For me, well, I was still smoldering inside. From the abrupt rejection with no explanation, the public humiliation and, now, the fact that she was somewhere in the house, tucked away, confiding in Heath instead of me.

A sudden burst of hot anger rose inside me. I wanted to punch someone. Before the last cluster of guests dissipated, I was up the stairs and in the bedroom looking for a clean T-shirt and running shorts. It was too late to go for a run along the Back Bay, but there was the treadmill in the exercise room downstairs. I needed to burn off my excess energy somehow.

When I emerged from the closet, she was in the bedroom sitting on the end of the bed, her head in her hands. She looked like shit.

She’d obviously seen some emotional turmoil. But she’d cried on Heath’s shoulder instead of mine. I suddenly decided that he was who I wanted to punch. He might be gay and never want her in a romantic way, but he would always be the first man she’d turn to in a crisis, not me. And for that, I hated him. Even if he was a nice guy and even if he did have her back.

I paused for a long moment before moving past her to the door without a word.

“Adam,” she said.

“What?” I stopped, but didn’t turn toward her.

“We should talk.”

“What’s there to talk about?” I turned stiffly. “No more surprise parties? You got it.”

She slowly stood and walked toward me. I didn’t move. “Please, Adam…” She stretched her hand out as if to touch me, but I drew back.

She frowned. “Why are you pulling away from me?”

I shook my head. “Who pulled away from who first?”

“Can we talk about tonight?”

I took a deep breath and then exhaled. “I’m too pissed off right now. Let’s talk tomorrow.”

“But—”

I was already turning and walking away. The last thing I wanted was for emotions to take over. To say something I would regret. Right now I was burning with anger, frustration and, most prominently, fear.

What the fuck was happening to us? And how had it happened so quickly? That cold fear was back again but this time I wouldn’t be a slave to it. I’d shore up my defenses, dig in deep. And I’d draw comfort from the ancient wisdom, hoping to make it my beacon.

A few hours later, when I’d worked myself through to exhaustion, I came up to the room, and she was in bed with the lights off. I took a shower and slipped into bed beside her, but we didn’t touch. There might as well have been a mile of bed between us. I knew she wasn’t sleeping because she wasn’t breathing like she was asleep. I turned my back to her and lay for hours on my side, just like her, awake, running through the events of the night in slow motion, over and over again.

I had to come up with a new plan, but I couldn’t think, my mind cluttered with hopelessness. I had no idea what time it was when I finally fell asleep.

Chapter Five

I only slept a few hours, starting awake after a disturbing dream about my sister, Bree. I hadn’t dreamt about her in years. She was crying—trying to tell me something, but I couldn’t see her face. It was in shadow. I heard again some of the last words she ever said to me when I was twelve, when she put me on the bus headed out of Seattle and back home to Mt. Vernon. “I promise, Adam, I’ll come back and see you soon. Just be a good boy and go home now.”

I sat up in a cold sweat, burying my face in my hands, trying to dam a fresh deluge of pain—as raw as if the entire scene had taken place yesterday. Sabrina, my sweet sister. She never came back to me despite the promise. I never saw her again. I didn’t even know where she was buried. My poor Bree. I fought a rush of nausea and stumbled out of bed and into the bathroom to wash my face.

It was early and when I came out, I saw that Emilia was still sleeping, her burnished brown hair splayed across the snowy pillow. I fought the urge to crawl back into bed and pull her to me, press her soft skin against mine. Right now I wanted her so badly I ached with it, but after yesterday—everything that had happened yesterday—I couldn’t. Her rejection was still a raw wound. Instead I pulled on some clothes and padded out of the room and down the hall into my office. I’d only slept a few hours and the sun was just barely illuminating the sky with a watery gray light.

I couldn’t shake the dark feelings the dream had left me with. That sore emptiness that reminded me how much I missed Bree. It had been fourteen years since I’d laid eyes on her. I could hardly remember what she looked like, the sound of her voice, the feel of her arms when she comforted me.

When I was still a kid, after she’d died, I used to imagine her as an angel, watching out for me. I’d never felt her presence more strongly than I had that night I’d had the shit beaten out of me, trapped inside a gym locker overnight, certain it was the end. I’d called out to her in my mind, told her I was going to die, be with her soon. But she said I wouldn’t. I’d survive, because I was strong.