word, meant. Even if his theories simplified what I had spent countless nights attempting to figure out, it felt more complicated to me. Roots that were woven too tightly to untangle in one sitting.
All of that aside, though, he seemed to believe me, which made confessing this secret, sharing this peculiar sense, easier than expected.
Before we had left the party together, he had a talk with Mitch. Brando gave him his keys and told him to take Violet home. Then Mitch had a talk with the group about changing their plans. Some of them went for it. Some of them didn’t. Time would only tell if this sixth sense I seemed to have toward his well-being proved to be true or just a fluke.
“I believe you,” I whispered, out of the blue. He had faith in me. It was only fair that I showed the same. When he had made the declaration about his word being as good as his blood, I believed him. “It’s true. Something inside of you calls to something inside of me.”
He nodded once but said nothing else. Instead, he took my hand in his again, and despite my words, I breathed easier being closer to him. I enjoyed his warmth, how solid he was, the beautiful scent from his body. It drifted in the air like a melody.
As we continued on, both of us holding on to the quiet, I took the chance to explore the feel of his skin beneath my palm.
He let me.
My hand drifted above his for a brief moment, trembling over the veins that rose above his skin. They brought to mind all of the routes to his heart, and I wondered which one to take to get behind his gates. My exploring seemed to make him tense, and his entire demeanor changed, even the air, and instead of allowing me to feel him, he took control of the situation and kept my hand firmly locked in his.
A sigh that I couldn’t control slipped from my lips. His eyes narrowed but, again, he said nothing.
In the short distance, I could see the lights of town, directing our steps away from the train tracks. I easily kept up with his stride even though his legs were much longer than mine. It didn’t take us long to reach the small beacons.
We came to what I liked to call “my part of town,” an area that was neither the slums nor high society. It seemed to exist in perfect harmony. The homes were old but well kept. If I had to choose any part of Natchitoches to live, it would have been here.
“It’s time for me to bring you home,” he said, his voice low, almost hoarse.
Being able to feel someone on the level that I felt him didn’t seem strange to me at all. Somehow, I instinctually knew that touching him the way that I had had made him retreat deeper into the darkness, where he felt comfortable. But this was the first time I had been this close to him since that night in the snow, and as selfish as it was, all I could feel was relief and a need to keep close.
“No, not yet.” My voice was the opposite of his, too bright for the night. I pointed to a house that I had fallen in love with when I was younger, silently asking if we could head in its direction.
The place was in need of some serious care. It sat away from the rest of the houses, almost hidden in its overgrown field. The paint had long ago chipped, the windows were haphazardly boarded up, and it probably played host to numerous rodents and a few different types of mold. Louisiana, with its high humidity, relentless heat, and tropical rainstorms, was not easy on homes that were not well taken care of. They demanded a lot of care and attention to avoid going to ruins.
Instead of running in the opposite direction, my feet picked up the pace. Brando kept up with me.
Up close, it seemed a lot worse than it had from a distance. As a whole, it was still a lovely place with a wrap-around porch. Peeking in through one of the dust-fogged windows, I was able to see Parisian crown molding still outlining the ceilings.
The closer you became to someone or something, though, you could easily see the work needed, pick out each detail that needed to be restored and reawakened. This place was in dire need