Last Kiss Goodnight - By Gena Showalter Page 0,128
there the night they were shot. Why didn’t you save them?” There wasn’t an ounce of accusation in his tone. He was simply curious.
“Everything happened so quickly. The next thing I knew, you were terribly injured, and I had to use my energy to save you.”
“Is that why I didn’t see you until years later? You were healing?”
“That, and you somehow blocked me. But I was always there, always doing my best to protect, whispering suggestions for better choices into your ear, suggestions you always assumed stemmed from your own mind. But then you fought that child at school and you were so upset. The intensity of your emotions must have broken through whatever barriers you had built.”
“I’m glad I was able to see you.”
“Me too.”
“But . . .”
“But you want to go back.”
“Yes.”
There was sadness in X’s eyes as he said, “I do not travel by solar flare. I was merely tugged between this world—and you. I could bring you here, because I’m still bound here, but I can’t take you back to Earth.”
“No,” Solo said, shaking his head.
“You were the only thing that bound me, and you are no longer there. I . . . hoped you would be pleased, despite losing Vika. It was the only way to save you.”
Losing Vika. Losing. Vika. No. Never. He needed her. Had to have her. “I have nothing without her. I’m bound to her, to Earth. I should be able to travel to her.”
I have fought the good fight, I have finished the course, I have kept the faith.
—2 TIMOTHY 4:7
THE TARGON REMAINED AT the farm for several days. He helped Vika pay and dismiss the ranch hands Solo had hired, and finally left her with a promise to return in a few weeks to check on her. She liked him, appreciated his help, but she was glad for the solitude.
She didn’t want an audience when Solo returned. She wanted to run into his arms, kiss him, hug him, strip him, and tumble to the floor and make love to him. And she would. One day.
Yes, one day.
But a few more days passed, and Solo never appeared. Her hope began to wane.
A few more weeks passed, and Solo never appeared. Her hope crashed and burned.
He was never coming back, was he? Her one day wasn’t ever going to come.
The horror of it hit her while she was inside the kitchen, peering out the window and remembering their time in Siberia, and she collapsed, sobbing uncontrollably, sobbing until her tear ducts swelled shut, sobbed until she was choking, barely able to breathe. What was she supposed to do without him?
What are you doing, feeling sorry for yourself? He’s not dead.
But if he were alive, he would be here.
What of the knowing?
That’s right. Before, while she’d held his bleeding body in her arms, she’d had a knowing that he would survive. She couldn’t allow noise to fill up her head and distract her from the truth.
She closed her eyes and focused on Solo’s image. So tall and strong and beautiful. So perfect. Deep inside her, where instinct swirled, was a bouquet of hope that had managed to withstand the flames, the petals blooming . . . opening . . . and knowledge rising.
Oh, yes. She still had the knowing. He was alive.
Relief rolled through her, and she laughed. Laughed! He was alive, and he would come back. Whenever he was able, he would come back. For her, or for the farm, or both, she didn’t care. All that mattered was that he would come back.
In the meantime, he would want her to stay and tend to the animals and the gardens. He would want her to take care of his things. That was what he’d tried to hire her to do, after all. Now she would do it. Free of charge.
Vika stood to shaky legs and made her way to his bathroom to use the enzyme shower. She dressed in one of his T-shirts and a pair of his sweatpants. She had already burned her clothing from the circus, so she had nothing of her own. And besides, she liked knowing she was wearing something that had been in contact with Solo’s strong, beautiful body.
She marched outside. The sun shone brightly, warming her skin. She spent so much time outdoors, she had developed a tan. The cows, chickens, pigs, sheep, donkeys, and goats still wanted nothing to do with her, always shying