I lost track of time after that. I worked for so long that my gloves got caked in soil, the fingertips blackened, as if I’d burned them in a pile of soot. When I ran out of pots, and all the other plants in the loft had been tended to, I turned my attention to the recycle bin full of empty liquor bottles. Hadn’t Damon mentioned making a bottle planter recently?
A smile spread across my face—I knew for a fact that I’d find a glass cutter in Emma’s crafting corner. I launched into movement. Seconds later, I found the cutter without any difficulty. Perfect. I didn’t hesitate to lose myself all over again, singing along to The Killers.
Outside, the sky began to darken, light blue sinking into a deep periwinkle. But the loft was bright and warm, filled with sound, and I felt something extremely close to contentment. The feeling only heightened when I changed into a ratty shirt and some boxer shorts. On stockinged feet, I glided across the floor and returned to the bottles. It had been a long time since I’d had such a beautifully mundane day, and the simplicity of my task made something inside of me begin to stitch shut. A wound, closing, healing into a scar. I felt a faint, involuntary smile touch my lips as I worked, and I even started to sway in time to the music.
An hour or so into my new project, I finally raised my head at the sound of knocking.
Oh, shit. What if it was Sheriff O’Connell? I froze with my hands holding a bottle and the glass cutter. The knock came again, confirming that I hadn’t been hearing things.
My first instinct was to pretend I wasn’t home. But I’d been singing, and music was still playing—the man undoubtedly knew I was here. On the off chance he hadn’t heard me, however, I would much rather avoid seeing the ol’ sheriff until I knew how to answer his questions. Moving slowly, carefully, I set the bottle and glass cutter down on the counter. I held my breath as I reached for my phone, fingers shaking with urgency. The sheriff was going to call me. Any second now, my phone would ring and he’d definitely know I was hiding in here. I managed to set it to silent on time and exhaled faintly, my shoulders slumping.
Then a familiar voice said through the wood, “I know you’re there, Fortuna.”
Relief blazed through me. Letting out a pent-up breath, I rushed to open the door, eager to confirm that it wasn’t the sheriff on the other side. Just as I’d hoped, Collith stood in the shadowed stairwell.
“Never thought I’d be happy to see you again,” I said by way of greeting. But the faerie didn’t answer. I tilted my head questioningly, and still, he remained silent. That was when I really looked at him.
It was obvious Collith hadn’t slept well last night, and several of the nights preceding it—there were slight smudges beneath his eyes, and his hair was tousled. He hadn’t shaved in a few days, either. Our gazes met at last, and in an instant, I understood what was happening. Collith was in this state because of me. Driven here by guilt or longing, maybe both. His eyes shone with torment, and I knew that, were I to attack him again, my ex wouldn’t lift a finger to defend himself. That if I cut him down right now, with words or with a literal sword, he’d let it happen. He’d absorb each blow as if it was exactly what he deserved.
And as I stared up at him, I realized that I couldn’t punish Collith harder than he was already punishing himself.
I left the door open, turned, and walked away, leaving the choice up to him whether he wanted to come in. After I’d paused the music, I resumed scraping a layer of soil over a seed, careful to avoid the edges of newly-cut glass.
“Were you injured?” Collith’s voice was soft, but I still jumped.
He was looking at my arm, where the Mark I’d gotten from Nicky was on full display. Oh, I thought. During the confrontation with Belanor, I’d been wearing long sleeves. “Yeah. It’s a long story,” I said.
One that I didn’t feel like telling. It must’ve been obvious, because Collith’s attention moved to the mess I’d made. “What are you doing?”
Clearing my throat, I set the bottle on the opposite side of the counter, where the other finished ones were clustered. “Drinking myself into a stupor was stressful for Emma, so I’m trying to find other ways to keep my mind occupied. Damon used to find comfort in gardening, so…” I shrugged.
“I can relate,” Collith commented, drawing closer. He stopped at the edge of the counter, standing to my right.
His words sparked a memory, and I faltered as I remembered the dream we’d shared. In my mind’s eye, I saw the fountain and the cobblestone path. I could smell the roses again, their subtle fragrance wafting past on a warm breeze. “That’s right… I’ve been to your garden,” I said faintly. “God, Damon would lose his mind if he saw it.”
“Perhaps…” Collith hesitated. “Perhaps I could take him there sometime. Once everything is in bloom again.”
I’d started filling another bottle with soil, and Collith’s words sent a burst of warmth through me. To hide it, I pretended to be completely absorbed by the movements of my hands. I reached for another fistful of dirt and used the pause to consider my response carefully. The bag crinkled, a stark sound now that I’d turned off the music. Eventually I said, my voice soft and hesitant, “Well, if you do, make sure to bring Matt along, too. He’d love seeing all those flowers.”
“I wouldn’t dream of leaving him behind.” Collith watched me for another moment, his expression fathomless. It still revealed nothing when he murmured, “Would you care for some company?”
I didn’t answer—anything I said would feel like a lie, because I didn’t know how I felt about Collith anymore. Somewhere between the alleyway outside the club and the battle with Belanor, I’d lost that hot anger I had been carrying around with me, smoldering in my chest like a coal. It didn’t mean everything was forgiven and forgotten, though. Nothing would ever heal the burns.
“Why do you keep coming back?” I demanded, digging a hole so roughly that clumps of soil dropped onto the counter.
Slowly, Collith gripped the edge of the chair closest to me. His eyes darkened as he struggled with something. After a few seconds, his mouth tightened as if he’d come to a decision. Collith lifted his head and looked at me again, but this time, he didn’t flinch. “Do you recall what you said to me, once, about why you were so determined to save Damon?”
I was going to shake my head when I found it—the memory Collith was talking about. I saw the two of us surrounded by the earthen walls of an underground room. I’d been about to leave for the first trial, so I wore a tank top and tennis shoes. Laurie stood nearby, as he so often did, while Collith and I discussed the true meaning of love.
They don’t come along often. Those people who truly know you, who’ve seen the beautiful parts of you and the ugly ones, too, and stay anyway. Sometimes it’s a romantic partner. Maybe it’s a friend. But usually they come in the form of family. A parent, an aunt, a grandfather.
A brother.
And wouldn’t you do anything to protect a person like that? To keep them in your life?
I refocused on Collith, painfully aware that my cheeks were flushed. His implication was clear, even to someone as stubborn as me. My heart peered through a crack in the barrier I’d erected… right before fear boarded it shut again.