Текст книги "Only Tonight"

Автор книги: Elizabeth Miller

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After a minute, I get us back on track. “What did you do after Harvard?”

“Opened my own company.”

“Doing what?”

“I bought a relatively small business, determined why it was failing, got it moving in a new direction, sold it for a profit and then I did it again.” He looks directly into my eyes as he finishes, “I like to find broken things, discover their secrets and make them whole, mend and repair until they’re far better than before my interception.”

It’s as if he’s speaking about me. Shit. I blanch, surely causing my already pale skin to become colorless. I try to refocus. “Were you successful?” My voice quivers as I try to compose my thoughts.

“Very.”

“What’s the secret to your success?”

“I learned very quickly that it wasn’t about me; it’s not about my title, or the skills I have, or what I can do. It’s always about the people: their capabilities and motivation. People will not follow someone because they have a title; they’ll support and do the right thing when influenced by someone they trust. Honesty and transparency are pivotal to a successful endeavor. If a task or goal isn’t achievable, sharing the reasons why an initiative won’t work builds trust. With those principles and hard work, I push the companies and the employees beyond expectation, surpassing what they believed themselves capable of. Once it’s successful, I sell it and start all over again.”

“So why did you make the change to politics?”

He shrugs. “It’s always been my dream. Fundamentally, the business concept is the same, yet it’s on a bigger level. Very simply, it’s about peeling back the layers one at a time, identifying the problems, fixing them, making it better than it ever was and moving on to the next layer. It’s the ultimate challenge and I do it justice.”

I nod. It makes sense. “But you’re so young.”

“Should I wait until I’m fifty?”

“Maybe. I thought you had to actually.”

“Thirty-five is the minimum age to run. I’m thirty-six; I’ll be thirty-seven by inauguration, if I’m elected. You think I’m not qualified?” he challenges.

“No, I don’t know you well enough to say that. I think there are a lot of people who will jump to that conclusion, though.”

“It’s one of the reasons why I need you.” Oh, my heart free-falls. I know very well he’s talking about business, but I feel his comment deeply. I groan silently, knowing my reaction is bizarre and entirely unexpected. How is it that for years I’ve been immune to desire and at first sight of this gorgeous, completely out-of-my-league man I’m salivating like a hormonal teenager?

My voice so low I wonder if he can hear me. “I have so little experience. What if I fail you?” It’s the truth; why would he look to me to assist him in this lifelong endeavor?

“Please, don’t make yourself uneasy. I’m very familiar with your experience and expertise.”

Somehow I have a feeling he’s not just talking about my resume, but how is that possible? My past is sealed, protected from curious eyes.

“I don’t leave many things up to fate, Charlie, not in pursuit of the position I hope to have. I need you,” he says it again.  His eyes grab mine and hold them steady. “You’re young with a fresh perspective, an understanding of the minds of young America.”

“How do you even know who I am?” It’s a fair question. There are hundreds, maybe thousands of more qualified journalists who could support his campaign; how did he find me? Why did he search me out?

“Evan has read many of your articles and came across a website you devised for Jay Tyler; he’s impressed, as was I when I did my research.”

My head swims. It makes sense he would delve into my past and qualifications, just as I would have done on him if I’d had time. The Senator would be very thorough and in depth. He has a need to know who is participating in his campaign, traveling with him for months; a need to know if someone could taint his image. If that’s the case then surely he knows . . . he must know everything.

My worst fears realized, the blood drains from my face, my head becoming light, my sight blurring, so I close my eyes to ward off the creeping anxiety. The panic that always simmers just under the surface rises quickly. I clench my fingers around the edges of the table. The underside of the wood is rough against the pads of my fingers as I press them desperately into the grain. I might be sick. His hand rests on mine and my eyes swing open to find his. The skin underneath his fingers burns with heat; I can feel it shoot up my arm and into my chest. Hyper-aware of his close proximity, my breath hitches in my throat.

I hear his sharp intake of breath; his eyes close infinitesimally and darken. “Charlie,” he whispers, concern echoing in his voice. I sense there's something else there, another unnamed emotion I can’t quite capture. Staring shamelessly at his beautiful, etched face, I’m immobilized by fear.

The waiter interrupts, saving me from further embarrassment. “Is there anything else I can get you?”

They both look to me, and I shake my head emphatically. I can’t put anything else into my quivering stomach.

“No, we’re fine. Thank you.” McKenna’s eyes remain locked on mine, his voice filled with concern.

“I’m okay,” I say without explanation, grateful he doesn’t comment further. I try very hard to get my heart rate under control, taking slow deep breaths to keep the panic at bay. Closing my eyes briefly, I repeat the thought: if he knew, he wouldn’t have asked me to be here.

I fixate on his left hand, still lingering over mine on the table. It’s the first time I’ve taken the time to notice there's no wedding ring and no indentation of one on his finger. I wonder about that. He's beyond gorgeous, successful and a gentleman; I’m surprised he isn’t married. And then I blush, realizing I’ve basically flirted with him for an hour and it didn’t occur to me to look before bantering with him.

“My wife died,” he answers my unspoken question, removing his hand, rubbing his finger as if in memory of the ring that once was.

“I’m so sorry, I . . .” My voice trails off as I gaze into the fire.

“It was years ago, Charlie. I don’t like to talk about it.”

I chance a look at him. His eyes are dark. “I’m sorry,” I whisper, as if it will make it better. He tilts a side of his mouth up in a sad half-smile.

“Will you leave today to begin your campaign?”

“Yes, as soon as breakfast is over.”

“Oh.” I wasn’t expecting that. “And if I accept, when will I join you?”

“Will you accept?”

Staring into his eyes, I contemplate his offer. Sincerity lays heavy in the deep luminous pools and I know my answer.

“Yes.”

His response is a broad, heart-stopping grin. “Good. I’d like you to spend a week at my campaign headquarters here in Indiana, and then meet me and the others.”

“Who are the others?”

“Evan Daugherty; you met him yesterday, he's my campaign manager. John Montgomery is my lead in communications, and Ella Montgomery, manages volunteers. Evan travels with me at all times, John and Ella periodically, depending upon the circumstances. You’ll tour with Evan and I; it’s constant travel and work.”

 “I’ll need to go home and get my things together. I’d like to start on Monday. Will you have Mr. Daugherty send me the information as it relates to the location of the campaign headquarters and the travel plans? I’ll also want an outline of your expectations for the blog and social media sites; how do you envision the chronicle of your campaign? With your input, I’ll put together a proposal as it relates to Internet communication and advertising. If you approve, we can have most of it up by the end of the week.” It feels good to put aside the curious connection I feel to this relative stranger.

“Yes, absolutely.” He glances at his phone, which is vibrating against the tablecloth. He picks it up and says simply, “McKenna.” His tone is different on the phone, different than his tone with me. Looking directly into my eyes, he responds, “Give me ten minutes…In addition, I’ll need you to get Ms. Carter specifics on the campaign as soon as possible…Yes, Monday.” After a pause he hangs up without a farewell salutation. His face, once relaxed and at ease, has become somber and serious. Colin McKenna is back to business.

The waiter approaches, “Sir, it was a pleasure serving you today. Miss.” He nods in my direction and then walks off to the kitchen. I assume he has the bill routed to the Senator’s room.

Taking the napkin from his lap, McKenna stands and walks behind my chair to pull it back. It’s time to go. As I stand, he offers a hand to assist, ever the gentleman. The amazing feeling is there again but I manage it much better, expecting it this time.

“Thank you,” I say as I look into his eyes. There are many reasons to thank him: breakfast, my new job allowing me to travel the United States, the opportunity to report on a presidential campaign . . .

“You’re welcome.” He squeezes my hand before letting it drop to my side.

He motions for me to lead the way. The restaurant is housing more patrons than I’d thought. I've been consumed with him for the last hour. Lost in thought and focused on the path to the door, I fail to see a man push his chair back into the aisle, hitting my hip with force.

“Oh.” I groan as it connects and I lose my footing. McKenna’s arms wrap around my waist, keeping me upright, pulling my back tight to his chest. His face is next to mine.

“Charlie?” His breath is warm on my cheek as he whispers my name, the sound resonating unexpectedly, a rousing siren to my long dormant heart. An absurd, illogical force grips tight and I’m its marionette, a puppet controlled, manipulated by an unseen figure bound to its demands. Closing my eyes, I bask for an instant in his embrace, the heat radiating from him to me fracturing my heart into scattered palpitations.

The Senator’s breathing speeds up before he pulls away, setting me soundly on my feet and letting go.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you.” The man looks to me and then at McKenna, his face paling.

“It’s okay. Please, enjoy your breakfast,” I say, trying to ease any angst he may feel. I walk forward again, wishing to forget my unbidden and embarrassing reaction to this relative stranger who follows behind closely, his arm hovering around my waist. The impact site, just below my hipbone throbs. I rub it to sooth the sting, surely I’ll have a bruise by morning.

 McKenna pushes the door open and we exit together. When we’re alone in the lobby, his arm gently moves against mine so I face him. “Are you okay?”

I’m touched by the distress readily apparent in his gaze.

“Yes,” I pat my hip, “lots of padding for protection.” I smile at my own joke, yet he doesn’t look pleased or appreciative of my self-deprecating sense of humor.

“Charlie,” he begins, but pauses almost immediately. I sense he’s struggling with something, but when he starts again he’s back to business. “I’ll have Evan send you all of the information so you’re comfortable with a Monday start. I’ll see you the following week,” he gazes in the distance for a second, “in North Carolina.”

I hold my hand out to him one more time, not sure why, other than I want to draw out this last moment with him. His hand is warm, very much like his eyes that draw me in and hold me captive. It would be very easy to get lost in them; lost in him.

“Goodbye, Charlie.”

“Colin, have a safe trip.” It’s the first time I’ve said his name. I know it and I think he may too, from the faint parting of his lips. “Goodbye,” I whisper, pulling my hand from his, quickly turning to walk toward the exit of the hotel. I don’t dare look back, knowing if I do I may do or say something I can’t recover from.

The sting of the cold January air is a welcome slap against my heated face, breaking through the haze created by this crazy intensity. Imagined or real, it's profound and disturbing. Holy shit; I’m going to work with him for months. Now that I’m away from him, I’m rethinking my agreement; I need to stay away from Colin McKenna.

THREE

“CHARLIE, YOU’RE CRAZY if you back out now!” Ali’s tone is sharp with her anger.

“Ali,” I sigh, “I know my mental status is questionable and will be even more so if I decline this assignment, but please, please consider what I just told you.” I have spent the last thirty minutes filling her in on the press conference and subsequent one-on-one time with Colin McKenna.

“That's even more reason to go!” It’s her turn for exasperation. “Most people don’t feel half of that intensity in a lifetime. You’re contemplating ignoring it for a reason I can’t figure out.”

“I just told you: I could ruin him!” I lean my elbow against the driver-side window. Maybe it wasn’t the smartest idea to call Ali from the car, leaving only one hand on the wheel.

“Oh, please. Little Charlie Carter cannot bring down a presidential candidate. You have done nothing wrong.”

“You know that’s not true,” I say it on a whisper. It still hurts to think about.

“Would you please stop beating yourself up over something that happened fifteen years ago? You deserve to move past it, finally put it behind you. Please,” she begs me for the millionth time.

“Okay, I’ll try. I really will.”

“One day at a time, remember? Just go, have some fun, enjoy meeting new people. Maybe you’ll even get laid.”

“Ali Carter!” I scream, but there’s a smile on my face.

“Come on, Charlie. If you would just let yourself relax, you’d love it; trust me.”

“You’re terrible, but I love you. Seriously, Ali, you’re really the best.”

“I know.” She giggles and then gets serious again. “I love you, Charlie girl. Promise to call and e-mail all the time so I know you’re okay?” She’s back to big-sister Ali.

“I promise. Bye.”

I’ll be at campaign headquarters in less than ten minutes. I left Colin three days ago, rushing home to pack and get things settled for a lengthy time away. I have second-guessed my decision to accept this offer one hundred times over the last seventy-two hours. Even now, minutes out from my first day, the panic has officially taken hold. On one hand I’m extremely excited; this is an opportunity few people will experience. On another, it’s completely out of the scope of my qualifications; the enormity of the endeavor and the people I’ll work with are way out of my league. The fear of failure is almost crippling, and years of self-doubt and insecurities threaten to strike, waiting for the perfect time to break my confidence. I swallow down the angst, repeating my lifelong mantra—one day at a time.

Campaign headquarters is a one-story building that looks like any other you would find in a business district. It’s an old structure, recently renovated to a modern exterior with red brick and large floor-to-ceiling windows flanking either side of a glass door. It stands apart because of the patriotic symbols strategically placed throughout the exterior space. Campaign signs artistically line the walk, a large United States flag proudly flies atop a large mast and a sign etched into the glass door declares McKenna for the People as a greeting to anyone who enters.

Taking a long, deep breath, I push through the door, conscious that my fate is sealed—I’m really doing this. A young, snappy brunette sitting at a receptionist desk says, “Good morning. How may I help you?” Her smile is exuberant.

I can’t help my answering grin; hers is infectious. “Hi. I’m Charlie Carter . . .” Before I can finish, her hazel eyes grow wide as she jumps up from her seat.

“Ms. Carter. Welcome. We’ve been expecting you.” She rounds from the desk to shake my hand. “I’m Molly. Please follow me and I’ll take you back to Mr. Daugherty.”

“Oh, I wasn’t expecting to meet with him. I thought he was gone this week.”

“There was a last minute change to some plans.” She glances over her shoulder at me as she rushes forward down a curved hall. The walls are the same brick as the exterior, with rows of pictures lining the length—frozen memories of Colin at some time in his life, most I suspect from the last five to six years. We’re walking too fast for me to examine any of them closely; but the common theme is his brilliant smile and breathtaking good looks.

Evan is working on the computer when we enter, a phone cradled in his neck as he types, holding a no-nonsense tone with whomever he’s talking to. There's no sign of the humor I’ve heard underlying his voice. “I don’t care what it takes, just make it happen, Smith. We need to get him before Davidson does. Next week. Call me when it’s confirmed.” He turns to me as he hangs up. “Charlie.” Standing, he reaches for my hand. “It’s nice to see you. Have a seat.” The laughter is back as he waves at a chair.

Molly disappears, closing the door discreetly behind her.

“Can I get you anything? Coffee, water?”

“No, thank you. I’m fine. I have to admit I’m surprised to see you here. I thought you had already left.”

His answer is lighthearted, as is his grin. “Colin had some unfinished business he needs to take care of before leaving. We’ll be back and forth from Indiana for a while before taking to the road for longer periods of time.”

Oh, this is a change. I purposefully switch gears so I don’t get lost in the reasons why. “Were you able to review the information I sent with an outline of the site? I incorporated everything Colin asked for, and I added some of my ideas to make it more interactive . . .” I trail off, knowing I’m talking with nervous energy.

“I did. Your concept is exceptional; I’m impressed. My plan is to have you sit with the leads in the office to learn their business and Colin’s so you have a better understanding of his platform and campaign. As you get to know him, you’ll find Colin is an exceptionally honest person; he’ll want the site to mirror that.”

I’m thrilled he likes my concept and excited to get down to the details. He continues, “Technically, your domain is under the communications division, which is managed by John Montgomery. John is responsible for maintaining consistency in product development and messaging. He has oversight of all printed materials, press releases, advertising and anything stamped with Colin McKenna’s name or associated to him in any way. For now, I’ll be your lead, so run everything through me and I’ll keep him in the loop.”

I find this odd. Why would I roll up to Evan if John is my boss?

“John’s forte lies with printed campaign material; new technology and social media aren’t his strong suit, so Colin and I will manage that side of the advertising. Is there anything you need before beginning?”

“No thanks. I’ll be sure to let you know if I do.”

“Good, and Charlie?” he adds with an easy grin. I don’t say anything, waiting for him to continue. “I’m glad you’re here. You’re a perfect addition to the team.”

“Thanks, Evan. I’m glad to be here too.” I realize when I say it that it’s the truth.

~

Evan hands me off to Sally for a tour of the building and introductions to everyone working on the campaign. I spend the first half of the day in finance. Tim is the lead, and he provides a detailed overview of campaign funds as per Colin’s directive. He sets me up with open access to everything and anything I want to look at. I review his finances, donations, gifts and personal wealth. Colin has a wide range of supporters funding his campaign, and he's very circumspect on how he spends their donations. He’s frugal, accounting for every penny; anything of a personal nature is paid for out of his own bank account. I almost fell out of my chair when I read he’s flying the country in his own plane, and that the finances supporting the jet are accounted for out of his astounding wealth. He wasn’t lying about his success. He has more money than the state of Michigan. I laugh thinking about it, because it’s not much of an exaggeration.

At quarter to one, Tim knocks on the door to my borrowed office. “Want to eat? We had lunch brought in from a deli.” His smile is kind and maybe a little hopeful.

“Sure, thanks,” I agree, hoping the ‘we’ in his sentence is accurate. Sally, Molly and a few others are already eating when Tim and I step into the conference-turned-lunch-room. They’re all very nice, and I’m immediately comfortable with the whole group. Sally and Molly like to gossip, providing more information on Colin than I’ve learned thus far, yet the truth of the information remains to be seen.

“Charlie, did you know John Montgomery is Colin’s father-in-law?” Sally says in a low, conspiring tone.

I shake my head, no, surprised to learn Colin is so closely connected with his wife’s family.

“Have you met Ella yet?” Molly is indignant, one corner of her mouth lifts as if she has tasted something unpleasant.

I laugh. “No, I haven’t, at least I don’t think so. Who is she?”

“You would remember if you did; she constantly looks pissed off. She’s John’s daughter, Colin’s sister-in-law.”

“In that case, I may know who she is.” I’m remembering the pretty blond woman who gave me a nasty look at the press conference. I describe her to Molly and Sally.

“That’s Ella. Stay away from her, Charlie; she’s nasty business. Rumor has it Colin was dating Ella, and dumped her when he met her hot sister,” Sally chimes in, shaking her head.

My eyes grow wide. “Really? Why does she work for him, then? I mean, I wouldn't want to constantly be around an ex that dumped me for my sister. That would suck.”

They both laugh, but Molly responds, “Yeah, it does suck, and that’s why she’s so mad all the time. I think she hopes one day he’ll change his mind and get back with her. Honestly, she was probably happy when her sister died; wouldn’t surprise me if she didn’t mourn for her niece, either.”

“What?”

“You didn’t know?” Molly’s face falls sadly. “His baby died in the car accident too.”

I put my hand over my heart and close my eyes. “That’s so heartbreaking. How long ago did they die?”

“Five years ago.”

Sally changes the direction of our conversation, expanding more on the Montgomerys. “Apparently John has been pushing Colin in this direction for as long he’s known their family. Even after Colin’s wife died, John stayed tight with Colin to push him into the White House, planning the timeline, helping him get voted into the Senate. I’ve heard he’s extremely loyal to Colin, and on some level ruthless in his tactics to ensure he’s elected.”

When I ask what they mean neither go into detail, so I let it go.

~

After lunch I meet with Sally and Matt, who work in the communications division with John. I’m amazed by all of the media workings of a massive campaign, and surprised at the confidence Colin has in my talent. It’s startling to think of the massive responsibility and undertaking I’ve agreed to, given the last President was said to take over his competitor in the polls with advanced Internet communications. Colin’s will have to be better, more in-depth, and at the same time honest and easy to use to garner the same or more participation than prior campaigns.

Late in the afternoon, Tim is leaning over the back of my chair, pointing out directions to correct a programming error on my computer. Out of nowhere my skin tingles, the hair at the very nape of my neck bristles and I'm compelled look up. Directly across the large open meeting space is Colin. He’s wearing his usual white shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows and the collar open, casually tucked into black dress pants that fit his frame perfectly. His eyes focus on me, unwavering as he stands just outside of the office door. My heart stops, yet blood rushes into my head, causing a loud pulse to pound behind my ears. Tim’s lecture becomes a monotone of useless information. Colin doesn’t move, and he doesn’t make any inflection to acknowledge me; his brilliant blue eyes dark, his face unreadable. His gaze flicks to Tim, who’s hovering over my shoulder, continuing to address my computer concerns, oblivious to the change in the atmosphere.

I wave a greeting, but Colin moves into Evan’s office without acknowledging me, slamming the door behind him. The sound reverberates through the room and my heart falls, disappointed by his reaction or lack thereof.

Tim leaves to finish his work for the day and I find myself distracted, constantly looking up as people walk by my office and out the door. I try my hardest to forget Colin’s in the building; it shouldn’t change anything. I shouldn’t expect a special reception. Finally, just before six Evan’s door opens and the deep timbre of Colin’s voice resonates throughout the office. He's stern and all business as he finalizes directions to Evan. My head rises automatically, only to watch him stride out the door with a purposeful gait, leaving without a glance in my direction. My heart drops involuntarily. Dipping my head behind the computer monitor, I hide my hurt, berating myself for the absurdity of it. What did I think he would do? I’m clueless about men and in my naiveté I thought we had some sort of connection.

“Charlie?”

“Ahh,” I scream and my hand flies up to cover my chest. “Evan, you scared the shit out of me.”

He chuckles. “Sorry, I thought you saw me coming.”

I shake my head no, letting my heart begin to beat again.

“Why are you working so late? You should go.”

“There’s nothing to go home to; living out of a hotel this week, remember?” After it’s said, I hear how pathetic the statement rings. “I want to finish something up and then I’ll go. Will you be back tomorrow?” I ask, hating that I sound hopeful, similar to Tim’s lunch invitation.

“In the morning, we’re leaving tomorrow afternoon and then we’ll be back at the end of the week.”

“Oh, okay. Well, I’ll see you in the morning then.”

He begins to turn toward the door, stopping when he's only halfway, hand resting on the knob. “I have plans, otherwise I’d . . .”

I cut him off before he can finish. “Don’t worry about me. I’m fine. I brought a good book to read. Go have fun.” I try to sound confident; after all, I’m very used to being alone.

Staring at his hand, he glances at me and then toward the exit. Not waiting for him to say anything more, I motion him out the door with my hands. “Go. Have fun. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

~

Stifling a yawn, I hope a third cup of coffee will effectively help keep my eyes open. I slept poorly last night, the unfamiliar hotel room and lumpy bed a perfect recipe for an entirely sleepless night. That and thoughts of Colin McKenna’s blank stare. I shake my head, hoping the motion will shake thoughts of him away with it. I obviously misread him those first couple of times we met, the shivers of electricity I felt a product of my imagination. Frowning, I stir the sweetener and cream in my coffee, disheartened by the monumental miscalculation on my part.

Lost in thought, I walk out of the kitchenette, lifting the cup to my mouth. Stepping outside of the door, I’m bulldozed by Ella Montgomery as she rounds the corner. She’s shorter than I am by at least a few inches, but her hands are positioned perfectly to push her arms out in response to my surprise appearance, launching the mug out of my grip. Hot coffee splatters over the wall, the mug shattering spectacularly into a hundred pieces as it hits the floor.

“What the . . .?” The shrill pitch of her words falls off as she focuses on me. Glancing over my frame and back to my face and hair, her eyes narrow during her perusal. Ella’s body stiffens, face flushing an angry red. “I suggest you watch where you’re going,” she says with pure venom.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, “I didn’t see you.”

“Let me put this in simple terms; terms you will understand. Stay away from me, and stay away from Colin. Do you understand?”

I can’t move, nor can I respond. The venom has reached her eyes and they bulge like the reptile she is.

“Are you dull?” she snaps her fingers in front of my face. “I’ll repeat it, so your simple mind can make sense of simple speech. Stay away from Colin.” Her small frame rises until she's inches away from my face. I stumble back a step as the hair at the nape of my neck bristles. “You have no business being here and you certainly don’t have any with him. I don’t know you and I have no desire to. If it were up to me you wouldn’t be here, so don’t apologize. Clean up your damn mess and get back to work.” She spins on her short heels and walks to a door on the opposite side of the building.

I look around, noticing there are a few people staring in my direction. One of them is Molly, who rushes over. “I told you she’s a crazy bitch.”

Laughing, I’m grateful for her help as we clean up the mess together.

“I had no idea you were being so literal. Does Ms. Bitchy treat everyone like that?”

“For the most part, yes; you got an extra dose because you’re going to travel with Colin so much over the next few months. She’s probably boiling with jealousy.”

I try to giggle, but it sounds off. “She doesn’t have anything to worry about there.” I’m beginning to pick up the pieces of the fractured mug, loosely placing the shards in my left hand.

“Be careful, Charlie, those pieces are really sharp. Let me get the broom to sweep them up.” I watch Molly distractedly, listening to the nearing voices of Evan and Colin as they round the corner to the break room. Forgetting about the broken glass I drop it against my thigh, clasping my fingers around the contents and turning so Colin doesn’t see me. “Ahh,” I gasp and wince as the shards slice through the pad of my palm. Oh, shit.

I walk over to the sink to rinse away the dripping blood. Turning on the water, I grimace from the sting when the stream hits the open wound. The room blurs in and out of focus as if it’s reflected in a fun-house mirror at the sight of the diluted blood flowing down the drain. Closing my eyes, I let the water wash over my hand, trying to forget the burn, and that Colin is just outside of the room. I lean heavily onto the counter to hold my weight; I don’t do blood well. Sweat dews on my forehead and I fear the faint that’s slowly coming on.

“Charlie?” Colin’s tone is anxious, growing louder as he nears me. “What happened?” I feel the draw, the electricity vibrating between us. His breath is hot against my ear as he hovers over my shoulder, looking at the sink and my injury. Flipping my hand over, the only sound in the room is his sharp intake of breath. I squeeze my eyes shut so I don’t see the blood, but it’s too late; the room sways behind my closed eyes as if I’m on a raft riding large swells in the middle of the ocean.