Dark Child (Wild Men 5)

I’m a lucky girl.

It’s slowly sinking in that he may not be going anywhere. That he may be telling the truth when he says he wants me to stay.

My sister echoes my thoughts as we sit side by side on the hard plastic seats of the waiting room. “This guy is in love with you.”

Okay, not exactly my thoughts, but close. “You think?”

“You don’t think so?”

“You know I’m a terrible judge of such things.”

“Well, he is.” She squeezes my knee. “It was clear from the start.”

“You mean when he flirted with you?”

“No, dummy, I mean when he basically told me it’s you he wants, not me, and begged me to give you his phone number.”

That makes me snicker.

“Do you love him?”

I chew on my lip. “Maybe?”

She sighs and shakes her head as if I’m acting up. But I’m not. I really don’t trust myself.

“I’m thinking of moving to St. Louis, for good,” I tell her. “Not just because of Merc.” I steal a glance at his tall form. He’s wearing a gray T-shirt that molds to that mouthwatering chest and shoulders. His huge headphones are hanging around his neck. He sips coffee from a plastic cup and watching the news on the TV mounted on the wall. “I’m thinking of maybe taking some classes. Study something.”

“You wanted to study archaeology,” my sister says. “Remember? You were collecting books about Rome and Hannibal.”

“That was long ago.”

“You don’t want to anymore?”

“Sure I do.” I’m surprised at the realization. For so long I felt that taking time for myself was selfish. I had to make sure Soph was okay. But something’s changed. “I can’t play at being you much longer, sis.”

She nods, as if she’d expected this, though it’s a shock to me. “I know.”

Maybe meeting Merc changed me. Maybe it’s been a long time coming, and I only realized now. I can’t be my sister’s shadow any longer.

I’m running out of money and excuses. I need a job. I need a direction. I want to be Cos, be myself. To step on my path without fear and regrets. To hold Merc’s hand and believe this moment can stretch into a lifetime.

Even if it doesn’t work out that way. I want to give it a try.

I want to live my life.

I’m still watching Merc, so it’s only by chance that I see what happens next:

The plastic cup drops from his hand, hitting the floor without a sound, dark liquid splashing him, spreading in a puddle at his feet.

He curses.

Looks down.

All the blood drains from his face, and he sways, takes a stumbling step back.

I shoot to my feet and grab his arm before he goes down. “Merc! Shit.” I drag him to the seats just in time. He sinks down heavily and bends over. “What’s wrong?”

It takes him a long moment to straighten, and when he does, his face looks gray, sweat shining on his forehead.