wretched as a crow’s squawk in comparison to the honey-coated words streaming from William’s mouth. “I dove into the water and swam to you, but I was no longer filled with dread. Once I saw you, there was no way you were dying in the ocean that night. Your life was saved the moment I saw that dark, bobbing head of yours out there.” His anguished face managed something that resembled a smile, and for the first time since his retelling, he looked at me. He grimaced as he watched a tear cascade down my face. “I can’t stand to see you cry.”
“I’m fine . . . it’s just hard reliving that night.”
“I know. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you sooner,” he said, ceasing his pacing.
I shrugged, trying to look as blasé as one crying girl could sitting in front of the man she’d forever love without reciprocation.
He turned his eyes to the sky above, and I wondered if the most brilliant star in the sky could ever shine like he did: I doubted it. “I got you to shore and tried to bring you back. You were so blue, and your heartbeat so faint. I tried everything within Mortal life-saving standards, until there was no other option than to try . . . an Immortal one.” His back was to me, but the tension in his voice was apparent in his body as well—the muscles lining his back trembled through the cotton of his shirt. “I was so focused, I didn’t immediately notice that they’d found us—”
“Who found us?” I interrupted, sitting forward from the back of the chair.
He turned back to me, and the previous anguish on his face had been replaced by a blank expression. “Do you remember the two men from our day on the beach?”
I tensed at the mention of them. “Yes.”
His brow furrowed, and his jaw clenched tighter as he spoke. “Do you remember me telling you they were there that night to remind me of something?”
“Yes . . . what did they remind you of?” I asked sharply, my dislike of the two men growing more advanced.
“I had no right, technically speaking, to enter your life—”
“What do you mean you had no right?” I interjected. He had every right . . . any right, to enter my life however he wanted.
“The world of Immortals is strict, Bryn—we are governed by codes that are not very forgiving. One of the most important of these is that we are not allowed to interact with Mortals as I was with you,” he admitted. “It was nearly impossible to leave you that night and go with them, but I made that choice in order to keep you safe, knowing I would come back for you as soon as I could.” He stared out into the quiet water without seeing. “But they were watching me carefully . . . I couldn’t get away, and I wouldn’t risk anything happening to you.”
The residual waves lapped up against the side of the boat. I tried to match my breathing to the steady beat, to keep me from hyperventilating from the accounts being told.
“Not that my flawless plan worked anyways. I left to keep you safe, and you found yourself in the worse kind of danger the very next night, and now . . . here you are, in the midst of all this.” His carefully managed tone had grown frenzied, matching his reignited pacing.
I wanted to run to him, to bridge the space between us and beg him to explain what he was saying . . . what he was meaning—but I kept my vigil over the lounge chair.
“You didn’t leave because you didn’t want to be with me?” I whispered, instantly ashamed I let my growing hope have physical power.
His pacing came to an abrupt stop. “Of course not—is that what you thought?” He asked, sounding astonished; but I couldn’t allow myself to hope. I couldn’t recover from the disappointment if I allowed hope to enter my life again.
“But, the letter . . .” My lip started to quiver.
“What letter?” he asked urgently.
“The letter you left for me. The one that said you were leaving and”—I cringed and braced myself for saying the words—“you didn’t want to see me again.”
The sound that came from him was terrifying; a low, guttural rumble resonated in his chest, rolling into a controlled bellow that skated across the lake.
“It was them,” he sneered, after his verbal earthquake.
“Who?”
“Thomas. Dante . . . or another goon like them,” he said, quivering from the hatred spilling from him.
I nodded, trying to reconfigure things in my head; trying to not rush to the conclusion that my heart longed for. “Okay . . .” I muttered, the only response I could manage.
“Okay what?” he repeated, looking at me with expectation on his face.
“Okay . . . none of that matters anyways,” I whispered, turning my eyes down. It didn’t change the way he felt about me, and it didn’t change the way I felt about him. One measly little detail as to who created a letter didn’t change anything.
“What do you mean, none of that matters?” he asked, and from the escalated anger and bewilderment in his voice, it only coaxed my eyes further down.
I braced myself before confessing what I knew I had to . . . so there would be no regrets later. I stood up from the chair to make my admission, the substance of it making it impossible to reveal from a seated position. “Because I’m here with you now,” I said, looking hard into his eyes.
His breath caught. “Are you saying—that after everything I’ve done to you—you still care for me?”
I nodded my head, feeling the tears returning. “From the very first time I saw you, I cared for you in a way that terrified me . . . in a way that still terrifies me.”
“Still terrifies you?” he asked, taking a step towards me.
I nodded.
“I left you without an explanation, Bryn,” he shouted, charging to the front of the deck and gripping the steel rail with force. “You almost died because I got to you nearly too late. I changed you because I was selfish and couldn’t stand the thought of you not existing in some way—”
“Stop it, William, right now. There’s nothing you can say, or do, to change the fact that I do . . . and always will care for you.”
His face changed then—it surged from darkest night to mid-day sun. He looked at me for one long second, before taking several hesitant steps toward me. He paused and turned away, looking undecided, but when he turned back to me and his eyes met mine with an emotion that incapacitated me—I had my answer.
He crossed the space between us, never dropping his eyes from mine. Taking the final step, his arms secured around my waist and he drew me against him. My body flashed with the current surging through me having him so near.
“I know I told you that our first date was the best day I’d ever had, but I’m afraid today has taken its spot,” he said, somehow managing to pull me closer to him.
“Why?” I whispered, my throat tight from the hope that was becoming more convincing with each passing second.
“Because—against my deepest fears—you’ve just admitted to me that you still care for me,” he whispered, reaching his hand up and melding it against my cheek. “As I do you.”
“Come again?” I whispered.
He let his hand fall from my face to grab one of my hands. He lifted it to his chest and placed it over his heart. “Feel this.”
I did—it was the most wonderful thing I’d ever felt.
“I’ve lived every heartbeat caring for you since I first saw you,” he said.
“You want me?” I repeated, my bewilderment not abating, but growing.
“I’ve never wanted anything more.”
He took my face in his hands, and summoned it up until his lips rested over mine. Before my body could react, he removed his lips, and I was greeted with the face that was glowing with the intensity I remembered.
He polished over my bottom lip with his finger and I tried to let the moment catch up to me. William still wanted me. Whatever events had taken place to convince me otherwise, here he was before me, admitting it with his words and his body.
I didn’t make a conscious decision, but very suddenly, my lips found their way back to his. I pulled him close, and he pulled me even closer—as if we were trying to make up for the time we’d lost during our separation.