Unbound (12 page)

He
raised his eyebrow, shook his head slightly, relenting. “I’ve never been very
far away from you. I moved to the city shortly before you were born.”

“That
wasn’t so hard, was it?” Feeling brave, my earlier fears had evaporated. “Will
you tell me how you found me in the first place?” I knew I was pushing my luck.

 
“No,” he said, expression humourless. His
face had darkened.

Walking
under Eaden’s arm as held the door open to the cafe, I tried to gauge his mood.
Was he truly angry or just stubborn? I couldn’t tell yet.

We
took our coffee outside and sat on the deserted patio. The wind had picked up
and we watched as it blew leaves and random pieces of garbage in twirling
circles around our table. The street traffic was lighter now; the in-between
time that existed after the dinner hour but before the clubs and bars announced
last call.

His
mood less stormy, Eaden pressed me for details about things he hadn’t gleaned
by watching my life from the sidelines. He asked about Lacey, seeming curious
about the obvious differences between us. I tried, without success, to describe
our friendship.

“Lacey
...just is,” I said unable to find one word to describe her. “She’s so
comfortable in her own skin, it’s like consequences don’t apply to her.” Visions
of Lacey streaking at the homecoming game in junior year, painted head to toe
in school colours, alongside ten other classmates – all male –
bubbled up to the surface. “Lacey does the things she does because she wants
to, not because she should. She makes me feel brave just by being her friend.”
I paused, feeling shy, before adding, “Like you.”

Something
flashed in his eyes, but was gone before I knew what it was.

“What
have you told Lacey about me?” He was staring down at the table, idly picking
at the chipping paint with his finger. I couldn’t tell what he was thinking.

Biting
my lip, I considered how to frame my response. I didn’t want Eaden to think I
hadn’t told Lacey much about him because he wasn’t important – he was
– but I also knew he might be uneasy about how much I might have
revealed.

“Nothing.
Most of the time, when I thought I saw you, I was pretty sure that I was
delusional. I wasn’t going to broadcast that to one of the few people who still
seemed to want to be my friend.”

He
looked troubled as his eyes met mine. “I’ve made your life more difficult at
times, haven’t I?” His tone was apologetic. He didn’t understand.

“You
have never been the difficult part of my life,” I said adamantly, leaning
forward across the table to emphasize my words. “Other people, definitely.” I
inhaled and blew out a breath. “My mother, my father...”

“Your
brother,” he added quietly, with compassion.

My
response was sharp. “You know about Jacob?”

He
nodded.

 
“How?”

His
eyes never leaving mine, he shook his head sorrowfully. “I’m sorry.”

I
knew that look now. I would get no further tonight.

We
sat in silence listening to the sound of an ambulance siren fading into the
background.

“Will
you tell Lacey about me now?” Despite his placid tone, a small line of concern
creased his brow.

“Can
I?”

He
looked troubled by my response. “If I’ve given you the impression you have no
choice in the matter Rachel, I owe you an apology. You’re free to do anything
you wish. I won’t prevent you from telling people about me, if that’s important
to you.”

“But
you said –”

“I
said that we’re encouraged to be discreet, that it’s better if we’re not
exposed. I made the decision to reveal myself to you and I’m willing to accept
the consequences.”

“There
are consequences?”

He
shook his head. “Figure of speech.”

He
was lying, of course. I could tell that now, too.

“I
will have to tell her something,” I said, tapping my chin lightly with one
finger. “She’s getting suspicious. I don’t usually go out this much.” That was
an understatement. “I’m usually pretty boring.”

“You
are far from boring.” He turned the full force of his gaze on me, smiling as if
he had thought of something amusing. “I told you, I find you compelling.”

He
went on, ignoring my raised eyebrow. “Let’s see if we can concoct a decent
story for Lacey, shall we?”

He
extended his arm to help me rise and we began walking back to his apartment.
The wind had picked up and I wrapped my arms tightly around myself, holding the
edges of my coat together to keep out the chill.

“Superhero?”
I suggested.

He
frowned and shook his head.

 
“Vampire? You do wear a lot of black.”

He
rolled his eyes. “Even I’m not that full of angst.”

“Wait,
I’ve got it,” I said. “Millionaire playboy.”

“Perhaps
something more ordinary?” He was thoughtful. “We could tell her I travelled to
your library to find a rare manuscript for my research and then having set my
eyes upon you, refused to leave without a date.”

Glancing
at him quickly, it felt like it was now or never. “Is this a date?”

We
stopped, the look he gave me was intense, but his voice was soft. “Would you
like it to be?”

I
completely forgot how to breathe. My heartbeats seemed to mark time like the
drumbeats of a parade, but before I could collect my wits to answer, Eaden
glanced up, one hand held palm-up towards the sky. The raindrops that began
splattering down from the heavens became a slashing torrent within seconds.
Shrugging out of his jacket, Eaden threw it over both our heads as we made a
run for it back to his loft.

He
really shouldn’t have bothered.

Soaked
to the skin, we burst into the lobby. Giggling and shivering simultaneously in
the elevator, I watched the water puddle around my feet.

Inside
the loft, my teeth chattered noisily as I dripped onto the hardwood floors with
my arms wrapped tightly around me.
 
Eaden dashed to the linen closet and returned with two plush white bath
towels, one of which he wrapped around me immediately. Gently guiding me
towards the bathroom – thankfully separated from the rest of the loft
with real walls and a door – he left me to shower.

Looking
in the bathroom mirror, I winced at my reflection. My careful attention to my
appearance tonight had been washed away without a trace; my long brown hair
straggled around my shoulders in clumps and my mascara had begun to run.
Stripping quickly out of my wet clothes – my black dress piled in a heap
on the floor – I jumped into the shower. The streaming water was so
deliciously hot that although I had meant to be quick, I simply couldn’t make
myself move any faster. His shower felt like a spa treatment in comparison to
the weak water pressure I was used to from the pipes in our ancient building.

Forcing
myself, I shut off the taps and stepped out of the shower to find a pair of
neatly folded pyjama pants and a long-sleeve tee-shirt waiting for me. They
were huge, of course, but clean and warm. Removing the last remnants of make-up
from my face, I ran my fingers through my hair to ease the worst of the snarls.
Peering at my reflection, I shrugged. Eaden knew what I looked like.

Stepping
out of the bathroom quietly, I heard the music before I saw him. He sat on the
edge of a chair near the fireplace, which now held a crackling fire, the flames
casting dancing shadows on the walls. His towel-dried hair stuck up charmingly
in all directions and he had changed into a pair of faded jeans and a worn grey
tee-shirt that hugged his chest and arms. My breath caught a little, noticing
that his feet were bare.

Smiling
at me, he continued playing one of the guitars I had admired earlier in the
evening as I padded over and sank down cross-legged in from of him. The song he
played was classical and intricate, one hand picking out the melody while the
other played the counter-melody. Eaden’s face was untroubled, meditative. Like
both audience and participant, he seemed absorbed and reflective as the music
drifted from the guitar he had created. I couldn’t help but wonder what
memories the song held for him. Did it remind him of old friends? Old loves? My
mind stuttered as I tried to imagine how one person could possess so much
history and yet still be so human. Far too soon it was over and like a child
during circle time, I clapped my hands enthusiastically.

Graciously,
he inclined his head in thanks.

“Play
something else, please,” I urged him quietly. I did not want that serene
expression on his face to disappear.

He
tuned a string or two, bending his ear towards the guitar to find the right
pitch, then raised an eyebrow at me. “Do you have any requests?”

Pausing
to consider, I remembered our dinner conversation and said, “The Beatles.”

He
nodded.

As
he began to strum quietly, I recognized the opening chords of
The Fool on the Hill
, a song Paul
McCartney had written for the
Magical
Mystery Tour
album. Although my father’s music collection had been vast,
the Beatles ranked high on his list of favourites. Through musical osmosis, I
was familiar with most of their playlist.

To
my astonishment, Eaden sang along as he played.
 
His voice was strong – melodic and
pleasant – and if not extraordinary, it was genuine. He glanced up
occasionally from the floor as he sang and then returned his gaze down to his
hands with the same tranquility I’d seen before.

I
was enraptured.

As
the last notes of the song faded away, I could hear only the sparks from the
fire as the logs shifted and settled in the heat of the flames. Eaden raised
his eyes once more to stare directly into mine, the hunger present again, but
this time, more controlled. Now, there were no butterflies to distract me. I
had no uncertainties, only a warm, slow burn in my gut that began to spread
with every beat of my heart.

Moving
deliberately, he set aside his guitar and reached out to tuck a strand of damp
hair behind my ear. His eyes never leaving mine, his fingertips moved lightly
along my cheekbone and then up to smooth the crease that had formed between my
brows. Slowly, he leaned forward and pressed his lips gently against my
forehead before letting them slide down to brush the tip of my nose. His mouth,
so warm and soft, so close to mine, caused my lips to tremble in anticipation.
Clasping my head in both of his hands, he tenderly caressed the line of my jaw
with his thumbs, a question, unspoken, smouldered unmistakably in his eyes.

Motionless,
I barely breathed. My heart, my head, my entire body, screamed yes, but I could
not form the words. What he saw must have been enough because finally, blissfully,
his lips touched mine.

It
started slowly. My hands, which had rested in my lap, reached up behind his
head, stroking his neck with hesitant fingertips. As the rhythm of our kiss
increased, developing urgency, my hands moved through his hair more
insistently. Without warning, the slow burn in my stomach ignited into flames
and I gasped slightly, my lips parting when his did, my breath ragged. We were
both more demanding now, wanting more, wanting the other closer, tighter
–

With
a low moan, he pushed himself away from me.

Stunned
and disoriented, my lips scorched from our kiss and electric jolts fired
throughout my body in random patterns. Staring down at the dark hardwood floor,
I tried to catch my breath, tried to convince my heart not to bound through my
chest.

“Wow,”
I finally managed, weakly.

Eaden
sat hunched in the chair; his elbows rested on his knees, his gaze on the
floor. A throaty chuckle escaped from him and he looked up, eyes volatile, but
amused. He raised an eyebrow and shook his head slightly in dismay.

“Indeed.”
His smile was strained, his hair standing straight up as a result of my
unintentional styling. He looked unbelievably beautiful. Taking a long, deep
breath, he ran his hands roughly through his hair a few more times, then
grinning, eyes still wild, stood and helped me up.

Trepidation
warred with anticipation as I rose on unsteady legs. This is it, I thought. I
really wasn’t afraid anymore, more nervous in an excited sort of way. The way
it feels when you are about to go on an amusement park ride. If you liked
rides, I suppose. When I was younger, I think I did.
 

Wrapping
his arms around me tightly, he kissed the top of my head, but rather than
leading me to his bed, he took my hand and drew me towards the soft leather
couch. He pulled the neatly folded blanket from its arm, shook it open, and
draped it around my shoulders.

“Sit,”
he said. Moving to the other end of the couch, he sank heavily down onto the
cushions, looking ragged.

Confused,
I glanced at the space he had put between us, and then at him. He had resumed
his earlier position, elbows resting on his knees, staring at the floor as if
he were trying to collect his thoughts.