The next thing I knew, the engine had stopped and we were parked in front of Jahn’s building. As I blinked groggily, I saw Tony the doorman hurry over. He pulled open the door and Evan slid out, then bent back in to give me a hand.
“I’m fine.” The breath I drew in was shaky, and I knew that my voice was going to sound petulant, but I couldn’t help myself. “You brought me to the condo.”
His gray eyes were clear and full of understanding. “I thought you needed someplace familiar.”
I nodded, even though he was wrong. I didn’t want familiar. Hell, I was familiar, and wasn’t that the whole point? To get as far away from myself as I could? I’m not sure I knew anymore. All I knew was that for years, I’d felt lost. Until tonight, that is. Until I felt Evan’s touch and knew that I’d finally come home.
That, however, wasn’t something I was going to tell him. I might be feeling ripped and scared and sentimental and a million other emotions, but I knew better than to dump the heavy shit on a guy I wanted to stay. So, wisely, I stayed silent as he led me through the polished lobby to the sleek elevator bank.
The car arrived and we got on. I started to dig in my purse for the card key that would access the penthouse, but Evan already had one. I’m not sure why I was surprised. He was as close to Jahn as I’d been. Maybe closer. For years, Evan had been around full-time, while I’d only been able to visit during the summers and then, later, when my college load permitted jaunts into town.
Only silence greeted us as we entered the condo, a sharp contrast to the noisy hum of the guests that had filled these walls earlier in the evening. Not even Peterson was around. Though he was ostensibly Jahn’s live-in help, he actually lived in a separate apartment one floor below the penthouse that could be accessed by a private set of security stairs.
In other words, Evan and I were alone. And while I could still recall with vivid, delicious clarity the way that his body had felt against mine in the alley, right then it wasn’t the press of skin against skin that I craved. It was simply the man, beside me, telling me that everything was going to be just fine.
As if he could read my mind, he led me to the comfy leather couch, then pulled a soft afghan over me. “Shoes off,” he said. “Then I need you to tell me the truth.”
I looked at him sharply, not sure I was ready to talk about the way I’d flipped out.
“Hot chocolate, wine, or something one hell of a lot stronger?”
I actually smiled, the expression feeling foreign. “Cocoa, please.” I narrowed my eyes. “But only if it’s good. I have my standards, after all.”
His smile was casual, but I could see the spark of relief in his eyes. If I was making quips, maybe I wasn’t quite the wreck he’d feared. “Sweetheart, I’m always good.”
My smile widened and a genuine laugh escaped.
“That’s what I like to hear.” He reached for my hand, then brushed his fingers over mine before he moved off toward the kitchen.
The moment he was out of sight, the weight of the air in the room seemed to bear down on me. I’d done this before. Curled up beneath a blanket. Hot cocoa. Only Evan wasn’t in the kitchen that time, my mother had been. And my father had been beside me, holding tight to my hand. I’d had my back pressed against the sofa, but as much as I’d hoped and wished, the cushions refused to open up and swallow me.
The detectives and uniformed officers had been gentle, their questions respectful, their voices soft. But that hadn’t stopped the walls from closing in or the tears from flowing.
And it sure as hell hadn’t brought my sister back.
“Angie.”
Evan’s voice was feather soft, but even so it ripped me violently from my memories. I jerked my head around to see him standing in the doorway, a steaming mug held tight in his hands.