"Johnny ..." She whispered his name and fell back into the fleecy covers, her eyelids fluttering shut again. The warmth of her touch slid away from his cheek, leaving his skin icy cold.
Killian looked down at Lainie, too shocked to do anything but stare. It felt for a moment as if the world had shifted on its axis, as if a heady, dizzying magic had sprinkled down on him. Warmth seeped through his body, heating places that had been cold and dead for more than a decade.
He stared down at the necklace, mesmerized by the hidden light caught in the purple stone. He remembered everything that Viloula had said about lessons and second chances and destiny. It all made sense. Emily had finally learned to survive.
And Killian had betrayed her again. But Viloula was wrong about one thing. It wasn't Lainie who needed to learn something, it was Killian. And he'd failed.
"Oh, Jesus ..." He took her in his arms and dragged her close, burying his face in the pale crook of her neck. "I've learned my lesson, God," he whispered harshly. "Please ... don't let it be too late."
Tears scalded his eyes. He squeezed them shut and kissed her throat, breathing in the humid, feverish scent of her, losing himself in the sweetness that was hers alone. Love welled through him, mixed with the acrid sharpness of grief and fear and guilt.
His hand slipped through hers, fingers threaded. There were so many things he wanted to say, but he knew they didn't matter right now. All that mattered was loving her, needing her like air, and letting her know that he was here.
He squeezed his eyes shut and felt tears slip past his lashes. The hot moisture slid along her skin, dampened
337
flesh that was hot and too dry. Prayers swirled through his mind, whispered, desperate pleas he didn't have the strength to actually voice.
Please, God, just make her get well. I'll do anything. Please ...
That was all that mattered, only that. He'd get her to the Rock and walk away. He swore he would, swore it to God with every breath. He'd get her there?like he'd promised?and he'd walk away, and though it would break his heart, it would be worth it. He'd live the rest of his life without her, knowing that he would collapse into a life
less, heartless shell without her. Knowing that without Lainie, there was nothing for him; nothing but a lifetime's worth of endless, empty days and lonely nights. It didn't matter. All that mattered was her, and getting her back to her child.
"Please, God ..." he whispered in a throaty, cracked voice that sounded like the rustling of dead leaves. "Please don't let her die. ..."
Lainie drew in a shaky breath and tried to open her eyes. Light stabbed her, swirled inside a world that was cold and gray and distant. She slammed her eyes shut against it.
Her whole body hurt. There was a painful sensitivity in her skin, as if her flesh had been scrubbed by sandpaper. She wedged her elbows beneath her and tried to force herself upright, but her arms were limp and shaking and she collapsed back into the pile of smelly pillows.
She let out a weary, exhausted sigh. Jesus, she felt bad. She rested awhile; it could have been ten seconds or ten hours, she didn't know. Then, slowly, she opened her eyes again.
The world swam before her. She blinked hard, tried
338
to focus, but it was impossible. Everything was washed | in gray, shadows within shadows, shifting, moving.
"Thank God," came a ragged, torn voice from beside | her.
At the voice, so painfully familiar, it all came back to I her in a rush. The sting, the journey, Killian, Kelly. She I struggled to sit up. Breathing hard, heart pounding, she I looked around, trying to see through the shadows that) surrounded her. "What day is it?"
"Saturday morning. You haven't missed it," he said| in a soft, weary voice.
Relief flooded her. Slowly, aware again of the pain,! she sank back onto the bed. Her heartbeat slowed. Then! she turned slightly, and the simple movement seemed to take forever. His shadow filled her vision, wavered. After endless minutes, he started to come into focus. Silver-gray hair lay in curled, matted disarray, framed a sun-darkened face that was creased with worry. His mouth was colorless, drawn tight-lipped and set off by deeply etched lines. In his eyes, so dark and bloodshot, she saw a resignation that broke her heart. He looked, | inexplicably, as if he were about to say good-bye.
He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, and when he opened them, she would have sworn she saw the| sheen of tears. "I thought I'd lost you again."
At the look in his eyes, so gentle and loving and filled with longing, she almost started to cry herself. She gave him a smile and hoped it reached her eyes, hoped it didn't look as brittle and false as it felt. "I have' an irritating way of surviving."
"Don't make light of this, Lainie. Jesus Christ ..." He reached for her and swept her into his arms, burying his face in the crook of her neck.
She swallowed hard, feeling the sting of tears. She curled her arms around him, breathing in the warm, familiar
339
scent of him, feeling the coarse softness of his hair against her cheek. She wished fleetingly, desperately, that this moment would never end, that somehow she could lose herself in him. "You're right," she said quietly. "I should have said what I feel. It's just that I'm unused to it."