***
I didn't call to tell Philip I was coming. Hearing his voice was one more thing that might make me change my mind. I went straight to the apartment and let myself in. He wasn't there. I settled onto the couch to wait. An hour later, he returned, panting from a run in the early July heat. He swung through the door, saw me, and stopped.
"Hi," I said, managing a weak smile.
I saw the fear in his eyes then and knew it never would have worked between us. No matter how close I got to any human, if they ever learned the truth about me, there would always be fear. You couldn't get past that.
"Hello," he said at last. He hesitated, then closed the apartment door, and mopped off his face. After giving himself time to recover, he laid his towel on the hall table and stepped into the room. "When did you get back?"
"Just now. How are you feeling?"
"Fine. I got your flowers. Thank you."
I inhaled. God, this was awkward. Had it always been this way? I couldn't even remember how we used to talk. Any sense of familiarity had flitted away.
"Your-uh-side must be better," I said. "If you're out jogging."
"Walking. Not jogging. Not yet."
He sat in the recliner opposite me. I inhaled again. This wasn't working. There was no easy way to do this.
"About what you saw that day…" I began.
He said nothing.
"About what you-uh-saw me do."
"I didn't see anything." His voice was soft, barely audible.
"I know you did and we need to talk about it."
He met my eyes. "I didn't see anything."
"Philip, I know-"
"No." He spat the word, then pulled back and shook his head. "I don't remember anything about that day, Elena. You went to work. Your cousin came up looking for you. Two other men came up looking for you. Someone stabbed me. Then it's all a blank."
I knew he was lying. For the safety of the Pack, I should pursue it, get him to admit what he'd seen, and find a way to explain it away. Yet something told me that this was better for Philip. Let him explain it his own way. I owed him that much.
"I should go now."
I got to my feet. He said nothing. I saw my bags stacked in the hall, next to a few boxes of his own stuff.
"I've subletted the apartment," he said. "I-" He rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I would have called you, your cell phone. I was… working my way up to it."
"I'm sorry."
"I know." He met my eyes for the first time since I'd arrived and managed the barest ghost of a smile. "It was good, still. A mistake, but a good one. If you come back to Toronto someday, maybe you can look me up. Have a drink together or something."
I nodded. As I lifted my bags, my gaze flitted to the hall table.
"It's in the drawer," Philip said softly.
I turned to say something, but he was heading into the bedroom, his back to me. He closed the door.
"I'm sorry," I whispered.
***
I pushed open the lobby doors and walked out carrying two small pieces of luggage. I'd left a note for Philip to give the rest to charity or throw it in the garbage. There was nothing there I needed. I only took the two bags so he wouldn't think I was abandoning my things in anger. There was only one item in that apartment I'd really wanted back, the item I'd retrieved from the hall table drawer. I still had it in my hand. As I stood in the building vestibule, I put down the luggage, and opened my fist. Clay's wedding band gleamed in the streetlights.
Clay.
What was I going to do about Clay?
Despite all we'd been through, I still couldn't give him what he wanted. I couldn't promise my life to him, swear I'd be by his side every waking and sleeping minute, 'til death do us part. But I loved him. Loved him completely. There would be no other men in my life, no other lovers. I could promise him that. As for the rest, well, I'd have to offer what I could and hope it would be enough.
"You're here."
I looked up sharply. Clay stood in the wavering yellow light of a street-lamp. For a moment, I thought I was imagining things. Then he stepped forward, his left leg dragging, not completely healed after his ordeal.
"Didn't you get my note?" I asked.
"Note?"
I shook my head. "You shouldn't be here. You're supposed to be in bed."
"I couldn't let you leave. Not until I talked to you."
I glanced at the luggage by my feet and realized he must have thought I was waiting to get inside the apartment building, instead of leaving it. Hmmm. Never let it be said I passed up the opportunity to milk something for all it's worth. Yes, I can be cruel, even sadistic on occasion.
"And what did you want to say to me?" I asked.
He stepped forward, putting one hand on my elbow and moving so close I could feel his heart beating through his shirt. It was pounding, but that might have just been from the exertion of the impromptu trip.
"I love you. Yes, you've heard that before, heard it a million times, but I don't know what else to say." He lifted a hand to my face and touched my cheek. "I need you. This last year, when you were gone, it was hell. I made up my mind that when you came back, I'd do whatever it took to get you back. No more tricks. No more tantrums. I know I didn't do a great job. Hell, you probably never even noticed the difference. But I was trying. I'll keep trying. Come back home with me. Please."
I looked up into his eyes. "Why did you go back up to the apartment?"
He blinked. "Huh?"
"The day you were attacked. You saw Daniel and LeBlanc go up to the apartment, didn't you?"
"Right…"
"You knew I wasn't up there. You'd just spoken to me on the phone."
"Right…"
"So you knew the only person in the apartment was Philip. Yet you went up there and tried to protect him. Why?"
Clay hesitated, then said, "Because I knew it was what you'd want me to do." He stroked his thumb across my cheek. "I know that's not the answer you want to hear. You want me to say I had a sudden flash of conscience and went up there to save Philip. But I can't lie. I can't feel the things you want me to feel. I didn't care whether Philip lived or died. I saved him because I knew you'd want me to, because I knew if anything happened to him, you'd be hurt."
I didn't call to tell Philip I was coming. Hearing his voice was one more thing that might make me change my mind. I went straight to the apartment and let myself in. He wasn't there. I settled onto the couch to wait. An hour later, he returned, panting from a run in the early July heat. He swung through the door, saw me, and stopped.
"Hi," I said, managing a weak smile.
I saw the fear in his eyes then and knew it never would have worked between us. No matter how close I got to any human, if they ever learned the truth about me, there would always be fear. You couldn't get past that.
"Hello," he said at last. He hesitated, then closed the apartment door, and mopped off his face. After giving himself time to recover, he laid his towel on the hall table and stepped into the room. "When did you get back?"
"Just now. How are you feeling?"
"Fine. I got your flowers. Thank you."
I inhaled. God, this was awkward. Had it always been this way? I couldn't even remember how we used to talk. Any sense of familiarity had flitted away.
"Your-uh-side must be better," I said. "If you're out jogging."
"Walking. Not jogging. Not yet."
He sat in the recliner opposite me. I inhaled again. This wasn't working. There was no easy way to do this.
"About what you saw that day…" I began.
He said nothing.
"About what you-uh-saw me do."
"I didn't see anything." His voice was soft, barely audible.
"I know you did and we need to talk about it."
He met my eyes. "I didn't see anything."
"Philip, I know-"
"No." He spat the word, then pulled back and shook his head. "I don't remember anything about that day, Elena. You went to work. Your cousin came up looking for you. Two other men came up looking for you. Someone stabbed me. Then it's all a blank."
I knew he was lying. For the safety of the Pack, I should pursue it, get him to admit what he'd seen, and find a way to explain it away. Yet something told me that this was better for Philip. Let him explain it his own way. I owed him that much.
"I should go now."
I got to my feet. He said nothing. I saw my bags stacked in the hall, next to a few boxes of his own stuff.
"I've subletted the apartment," he said. "I-" He rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I would have called you, your cell phone. I was… working my way up to it."
"I'm sorry."
"I know." He met my eyes for the first time since I'd arrived and managed the barest ghost of a smile. "It was good, still. A mistake, but a good one. If you come back to Toronto someday, maybe you can look me up. Have a drink together or something."
I nodded. As I lifted my bags, my gaze flitted to the hall table.
"It's in the drawer," Philip said softly.
I turned to say something, but he was heading into the bedroom, his back to me. He closed the door.
"I'm sorry," I whispered.
***
I pushed open the lobby doors and walked out carrying two small pieces of luggage. I'd left a note for Philip to give the rest to charity or throw it in the garbage. There was nothing there I needed. I only took the two bags so he wouldn't think I was abandoning my things in anger. There was only one item in that apartment I'd really wanted back, the item I'd retrieved from the hall table drawer. I still had it in my hand. As I stood in the building vestibule, I put down the luggage, and opened my fist. Clay's wedding band gleamed in the streetlights.
Clay.
What was I going to do about Clay?
Despite all we'd been through, I still couldn't give him what he wanted. I couldn't promise my life to him, swear I'd be by his side every waking and sleeping minute, 'til death do us part. But I loved him. Loved him completely. There would be no other men in my life, no other lovers. I could promise him that. As for the rest, well, I'd have to offer what I could and hope it would be enough.
"You're here."
I looked up sharply. Clay stood in the wavering yellow light of a street-lamp. For a moment, I thought I was imagining things. Then he stepped forward, his left leg dragging, not completely healed after his ordeal.
"Didn't you get my note?" I asked.
"Note?"
I shook my head. "You shouldn't be here. You're supposed to be in bed."
"I couldn't let you leave. Not until I talked to you."
I glanced at the luggage by my feet and realized he must have thought I was waiting to get inside the apartment building, instead of leaving it. Hmmm. Never let it be said I passed up the opportunity to milk something for all it's worth. Yes, I can be cruel, even sadistic on occasion.
"And what did you want to say to me?" I asked.
He stepped forward, putting one hand on my elbow and moving so close I could feel his heart beating through his shirt. It was pounding, but that might have just been from the exertion of the impromptu trip.
"I love you. Yes, you've heard that before, heard it a million times, but I don't know what else to say." He lifted a hand to my face and touched my cheek. "I need you. This last year, when you were gone, it was hell. I made up my mind that when you came back, I'd do whatever it took to get you back. No more tricks. No more tantrums. I know I didn't do a great job. Hell, you probably never even noticed the difference. But I was trying. I'll keep trying. Come back home with me. Please."
I looked up into his eyes. "Why did you go back up to the apartment?"
He blinked. "Huh?"
"The day you were attacked. You saw Daniel and LeBlanc go up to the apartment, didn't you?"
"Right…"
"You knew I wasn't up there. You'd just spoken to me on the phone."
"Right…"
"So you knew the only person in the apartment was Philip. Yet you went up there and tried to protect him. Why?"
Clay hesitated, then said, "Because I knew it was what you'd want me to do." He stroked his thumb across my cheek. "I know that's not the answer you want to hear. You want me to say I had a sudden flash of conscience and went up there to save Philip. But I can't lie. I can't feel the things you want me to feel. I didn't care whether Philip lived or died. I saved him because I knew you'd want me to, because I knew if anything happened to him, you'd be hurt."
