“You’ve seemed a little . . . off since this morning,” he says. He doesn’t add “since I said I love you,” but I know he’s thinking it. I look down at my hands, wring them together. My mouth is so dry it’s like someone jammed an entire package of cotton balls down my throat.
“Erik . . .” My voice trails off, weak and quiet.
“Yeah?” He gives me a squeeze, then leans back again, relaxes against the couch.
I relish that I finally have a little room to breathe. “Do you ever feel like . . . like maybe there should be something more?”
The air turns heavy, the silence deafening. I imagine him staring at the back of my head, blinking over and over.
“More than what?”
I twist the blue bracelet in circles around my wrist. “I don’t know. Like . . . like this should be . . . deeper or something.” I twist around to look him in the eye. “Like . . . chemistry. Some deeper pull, or desire, or . . . something.”
Jeez, I’m butchering this.
I shift around, trying to get comfortable, but there’s no position that makes this any easier. And it doesn’t matter anyway. Wherever I go, I can feel his eyes boring into my skin.
“Is this about seeing Cole with Nikki at the dance?”
“What? No. I mean ... not really. I don’t know.” I slide away from him and sit on the other side of the couch. I need to see him, to face him directly so that I don’t have to guess as at his expression. “Doesn’t it kind of feel like we’re trying too hard here? Would you even care about me at all if I weren’t a siren?”
His lips part, his eyes flaring a bit. “What? Of course I would. I told you . . . I love you. It’s not about you being a siren.” He sits back and looks away for a second, out at the beach through the big picture window. Then he looks back at me just as quickly. “Is that what you’re worried about? That I don’t care about you? Or that I only do because of what you are?”
“Well . . . yeah. I just don’t know if this is real, you know? Or if we’re just forcing it.”
Erik slides over on the couch, making up the distance between us. He takes my hands in his. “I promise you, this is all very real to me. You’re . . .
I let out a long breath of air through my lips, then look up at him, into the dark blue eyes that remind me so much of what’s in the mirror. “I just feel like I need to know you. As a person not as . . . a nix.”
He nods. “Of course.”
“Do you think . . . do you think maybe we could slow this all down?”
His eyebrows furrow. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, this all happened so fast, and I can’t keep up because we are together so much and everything is constantly changing. I just need time to process it. I just want a few nights to go back to my swimming and hanging with my Grandma and let everything just ... settle in, you know? I just feel really out of sorts, and I need time to adjust.” My voice has a hint of a quiver in it. I don’t even know why I’m doing this, what I want. Guilt pools in my stomach when I see his stricken expression.
He reaches out and grasps my hand. “Are you sure? My eighteenth is coming up, and how will you fall for me in time if we’re not together? I can’t kill someone, Lexi. I
He’s squeezing my hand too hard. I pull it away, and then I stand. “Please. Just a couple days, okay? Let me adjust to this. I’m not leaving you, I swear.”
He stands, but I put out a hand, and he reluctantly sits back down. “Two days?”
I nod, the lump growing in my throat.
“Okay,” he says. “I can handle two days. But my birthday is barely a week away. I can’t give you much longer.”
“Thank you,” I say. I lean forward, brush my lips against his. He grabs my cheek with one hand, his fingers curving behind my head, and pulls me closer, until our kiss lingers so long I’m out of breath.
I pull away from him, the taste of him lingering on my lips. “I’ll be back in a couple of days,” I say.
“Until then,” he says. I nod, and then leave him sitting there on the couch, surrounded by the ocean’s scent.
Chapter Thirty
That night, I park my car in the usual spot, noticing the Jeep parked next to a tree.
It’s Erik’s. He’s sitting in the driver’s seat of his darkened car, watching me. Shadows hang over his eyes, making them impossible to see.
He matches my stare, and I sit, teeth gritted, hands gripping the wheel so hard it’s painful. Long moments tick past as we look at each other, neither of us moving. What is he doing here? He was supposed to give me space. I know he was scared, but it’s just two days. I wasn’t leaving him. I just wanted a little time to think.
I watch him through the shadows as he unbuckles his seat belt. I don’t get out of the car as he slides out of his bucket seat and walks to my door. I unroll the window.
“Hi,” he says, looking sheepish.
“Why are you here?” My voice comes out a little angry. I lower it. “I thought you were going to give me a couple of days.”
He looks down at the key ring dangling from a finger. “I know, but I just got a little worried you were pulling away.”
“Erik. Seriously. I need some space.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.” It’s hard not to shout it.
“Okay, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to come up here, but before I knew it I was driving up the gravel road.”
I set a hand on his. “Please. Just give me a couple of days. I swear it will all work out. Okay?”
“Sure.” He leans in and gives me a long, lingering kiss, and I feel my body react to it. As he walks away, I can’t help but wonder if that’s what he intended. If maybe he thought the kiss would make me change my mind, want him to stay with me. I sit in my car and watch him back up. I don’t move until his headlights have disappeared down the gravel road.
In fact, I don’t move for a long time, my eyes fixated on the spot where I last saw his red taillights glow.
Erik is taking this all really hard. I get it, I do, but I don’t like it.
I finally unsnap my seat belt and get out of the car. It’s colder than I realized. I reach back into my Toyota and grab a black quilted jacket with a fur-lined hood. Then I put it on and zip it up to my chin. I shove my hands in the pockets and walk to the tree line, entering the shadowed darkness under the canopy. My sneakers sink in the thick pine-needle walkway, and the ferns I brush up against dampen my jeans. I take in several deep breaths through my nose, relishing the sweet smell of the damp forest.
I walk slowly today, in no hurry to get to the lake. The urge to sing is building, bubbling up to the surface as I make the trek through the woods.
The hunger for the water is just as strong as it’s ever been.
The darkness seems thicker than usual somehow. Like the misting rain and the velvet sky have melded together into a big blanket. By the time I step into the clearing beside the lake, the urge to sing has grown enough that I shiver in anticipation.
I shed my clothing and step into the familiar waters, quickly diving under the surface. I stay underwater even longer than normal, until my lungs scream for oxygen. The icy water wraps around my skin, but I don’t feel cold. I feel as though I’m sitting in a warm bath, every muscle relaxing in the water.
I finally come up for air, and my face barely breaks the surface when the song bursts free, my voice loud and clear as I let loose with a melody more haunting than the one that I’ve sung every night these last few weeks.
I’m only a half lap in when the song dies, and something doesn’t feel right.
