I did know that I hadn’t prepared myself for the frosty greeting he was giving me.
At one time I had been able to read Yoss clearly. He never hid his emotions from me. He loved openly. He despaired loudly. He raged forcefully.
He had fed me his dreams and I had given him mine. There wasn’t a piece of his soul that I didn’t recognize and claim as my own.
At one time we had been two pieces of the same messed up puzzle. He learned my secrets and I discovered the ones he had guarded so fiercely.
But this man—I didn’t know him. His green eyes were cold. Resentful.
His jaw was tense and his hands were fists.
“Yoss, what happened?” I asked.
He ignored me, staring past me. Through me. I might as well not have been there at all.
“Yoss!” I said a little louder. I gripped my pen, the cold metal bit into my skin. “Please. I just want to know who did this to you.”
Yoss glanced at me again. His eyes roaming over my face. Then he looked away again. “I’m tired,” he responded shortly.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be pestering you.” I gathered the paperwork I had been filling out and got to my feet. I didn’t want to leave. But it was obvious Yoss didn’t want me to stay.
This was a bad idea. I couldn’t work his case. I’d never be able to help him when through a handful of words he let me know that he wanted nothing from me.
Green eyes hard and unyielding. Mouth firm and unforgiving.
What had I ever done to him to deserve this kind of reception? When had his love transformed into this?
“I’ll let you rest.” I started to head towards the door but stopped, glancing back. It was a compulsion that I couldn’t resist. I hadn’t seen him in so long that my eyes craved the sight of him.
I had so many questions that needed answered, but right then I just wanted to look at him.
I should have been surprised to find him watching me. But I wasn’t. We had always been like magnets drawn together. His eyes burned with an intensity that I recognized.
I shivered. He had always left me trembling.
His eyes were less guarded. In that split second that I caught him staring, I saw the pain. The anguish.
It was all mixed up with something I had hoped to see.
Joy.
“I’m so glad to see you,” I told him quietly.
The emotions I had seen plainly on his face were quickly replaced with a chill I didn’t understand.
“I wish I could say the same thing,” he remarked, his voice hard and broken.
I felt each word like a knife to the gut.
Without saying anything else, I left his room. I didn’t look back again.
The tears wouldn’t fall. Not with eyes full of condemnation watching my retreat.
My house was dark by the time I got home that evening. I unlocked the door of my modest three-bedroom ranch style house and let myself inside. I added the day’s mail to the teetering pile on the table in the hallway and made my way to the living room, turning on every light as I passed.
It was uncomfortably quiet. Too quiet.
I had always hated silence.
Usually when I was home I turned on the television to give the illusion of other people in the room with me.
It used to drive Chris nuts. We lived in a constant state of war where I’d turn up the volume and he’d immediately turn it down.
“You’re not even watching it, Imogen!” he’d complain. Our marriage had been full of nitpicking and disagreements. We had never really worked. We had nothing in common. Hell, I didn’t even really like him most of the time.
But I hadn’t wanted to be alone. To me, that was a fate worse than death.
I had grown up in a house where I may as well have been invisible. I was desperate to create a different kind of family. One where I was loved and appreciated.
I had known Chris for years. We had met at college two years after I had lost Yoss. I hadn’t realized then that I was still rebounding from the boy I had only loved for a brief time.
With Chris things were…bland.
I had made myself believe that passion didn’t matter. That it only led to heartache and empty promises, which I had no time or energy for.
Chris wasn’t particularly attractive, but he was considerate. He could be kind. He had made me smile when I didn’t have a whole lot to smile about. Things had been okay and that was good for me.
But okay quickly became not enough.
Chris never understood my strange idiosyncrasies. He had no patience for my hoarding tendencies or my need to settle and not move. He knew some of the parts of my history. I had explained my strained relationship with my mother. How I never felt wanted or important. I had even told him about my time as a homeless teenager, sleeping at The Pit and digging in the trash for food.
But I never told him about Yoss.
Why had I felt the need to hide such an important person from my husband?
Was it guilt? Was it regret? Was it the fact that I had never quite gotten over my first love?