“Thank you. For driving me. I’ll give you money for a cab, or just take my car. I’ll pick it up tomorrow.”
“Think I’ll steal your car. It rocks.” Jedrik flashed a dazzling grin.
I smiled. “You’re an okay guy despite the annoying habit of sharing food across the table.”
“Too forward?” Jedrik grinned.
“Disgusting when you’re talking mashed potatoes. Stick to desserts.”
Jedrik chuckled. “Advice taken.” He turned down Bathurst Street and shifted into third gear. “Wanna talk about it?”
Did I? Maybe I needed to talk to someone about the flashes of memories. Someone like Jedrik, who was . . . easygoing. Anstice avoided the subject as if it was a disease, and the therapist had been way too intense for me.
“Manacles, maybe handcuffs, I don’t know which. I remember the sound of them clicking closed.” I rubbed my wrists. “Certain sounds or smells give me flashes. Like clips of a movie . . . I feel like I’m back there again.” I put my hand on my throat. “I had puncture marks on my neck, but the doctors don’t know what caused them. You know, sometimes I thank God I can’t remember exactly what happened.” I paused, rubbing my hands up and down my thighs. “But I think it’s worse. How can I get over something when I don’t know what that something is? Doctors, nurses, the police . . . they’re all guessing, but the guy has never been caught and I can’t remember shit. It’s frustrating.” I sighed, briefly closing my eyes. “It’s like a blanket is smothering me all the time until a memory flashes. Then the blanket is whipped off and I’m wrapped in fear. I think the only way to get over this is to remember.”
He shifted into second gear; the corners of his lips pursed together. He pulled up in front of my art gallery on Queen Street and put on the parking brake before turning toward me. “I won’t try to give advice that’s a bunch of bullshit. But I’m a first-rate listener and damn good at being there when you need someone. Maybe that’s what you need. Just someone to vent to.” He smirked. “And I’m one hot guy to hang with.”
I rolled my eyes. “Don’t be modest or anything.” He shrugged. “Try to keep my car on all fours. I’ve already had three speeding tickets this year.”
I went to get out of the car when Jedrik snagged my sleeve. “Hey, you need company tonight? I like the couch.”
“No. But thanks. As soon as my head hits the pillow, I’ll be out like a light.”
“So Tuesday? Pool, beer, and wings?” Jedrik called out before I slammed the door.
“Yeah, sure.”
Jedrik waited until I was inside before he drove away. I closed and locked the door, then tossed my jacket and purse on the hook.
Solitude. No sounds. No smells.
I pressed my fingers to my temple as a wave of pain hit my head. Nice. Another night of debilitating throbbing. Headaches were a common occurrence after a flashback and Advil had become my best friend.
“Little one.”
My stomach dropped as the familiar voice broke through the quiet. God, that sounded real. Now I was dreaming while awake.
I slid down the length of the door until my butt hit the floor and pulled my knees up to my chest, wrapping my arms around them. I was officially going crazy and needed medication—lots of it.
“Jesus, Danni.”
“Holy shit.” That was real. I know it was. I raised my head, eyes scanning the darkened gallery. Someone was here. He was here. He said my name.
I scrambled to my feet and slid my arm along the wall searching for the light switch while I kept my gaze fixed forward to where the voice came from.
I sensed him, heard him breathe in and out, tasted his scent on the tip of my tongue—earth.
But nothing prepared me for the shadow moving across the room. Paralysis was possible when completely freaked out and my legs refused to listen to my mind telling me to run like hell.
Steady footsteps strode across the hardwood floor. He was still hidden by the darkness of the gallery, but I knew it was him. The guy with the eyes that drooped in the corners, lashes curving upward at the tips to give the impression of gentleness. The green surrounding the black pupil bold and bright, a mixture of lime and the greenest leaves in the middle of the rainforest.
If I closed my eyes, I could see inside them, the haunting rage and sorrow churning together to emit an unrestrained expression. He existed inside me, a part of the blood that rushed like a river through every vein, every vessel.
He stepped into the moonlight that glistened through the front window. I gasped as those vivid green eyes penetrated me with intensity. My heart skipped a beat and then . . . then it was an overwhelming relief that draped across my mind. It was a comfort I hadn’t experienced in two years.
My arm dropped to my side, lights forgotten, as I stared at the man from my paintings. He stopped a few steps in front of me, his over six-foot height and broad muscled shoulders like a barricade preventing me from any thought of escape. But I wouldn’t escape. No, I’d been desperate for answers about this man for two long, tortured years.
“Who are you?” I licked my lips to moisten the dryness and his eyes followed the movement.
My insides coiled like a jack-in-the-box ready to spring free with a mixture of anticipation and nervousness, uncertain whether he was going to leap on me and shred me to bits, or take me in his arms and soothe away all the hurt with a single touch. I prayed for the latter, but I doubted this guy had any sweetness in his mind right now. His eyes were hard and unyielding yet . . . yet there was a hint of haunted anguish.