Chapters (42)
- TITLE PAGE
- COPYRIGHT PAGE
- DEDICATION PAGE
- CONTENTS
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
- ABOUT THE AUTHOR
“Don’t lie to me, Lela. I heard you. I felt you. And—” He closed his eyes and raked his hand through his short hair. “I scared myself, too. Sometimes the things I feel for you are so … big. I’m not used to that. Over the past seventy years, I’ve become very good at feeling nothing at all.”
“I don’t believe that,” I rasped. “You loved Takeshi. And Ana.”
He nodded. “But this is different. You are different. And I don’t know how to do this. I’m trying very hard, but sometimes—”
“I’m sorry I’m so complicated.”
He let out a huff of laughter. “I’m sorry I’m so inept. Most of me wants to protect you. From everything. I hope you know that.”
I took in the stark lines of his face while my heart beat triple time. “And what does the rest of you want?”
He raised his head, and his eyes looked nearly black. With every muscle taut, he studied me. “The rest of me—”
My phone buzzed, and Malachi’s mouth snapped shut. He rose to his feet as I pulled it from my pocket. Tegan, of course. Texting to find out if we’d bring her coffee.
I looked up from the screen to see Malachi striding for the stairs. “Hey, wait!”
He didn’t stop walking. Instead, he said over his shoulder, “I have to shower so that we can go. We can talk later?”
“Okay,” I whispered, hating Tegan and her caffeine addiction with the fire of a thousand suns as I watched Malachi flee up the stairs.
SEVEN
SEVEN
THE SOUP KITCHEN WAS just north of that gas station where we’d chased the Mazikin. The streets were lined with duplexes—these enormous, dilapidated houses with big porches and balconies, all sagging wood and peeling paint. Decayed leaves had collected in piles at the bases of spindly trees. Wobbly chain-link fences enclosed tiny, cluttered yards full of children’s toys, the bright colors fading to pastels after a long winter of snow and thaw.
For the umpteenth time since we’d picked her up, Tegan sighed from the passenger seat. I glanced over at her, forcing myself not to comment on her outfit of ripped jeans and an old flannel shirt that screamed trying too hard. From the neck up she looked expensive as always: flawless makeup, perfect highlights, tiny diamond studs in her ears.
“Are you going to tell me what’s up?” I asked.
“Aden’s not coming. He texted me this morning to say he’d been out late and was going to crash. It’s fine. I think I’m done with him.”
I was relieved to hear Ian had gotten him home safely but realized that was probably not what Tegan wanted to hear. “That sucks. Are you all right about it?”