Fallen Angels 05 - Possession (33 page)

He was correct—that sort of struck-dumb hadn’t been typical of him. Thom had always been just like her: measured, careful, focused on studying rather than people.

In fact, their friends had always said they were the perfect couple, and when they’d broken up the spring of senior year, the split had been a major topic of conversation. Looking back now, she imagined it had been easier in some ways to be on her side of things, i.e., the victim, the one who had been deserted—although that certainly hadn’t been a party. At least their social circle had pitied her, though, rather than gotten all snarky in her direction.

“It must have been a surprise for you,” she said.

“It wasn’t what I wanted. Not at all.”

“When did it happen, you know, her and you?”

What a crazy time to be finally asking these questions. When he’d told her he’d found someone else, she hadn’t wanted any details—just a cardboard box to pack up the things he’d left in her dorm room.

“A year later.”

Cait recoiled. “You two dated for a year?”

“No. I saw her first a year, maybe a year and a half before I … you know. It was fall our junior year. Cait, I was going to marry you. I was committed to you. I wanted to be with you. The last thing I ever considered was that somebody else would get in the way. After I saw her, I stopped studying in the library. I left parties—do you remember that Super Bowl party at Rich’s? The one where he got arrested afterward? I said I was sick—but it was because she was there. I didn’t want to be anywhere around her.”

Cait eased back in her chair. “God…”

“You were always working, Cait, especially our senior year—and that is not to put anything on you. That was the way we were. It’s just … you were always so busy, and I was busy, and then one night … you went to visit your parents for Presidents’ Day weekend because they were finally home for a little while? I was sitting in our quad, Teresa was out, Greg was gone … and I don’t know what … exactly it was, but I got up and put my coat on, and I walked across campus at ten o’clock at night. I went to the library that night, and she was there. And that was … what happened. About two weeks after that was when I spoke with you. Margot and I had not been together by that time, but I knew where things were headed, I knew that … Christ, Cait, the last thing I ever wanted to do was hurt you.”

“I believe that,” she said hoarsely. “I do.”

“And you know, the reason I called you before we announced, and why I’m calling you now? I’ve embarrassed you enough. I don’t want you to ever be on the receiving end of unexpected news again—at least not that has to do with me. Even though it was how many years ago, I’ve never gotten over that whole thing with us, Cait. It was a blessing to meet Margot, but a curse, too. She’s my other half, but I had to hurt … you.”

As tears welled, it wasn’t from grief. More from a sense that in reality, they had both hurt each other, in their own ways. And though she had never wished him ill per se, the idea that he hadn’t waltzed away into the arms of some hot new love free and clear made her feel like it was more equitable, somehow.

“I’m really glad you called,” she said. “I truly am.”

Thom exhaled long and slow. “I’ve wanted to explain myself for a long time. But not from a self-serving point of view, more because I honestly still care about you. And I always will.”

Cait smiled sadly, remembering how the two of them could spend hours studying side by side. They had been the perfect companions, and she’d been looking for stability back then. But was that true love?

Not like he’d found with Margot.

“You take care of yourself, Thom.”

“You, too, Cait.”

As she ended the call, she stared at her phone.

It was good to know he was as decent as she’d thought he was. He’d avoided his truth for a good year … and then it had just been his time, she supposed. And yes, the whole thing had been heartbreaking, the trauma of losing what she’d planned her life to be, that artificial structure she had created herself but called destiny, absolutely crushing. But she had always wondered whether or not he had been the man she’d assumed she knew.

He was.

The only thing that could have been worse? Learning that all along, through the course of their relationship, he had been nothing but a lie.

Plus, now that she had met Duke? She understood what Thom meant. Sometimes … you just crossed paths with someone irresistible, and depending on your circumstance? It could be devastating.

In her case? She was single, and that was a good thing. How would she have felt if she’d run into the likes of Duke … and been in a relationship?

On that note, Cait glanced at her clock. Four thirty-nine.

For most of her life, she would have forced herself to sit still for the remaining six minutes. Now? Screw that.

It was time to get ready.

Shutting down her workstation, she headed for the second floor, and it was as she threw on her shower and let all her clothes dump on the floor again that she realized … yes, in fact, she was probably going through exactly what had happened to Thom.

For years, she hadn’t been prepared to cut him any slack. And when he’d called to say they were pregnant? She had turned to her diet and the gym to crush all the emotions that had come up.

But now? After talking to him downstairs?

A weight had been lifted off of her, and the relief she had been seeking in all kinds of other outlets settled through her, a balm that ushered in with it the sort of peace that had seemed impossible to achieve.

Interesting. She and her mom and dad disagreed about a lot. But if this was the forgiveness they advocated? It was freedom from your own pain.

And that was a very, very good thing.

Cait tried not to be on time. Unfortunately, old habits died hard, and she was three minutes early. After eyeing the Riverside Diner’s parking lot, she decided to drive on by and waste some time going around the block for a while.

Six ten. That was her sweet spot. Not too early, not too late.

At the allotted moment in history—not that she was blowing this out of proportion or anything, she pulled her SUV into the parking area and found a spot. It was kind of a surprise to be so nervous as she looked around for his truck.

Not in the lot: From what she could see thanks to a combination of streetlights and the fading glow of the sunset’s last gasp, there were ten or twelve vehicles and a couple of motorcycles. No trucks.

Maybe he was fashionably late, too.

Getting out and locking up, she headed for the entrance, her stomach doing that butterfly thing she’d heard about, but never experienced before. And like her brain didn’t want to be left out of the flutter-party, all sorts of random nonsense were jumping through her head, none of the thoughts sticking, her skull like a child’s bouncy castle filled with balls.

Pulling open the doors, she walked into a traditional fifties diner, red Naugahyde booths going down one side, a counter with stools across the aisle, a serving setup and flap doors into the kitchen behind that.

Duke wasn’t in the booths, although several men looked up at her arrival and did a double take—something that had happened on campus today as well. Yup, blonds definitely got more attention, but she wasn’t sure about the fun, especially if tonight’s date ended up not happening. Which would be two evenings in a row. Although at least there was a good chance she wouldn’t get chased into an elevator—

There he was.

Through the arches that led into the other dining room, he was at a booth by the back exit, facing out, staring right at her.

He didn’t smile. Or wave. Or sit a little straighter.

But his burning eyes ate her up, the impact of that stare flushing away everything that was between them—the tables, the waitresses, the other patrons, the distance across a red carpeted floor.

It was just as it had been when they’d looked at each other in the café parking lot.

As Cait walked over to him, she found that her body moved differently, a sensual feeling infusing her legs and hips and breasts with a slow-boil heat that she wanted to turn up.

“Hi,” she said, her voice deeper than usual.

“You look good.” His eyes dipped down her. “Really good.”

“Thanks. You, too.” Although he could have been wearing a seventies lounge suit and she probably would have drooled over the polyester.

Sliding in opposite him, she took off her coat and was acutely aware of the way her breasts moved against the fine material of her blouse—and so was he. Now he changed positions, moving around as if impatient.

Or maybe uncomfortable thanks to an … um, yeah.

And that was totally hot.

Without further conversation, he extended his hand across the tabletop, palm up, and in reply, she put hers on top of his immediately.

God, he was … extraordinary. Rugged. Handsome, but with an edge. And still every bit as muscular in that black T-shirt as he had been before. His dark hair was a little shorter than she remembered, as if he’d had it trimmed during the day—maybe for their date? And there was no five o’clock shadow shading that strong jaw of his. Which suggested he’d showered and shaved in preparation for her.

Which was a compliment, wasn’t it.

As she stared at him across the table, she couldn’t help but compare him to G.B. With the other man, she had been starstruck, yes—and there was a certain intensity there. But that experience was a curiously removed one, almost as if she were examining something that was exotic up close for the first time.

With Duke? He was just flat-out sexy, from those hooded eyes to his full lips to those shoulders—

“I waited all day for this,” he said in a gravel-filled voice.

Cait flushed from head to foot. “Me, too—”

Like the echo from some distant world that had nothing to do with her or him, she heard a phone go off dimly. Might have been her own; she didn’t care. In fact, a stampede could thunder through the diner and she doubted she would notice, or care.

God, she wanted him. Here. Now…

“Tell me something,” he said.

“What?”

“Your name. I still don’t know what it is.”

Cait smiled and dropped her eyes. Guess she’d missed that. “It’s Cait. As in Caitlyn.”

“That’s nice.”

“Thank you.”

Annnnnnd now back to the mutual staring.

In fact, they were still sitting like that, looking into each other’s eyes, holding hands, when the waitress came over with menus. Neither of them acknowledged what was delivered, or made much of a response when they were asked what they wanted to drink.

“I’m not hungry,” he said, “for food. How about you?”

Cait shook her head. And that was that.

They both exited the booth and, after he left a fiver as a tip, walked out of the restaurant.

Outside, the cool weather did nothing to clear her head. So when he pointed to a Victorian boathouse a couple hundred yards away and nodded his head as if asking a question?

“Yes,” she said.

Closest shot at privacy they had: It was too early in the season for people to be walking around after dark, and she had to imagine there was a secluded place in there somewhere. Bottom line? She had no interest in futzing around with who followed who in what vehicle to God only knew where.

Even the short walk was going to take forever.

Which proved that in some situations, distance, like time, was relative.

“Devina, you have me concerned.”

As the demon sat on her therapist’s couch, she fiddled with the horse-bit buckle on her Gucci bag. The office was totally not her—overstuffed cushions, mucky brown tones, shaggy throw rug, all kinds of beech wood mounted on stands like it was worth something. Two Kleenex boxes. For the weepers.

“Devina?”

Her therapist was sitting across a glass-topped table, her ample body draped as always in folds of flower-print fabric. Talk about somebody slipcovering themselves—Devina looked like shit in her real form, but she cured that with good flesh that was tailored well. This woman with the soft voice and perma-concerned expression? The muumuus were
not
a look.

Although how else could you cover all that?

Then again, it wasn’t entirely her fault. As a human, all she had to choose from were clothes if she wanted to change her appearance. Well, that and plastic surgery, which could only do so much—

“Devina.”

Oh, look, she was leaning forward and getting intense.

Devina focused on her purse again, thinking about how she and the therapist were such opposites. The woman might have been built like one of her throw pillows, but she was beautiful on the inside—beneath those layers of a slowing metabolism coupled with a sedentary job and probably some pharmacological estrogen, her soul glowed with the pure white light of goodness.

Devina was not that. Without her exterior lie?

As tears welled, she found it hard to speak past the lump in her throat. “I am … ugly.”

“Can you tell me more?”

Goddamn, she was so upset, she wasn’t even offended the therapist didn’t offer an, “OMG, you are so not!”