After everything with Van, I couldn’t bring myself to just find another guy. I tried with Jack, but every time he showed the slightest romantic interest in me, I panicked. What if he ended up like Van? What if I broke him too?
So when he’d introduced me to Lennox, and she’d immediately begun to integrate me into their group of friends, I’d decided to try something different. By spreading out my ability between Jack and Lennox and Mick and all the rest, I could stay longer. I could move slower. Usually, depending on the artist, I can go anywhere from three to nine months with someone one-on-one. But like this … the possibilities are greater than I’ll ever let myself say out loud.
That doesn’t stop me from getting my hopes up though.
Which is why I currently have a death grip on my steering wheel while I attempt to ignore the near painful pull toward the man sitting in the car beside me. Because the moment I realized what my friendship with this group meant, I thought of Wilder. I thought of what this kind of longevity could mean where he was concerned. Not only could I stay here in Austin longer, but with so many friends, I’d be unlikely to ever cut it as close as I did with Van. And since there wouldn’t be any more break-ups like the past, there’s even a possibility for expansion. There were two girls tonight from Lennox’s program that I’ve not met before. Jack has a few painter friends. There’s a welder that does metal work with Mick sometimes. If my circle became big enough …
There are tears in my eyes, and I’m struggling to breathe through the excitement and fear and anticipation when Wilder says, “You need to get over or you’re going to miss the exit.”
And just like that … I’m shot back down to Earth.
I turn my blinker on, and let him direct me through the next few turns until we end up in a residential neighborhood. The truth is … I don’t know the first thing about being in a real relationship. Every guy I’ve ever dated (if you can even call it that) came with an expiration date. They were a job. That’s how I had to think of them to keep from getting attached or feeling guilty or letting it all go to my head. Fact is … there are teenagers out there with more experience living and loving than me.
And that might be the most depressing thought I’ve had in ages (literally … ages).
I clear my throat. “So … what did you think of everyone?”
Wilder’s eyes flick to me briefly, but he still doesn’t turn to face me. “I like Lennox.”
“Because she’s on your side?”
He does look at me then, but it’s a look so dark and filled with frustration that it cracks something in me. I’m not sure I’ve ever been given a look quite like that before. Even the artists who grew to hate me after I ended things had looked at me with a obsessive passion that didn’t know whether it was hate or love and tended to hover somewhere in between.
Wilder doesn’t look at me with hate, per say. But he very clearly wants to be done with me. There is anger and annoyance and possibly a little hurt in that look. But he isn’t addicted to my energy the way men have been in my past. And perhaps without my ability, I’m not quite as desirable as I’ve always believed.
“Slow down. It’s up here on the right.”
I do as he says, even though I feel like I’m shedding layers of my long dormant heart every time I hear the flatness of his voice that used to be so warm and low.
The apartment complex he has me pull into is reminiscent of row houses, but these are boxier, plainer—the knock-off version designed only with cost in mind. He directs me to the third cluster of buildings, and I pull straight into an open parking space right in front of the curb. His seatbelt is undone before I even get the car in park. Then his door is open, and he’s unfolding his long legs, and he’s disappearing.
I’ve never allowed regret a foothold in my life. There’s no point, not when you live as long as I do. If you miss out on something in one century, you’ll catch it the next time history decides on a replay. Forever means unlimited opportunities to get things right.
But now I can taste the regret, clogging up my lungs and lining my throat. I’m very nearly choking on it because this, Wilder, is not something that history will ever repeat. It’s now or it’s never.
“Thanks for the ride, Kalli.”
The whole car shudders with the thud of his door closing, and his strides up the sidewalk toward the house on the far right are quick, one step down from a jog.
Before I can think about it long enough to weigh the pros and cons, I turn off the car and bolt after him. I run. I’ve never in my existence ran after anything. There was never that kind of urgency. Generally, if I’m running, I’m running away. Maybe it’s the invisible cord around me buzzing with approval, but it feels right that Wilder should be the one that changes that.
“Wait. Wilder, wait!”
He’s ascending the small flight of stairs to the front porch by the time I catch up to him. He turns, and I slow as I climb those last few steps. Time gets away from me then, making a mockery of all my thoughts of it being my constant. The seconds skip like a scratched record, and my heart jerks just as unpredictably in my chest. I take the one final step to put me beside him on the porch. There’s a lantern suspended to the left of the door, and the glow reflects off his face, catching on his blond curls and turning them a reddish gold.
His expression is wary, but it’s not as dark as it had been in the car. His hand is outstretched, paused in the act of reaching for the door handle, and I’m so terrified that he’ll finish the movement and escape inside before I can put my thoughts into words that I step in front of him, blocking the way.