I was nearing my eruption point, thankfully not that eruption point, but it wasn’t all due to Patrick and what he’d lied about. He’d only lied to protect William and I couldn’t fault him in this, as mangled as his delivery had been. However, I was beyond anxious no one seemed to know where William was. Given the recent events—that being John Townsend’s bloodhounds on the sniff for Haywards—that wasn’t a good thing.
Patrick shrugged. “I don’t know. He said he needed some time away. It seems him finding you making out with your boyfriend sent him over the edge.”
“What boyfriend?” Paul hollered, bursting to a stand.
“He’s talking about you,” I said, squeezing the bridge of my nose. There was so much to explain and I didn’t have the six months time it would take to give a full disclosure.
“Me?” Paul’s voice sounded a few octaves higher.
“I understand, given her track record, I should use a first and last name—maybe even the last four digits of their social security number—when I’m making a reference to one of her boyfriends,” Patrick said, undoing the top button of the dress shirt he’d changed into, “given the multitude of them out there, but in this case, I was referring to you when I said boyfriend.” Patrick smirked at Paul; Paul stared at Patrick.
“You’ve got the wrong man, bud,” Paul said finally. “Although it isn’t for lack of trying. Isn’t that right, Bryn?” All eyes in the room shifted to me, waiting for an explanation, but I wasn’t sure where to begin.
I decided to let the eyes that were narrowed the most severely on me get me started. “Paul isn’t my boyfriend. Not now, not then, not ever,” I said, letting some of my pent up annoyance with the new Immortal seep through.
“You told me there was someone else,” Patrick said through his teeth, “that night at the airport. You said you were leaving William because of someone else.”
“I had to tell you that or else I knew you’d hog tie me and hold me hostage until William woke up,” I said, biting at my lip. “And I knew once he was awake and assuring me that everything was fine, I couldn’t go through with it.”
Patrick looked me over, up and down, not so much intentionally, but like he wanted to ascertain if the woman before him was me. “You lied to me?”
“I had to. I knew that’s the only way you’d let me go,” I whispered. “And I couldn’t live with myself if I hurt him again.”
Patrick snorted. “So you thought by leaving him behind, letting him think you’d left him for this loser”—he motioned at Paul, but flashed him an apologetic look—“that you wouldn’t hurt him?”
“No, I knew leaving him would hurt for awhile,” I said. “But I really thought he’d be able to move on one day—find someone else—forget about me—”
“Yeah, that sounds like William,” Nathanial said, sarcasm making its debut appearance since I’d known him.
“And when you told me he had found someone else, I was happy, well, I was devastated, but you know what I mean,”—Patrick lifted a brow, looking indifferent—“but then as I started to master my gift and knew I wouldn’t kill him, I wanted to come back. The only thing keeping me away was this other woman, but since I know you were just lying to me about this, that changes everything.”
“That changes nothing,” Patrick said. “It doesn’t change that you left him and let him believe you left him for someone else.”
“No, it doesn’t change that. I know I went about this all wrong. I know I hurt him, but that’s only because I was scared I would wind up killing him, but I know now that whether we’re together or apart, we’re going to have death nipping at our heels.” I met Patrick’s eyes. “I’m going to quote a wise man by saying, we can survive alone or we can live together. I know which one I’ve chosen, I’m not going to run away from it anymore. I don’t know what he’ll choose after everything, but I’m going to find out.” I scanned the room; Joseph and Cora were smiling, Nathanial and Abigail were considering, Patrick was scowling, and Paul was . . . ready to erupt.
“Hold up a minute,” Paul shouted, rising and slamming his hands down on the table. “So you just used me as your pretend boyfriend?” The turquoise color of his eyes had changed, but they could still narrow with the same degree of accusation as they had before. “Did you plan our so-called ‘coincidental’ run-in back in Paris?”
“No,” I shouted back at him. “Of course not. I had no idea you were in Paris, but after the events leading up to us leaving that night, I knew I couldn’t let you out of my sight. When this guy arrived”—I tilted my head to Patrick—“I knew what conclusion he’d arrive at.”
“That I was your boyfriend,” Paul said.
I shrugged, gnawing at my lower lip. “Yeah.”
“So the only reason you kept me around was that I was a convenient ruse in the tall tale you told everyone. The whole time, you were thinking of him, wishing I was him,” Paul said, his voice tight.
“No, that’s not the only reason,” I said, hearing my own voice tighten. “I care about you, Paul.” I saw him ready his mouth to object. “Let me define—specifically—what I mean by ‘care’ about you. For the second time,” I said, garnering the desired effect. His mouth clamped shut. “You are my friend, as in: let’s hang out, let’s go get coffee, let’s high-five and play punch each other. I don’t mean friend, as in: let’s spend the rest of our lives together, let’s share a milk-shake from the same straw, let’s make-out.” I crossed my arms, drilling holes into him. “Emphasis on, let’s not make-out. Or force your lips on the other’s why they lay helplessly beneath you.”
Paul’s face reddened. “About that . . . I feel like an apology’s in order, but since I don’t actually regret doing it, an apology seems kind of forced. I wish I could say I didn’t feel anything from that kiss, but I did.” He looked away from me, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I guess I just had to see if you felt the same way. Considering your lips were about as welcoming as a clam, I guess you could say I figured out my position on the Bryn totem pole.”
I swallowed, wishing I could carve out that soft spot I had in my heart for Paul. As infuriating as he could be, there was something so raw and likeable about him. I couldn’t stay mad at him. “I’m sorry for everything, Paul. I really didn’t want to hurt you,”—I looked down, neither of us able to look at one another—“although I knew I probably would.”
“Forget about it,” he said, sniffing. “I let myself get carried away with it all, even though I knew you likely didn’t feel the same way. Would never feel the same way. Deep down I knew you’d always have it bad for that chump.”
“That chump is the one that saved your life,” Patrick snapped, glowering at Paul.
Paul’s face did the confusion thing. “What are you talking about, goldilocks?”
“What did you think happened?” Patrick asked, shaking his head. “You had a little fairy dust sprinkled on you and voila, you’re an Immortal?”
I wasn’t sure who was looking at the other with more doubt, but it lasted a while before Paul was able to collect his thoughts. “Since we’ve been a little preoccupied, I hadn’t given it a whole lot of thought yet.” His words were sharp and Patrick looked ready to snap back with the same edge before Joseph broke through the tension.
“Looks like someone needs to get enrolled in class.” Joseph smiled, raising his brows between Cora and me, waiting for us to join him in his tension diffusing mission. He was on his own.
“Better put genius here in base level moron,” Patrick said, having the courtesy to say it under his breath.
Paul’s eyes narrowed, but more out of confusion than anger. “Why did he do it? He can’t stand me almost as I can’t stand him.”
Patrick looked up, eyes like lasers penetrating me. “He did it for her.”
Paul’s face jumped up a few levels on the perplexed scale, before a light-bulb clicked on. “Because he thought I was your boyfriend,” he said, looking at me, not waiting for a confirmation, or maybe not needing one. “He’s a saint and I hate him. What am I supposed to do with that?” He turned away from us, moving towards a window, lost in his thoughts.
“This is all so very touching,” Patrick interrupted. “My heart is feeling all mushy-gushy after that pathetic make-up, break-up. . . whatever that was.”
“Oh, shut it, Patrick.”
I had to turn my head, close my eyes, and reopen them twice before I could believe who’d said it. Abigail was standing to the side of Nathanial, arms crossed and eyes slanted at Patrick.
You’d have thought Abigail had just swung a two by four at his head from the way he was looking at her. I’m sure my expression wasn’t far from that either, but Patrick recovered, a devilish grin taking over. “It looks like a bit of Bryn has rubbed off on you, too, Abby. It seems this whole family has a bad case of Bryn-fever.”
Abigail slid her hands down her dress, recomposing herself. “Well, you can’t thoroughly appreciate a prim and proper woman unless she raises a little hell every decade or two.”
Nathanial rung his arm around her waist, looking proud.
Abigail had achieved in one sentence what I wouldn’t have been able to accomplish in a decade. Patrick’s face was recomposed, like everything made sense now. “You love him?”
“So much I’ve become a complete idiot,” I said, nodding. “Obviously.”
“You always have?” Still the composed expression.
“Yes.”
“You always will?”
“Yes,” I vowed. “Forever.”
He studied my face, maybe looking for any sign that would prove my answers false. I wasn’t worried though, I knew he’d find nothing. There wasn’t a molecule of my make-up that wasn’t entirely devoted to William.
A smile cracked through, genuine and wide. “Well, what are you still doing here?” he asked, shrugging. “Go get him, killer.” I didn’t miss the irony in his voice, but I wasn’t going to waste any more time here now that everyone knew where I stood.
“Do you have any idea where he is?” I asked. “Any idea where I can find him?”
I looked around the room, but it was Patrick that answered, “Yeah, I’ve got an idea for you.” I snapped my head back to him. rrieHead north until you can’t go any farther. Don’t find him along the way, turn right and head east.” His smile resembled William’s one of mischief so close I almost felt butterflies. Almost. “If you don’t find him that way, turn right again and head south. Still nothing, one more right and head west. And I’ll tell you what. Even if it takes you fifty years of non-stop searching, you’d still have another hundred and fifty more to go to get a feel for what he went through looking for you.”