And then, more keenly, I felt him gently push me away.
“Don’t do this,” he said. “Don’t tempt me.”
“Maybe I want to tempt you.”
“I’m not the man you want.”
“You are,” I said earnestly.
“Maybe. But I’m not the man you need.”
I flinched, because he was so very wrong. He just might be the only man I need.
“How do you know what I need?” I demanded. “Because you made a promise to a dead man?”
I saw him wince, and I pounced, sensing weakness. “Do you think I don’t understand why you’re turning away from me? I loved him, too, but he’s not here. And even if he were, he’s not in charge of us.”
I waited for Evan to say something. To pull me in his arms. To tell me I was an idiot. To just plain turn and walk away from me.
But he said nothing. He did nothing.
And my temper flared.
“You know what? Fuck you, Evan Black.”
I reached over and pushed the button to call the elevator. This time, he didn’t stop me.
“Fuck you,” I repeated.
I stood, vibrating with anger as I waited. Finally, the doors opened, and I started to step onto the car. I stopped when his fingers closed around my upper arm.
I didn’t turn.
“It’s for the best,” he said, his voice so low I could barely hear him. “Your uncle was right. I’m not a safe bet.”
I waited one beat, then another. Then I shook my arm free, stepped onto the elevator, and didn’t look back.
eleven
I needed to get lost. Needed to get free. My head was swimming with everything that was going on around me—Jahn, my parents, Kevin. And Evan. At the center of it all, there was always Evan. His proximity. His desire. His heat.
His rejection.
I felt as if my mind—hell, as if my life—was trying to tune in to a particular frequency and all it could find was static. As if I was bouncing around lost in the stratosphere with no rope, no guide, to bring me back down to where I belonged.
I was anxious and frantic and needy and confused. I needed release even as much as I needed an anchor. I needed to appease the demons. I needed—
Oh, hell, I didn’t know what I needed. But I knew that whatever it was, adrenaline would soothe it. If I could just manufacture that wild rush of sensation, then maybe all this static in my head would go away. Maybe I could get clear. Maybe I could think.
Because I damn sure wasn’t thinking right then. Not as I barreled down the streets, pushing past other pedestrians, ignoring crossing signals, and letting my feet eat up the pavement.
And I wasn’t thinking when I wandered into department stores. When I let my fingers trail idly over blouses, over jeans, over purses and samples of cologne.
But as I wandered—as my mind started to focus on the ways that I could manufacture that singular sensation that would restore my clarity and help me find my center—that was when my surroundings took focus. That was when I started to realize where I was and what I could do.
What I needed to do if I wanted to get clear.
Department store.
Jewelry.
Do it.
I felt the tingle in my palms and the quickening beat of my heart.
It would be so easy. So fast, so clean.
So perfect.
I mean, sure. Maybe I’d messed up before. But that didn’t mean this would go wrong. This time, maybe everything would come together. Maybe this time, the rush would be enough to pull me through. Hell, maybe it would even last until I got to Washington.
And then—well, then, I’d just have to learn to keep myself in check. Because I’d be a different girl then. A different me. A new Angie altogether.
Just do it.
I sucked in air, willing myself to take it down a notch. I was just a girl. Just a shopper. I was just looking around, just letting my fingers dance over the countertops, the displays. I picked up a pair of earrings, then held them up as I inspected my image in mirror.
I put them back, unimpressed.