I lowered my eyes. “You know I can’t care for you that way.”
“Why?” he said instantly, glaring at the necklace that had bounced its way out of my coat. “Because of him? Because of that loser who was nothing but wrong for you?”
I tried to pretend Paul’s words weren’t cutting me like a knife. I doubted I was doing a good job of it.
“He had his chance and screwed it up. Time to wake up and smell the heartache, Bryn. He’s not coming for you. Move on.”
“I don’t want to talk about this,” I said, my lips trembling.
Paul snorted. “Of course you don’t,” he said, walking away from me backwards. “Looks like I’m not the only one who’s been dodging serious chats.” He spun around, heading towards the car. “Do me a favor, will ya? Don’t bring up my crap again until you’re ready to talk about yours.”
I exhaled, dreading the hour drive home. Paul was right about one thing—the grocery store would have been a better idea—at least in terms of the duration of awkward silence that would follow.
I fished out the car keys, heading towards William’s SUV and the man who—had fate not thrown me a curveball in the form of an ink-haired man who was godlike in every sense of the word—could have been the man I fell in love with.
The drive home was unbearable. Paul’s mouth stayed shut, clamped shut, but I could feel the fuming he kept bottled inside like it was about to burst. Time had never gone so slow. My shoulders fell in relief when we pulled in the garage. I heaved the door open, eager to be free of the emotions stifling the car’s interior. Paul’s hand closed around my wrist, pulling me back down into the driver’s seat. “So, I don’t want to have any regrets and if I go in the next few hours, I’ll have to carry around the guilt of being mean to you for all eternity. Not the way I want to spend my time in the hereafter. No, thank you.”
I tried pulling away from him. I couldn’t take any more of his jokes or sarcasm or his twisted sense of humor. He was dying, not getting an appendix out.
“I’m sorry my attitude towards my advancement to six feet under upsets you. I don’t expect it to be the way you would handle it, or anyone else would, but humor is what’s keeping me from going off the deep-end. You know, that deep-end that reduces men to thick, black eye-liner and crappy, just-shoot-me-now music?” He laughed tightly. “Now that’s enough to kill someone.”
I squeezed the bridge of my nose and inhaled. “Okay. I can accept that. But I can’t accept that you won’t go to a hospital or a doctor or something. You’ve got to fight, Paul,” I said, almost a shout. “It’s like you’ve just given up on your life and are letting the runway lights to the pearly gates come at you without even trying to put the brakes on.”
“I have done all those things and there isn’t anything else that can be done. I don’t want to spend my last days strapped to a dozen beeping contraptions in a hospital bed with my arse hanging out of a nightgown.” He smiled at me from the side. “As much as you’d like that, I’m sure.”
“I would like that,” I said. “Minus your . . . arse hanging out. You need to be in a hospital. I don’t know the first thing about anything medical, I can’t even read a thermometer properly. I can’t take care of you the way you need to be.” As I said it, I knew there were two ways this was true.
“You already take care of me,” he said, twining his fingers through mine. “Just by being here. And besides, I am fighting, despite what you think. I’m just fighting for something else.”
“How’s that going for you?” I asked, huffing in my seat.
He grinned one of those ear-to-ear ones. “Kind of a losing battle right now, but that’s alright, I’m up to the challenge.”
I so did not want to have this conversation right now. Not that I could imagine ever wanting to have this talk with him . . . “Paul—”
“So how about that dinner you’ve been promising me all day?” he said, popping out of the car. “I need a nap before we talk anymore about death, pathetic ex-boyfriends, and losing battles. Okay with you?”
“Greatwith me,” I said under my breath.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
BLACK HOLE
I’d taken the motorcycle tonight. For a couple of reasons. Mainly because William’s scent clung to the SUV in such a way he could have been curled up in the back waiting for me, but also because I wanted—I needed—to feel careless. To feel free and alive and to feel my age. To give myself over to being twenty and doing something reckless for no other reason than, Why not?
The road snaked around the terrain outside of Munich like the roads had been laid down for no other reason than cruising them at a hundred miles per hour. The air cut my face—yes, careless included wearing no helmet—and whistled through my ears and that instinct that was fast becoming addictive took over. It was only in these moments where my Immortal body was on autopilot that I was able to forget about him, forget about everything but the task at hand. It was a piece of heaven I hadn’t expected to find in this new phase of life, but I’d take it, no questions asked.
I screeched the bike to a stop at the pub Patrick had told me to meet him. When he’d appeared smack in the middle of the trail while I was out running yesterday, my first instinct was to throw my arms around him. After the other day, I never thought I’d see him again. I’d held back the hug when he crossed his arms tighter, basically ordering me to meet him here tonight because we needed to talk. His mouth closing around the last word, he disappeared, leaving me alone and reeling. I’d come up with a myriad of logical reasons we could be meeting tonight, but from experience, logical was something Patrick was not. I had no idea what I’d find waiting for me.
I could hear the music playing within, mixed with the roar of conversations that were more laughter than talk, streaming from the Bavarian style pub. The beveled windows threw the yellow light glowing within like prisms. It was inviting in the friendliest of ways. I would have gone inside if I’d been walking by, even if it wasn’t where I was supposed to meet someone.
I pocketed the keys to the bike and jogged across the street, dodging a couple of dwarf-sized cars by mere inches in the process. I was already throwing open the door when their horns blew. The noise that a couple of licensed clown cars were able to generate was unexpected. The screaming duo of horns roared through the open door, announcing my arrival to every diner in the pub. Not a single exception.
I froze mid-stride. “Guten tag?” I said, waving my hand unsurely.
To my relief, everyone went right back to sipping from their beer steins or tearing off pieces of their salted pretzels. Germany was my kind of country; best friend to wallflowers around the world.
Only two sets of eyes stayed on me, although I’d only expected to be meeting one tonight. They’d selected the table in the back corner, away from the noise and masses. How inconspicuous.
“You certainly know how to make an entrance,” Patrick said, whistling through his teeth. “And if I might say, you make holey jeans and a bomber jacket look good.”
I rolled my eyes and slid into the booth. “Hector,” I said formally, “nice to see you.” He made a motion with his head. “Patrick,” I said, more sneer than welcome, “always a pleasure.”
He crossed his arms, chuckling. “You’ll have to excuse us, Hector. Bryn and I have what one would call a love-hate relationship. Although as of late, it’s been tipped to the latter.”
Hector exhaled. “I believe that goes without saying.” He looked over at me, his face telling that he wasn’t going to put up with Patrick and me bantering the night away. “Excuse me for getting right to the heart of the matter, but with a gift such as yours, we don’t have the luxury of time.”
I scanned the room, ascertaining there was no one within eavesdropping distance. Even if someone would have been close enough to hear us, I doubted if there was anything but the pilsner and polka-esque music that could detour the patron’s attention.
Patrick cleared his throat. “I asked Hector to come tonight so we could come up with the best course of training to take with you. I’m not an experienced talent trainer and even those that are have never had the . . . privilege”—his jaw clenched around the word—“of working with an Immortal with a gift such as yours.”
“So I’m an Immortal abnormality is what you’re saying?” I asked, sounding more sad that confrontational.
Hector broke in before Patrick could unleash his response. “We’re in unchartered territory is what we’re saying. That’s all. You were given this gift for a reason, nothing is by accident, so along with that, I’m certain there is a way to train it. A way to harness it,” Hector continued, more to himself.
“You think there’s a way for me to control . . . it?” I asked, leaning towards him. It didn’t seem possible given I didn’t have the first clue about how it worked.
Hector paused, long enough for my shoulders to slump. “I do, it’s just complicated. It’s going to be difficult. Extremely difficult,” he said, his brows furrowing together. “Both you and Patrick will likely face death to get a full handle on it, but I have faith the two of you are up to the task. If anyone’s chomping at the bit to punch death in the face, it’s Patrick Hayward.”
Patrick motioned to his empty glass at the waitress that looked like she’d been the inspiration for the Bavarian barmaid depiction. “On that note, I think another root beer is in order.” He glanced over at me appraising his empty pint glass. “Don’t look so surprised. I’m not the irresponsible, wild Hayward brother you think I am.”
“Prove it,” I mumbled, crossing my arms.
“That’s enough. Both of you,” Hector said, his voice booming. “You’ve both got an unfathomable task before you and it’s going to be over before the word go if you can’t figure out a way to set William aside and get over it.”
I felt something inside me twist when he said William’s name.
“You’re both going to wind up dead if you don’t work together.” Hector took a long drink of his water—probably in an attempt to cool down. When it ran empty, he set it down and looked pointedly at Patrick, and then me. “I don’t like to pull rank, but given I see no other solution with you two, I have no choice. As a member of your Council, I command you two to get along and let bygones by bygones. You’re on the same side, fighting the same fight. Don’t forget it.”
The waitress dropped Patrick’s frothy rootbeer in front of him, giving him a smile that needed no translation, before moving onto the next table. “Thanks for the pep talk, Hector,” Patrick jested. “I feel inspired to go for the gold, now. Thanks, coach.”
“Don’t force me to command you to keep your mouth shut, too,” Hector said, his eyes taunting him. “Because I will in a snap. Promise.”