The Wish Collector
Page 23
He arrived at the edge of the park fifteen minutes later and leaned against a tree, a stunned laugh rising in his throat, born half of surprise and half of terror. He’d done it. He’d left Windisle and made the full trip to the park where Clara waited for him. Yes, it was only a handful of blocks from home, but to Jonah, it felt as if he’d traveled a million miles. Fear still sat heavy on his chest, but underneath that there was the bubbling of triumph. God, he hadn’t felt that feeling for so damn long. I didn’t think I’d ever feel it again.
Jonah stilled completely, focusing on the whisper of water, a tinkling sound that let Jonah know the fountain was very nearby. Clara. Was she there already? He’d been so much closer to her than this and yet, in that moment it felt as if they’d never been closer. He was going to lay eyes on her for the first time.
He was going to put a face to the sweet voice through the wall, the woman who had given so much of herself to him, a stranger who didn’t come close to deserving it.
But she was going to see his face too. Would it horrify her? Would she grimace and turn away? Oh God, he was terrified of her reaction. He was so fucking scared.
He pictured the faces of those who had looked upon him right after the explosion, their expressions of disgust. He shivered as he remembered the way it had hurt, how it had punctured something soft and vulnerable way down deep inside of him. And he didn’t think he could take the same thing from her. Not her.
Stealing a breath, he moved through the trees, following the sound of that flowing water, the promise of Clara drawing him forward.
The fountain came into view, the bubbling water catching the glow of the streetlight that shone upon it.
He stood among a grouping of trees, stepping around one ancient trunk and then pressing himself against it. She was there, sitting on the edge of the gray stone, her hands on her knees as she waited.
The light picked up pieces of gold in her hair and flashed them in the air surrounding her. She turned slightly, her eyes scanning the entrance to the park, then moving briefly to the dark area of forest where Jonah hid, his body motionless against the solid strength of the massive oak.
His heart stalled for a moment and then took up a quickened beat as he caught sight of her face. He groaned, so softly it mixed with the night sounds, disappearing before it could reach outside his darkened hiding spot.
She’s beautiful.
Jesus, she’s beautiful.
Clara, the girl he’d only previously known as the soft voice on the other side of his fortress, the woman who both soothed him and caused him to question everything, was beautiful both inside and out. Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck.
His heart sank lower in his chest, pressing against his lungs until he couldn’t breathe. Why did he suddenly feel so devastated? Had he hoped she was unattractive so she might want to give someone like him a chance? To kiss him again, only the next time with nothing between them? And was he really so insensitive—so superficial—that he thought unattractive women had to settle for disfigured men like him anyway? Or that people loved each other based only on looks? Then again, why shouldn’t he? Hadn’t he chosen women solely on their physical characteristics once upon a time? Hadn’t he been proud to enter a party or a restaurant with some beautiful woman on his arm that he’d replace with a new one once things grew stale as they inevitably always did? He’d never loved any of them. Not one.
God, but his mind was everywhere. And Jesus. Love? What was he even doing thinking about love? Him, the scarred man standing behind a tree in the park, too intimidated and ashamed to emerge from the bushes and approach the girl waiting for him.
Jonah sighed, the energy draining from him as he leaned more heavily against the tree. He felt confused, sad, lonely, and he just wanted to slink back to Windisle and hide again.
As if she’d heard his tiny exhale of breath, Clara turned her head, her eyes probing the darkness around him. He froze, her gaze moving over him without seeing.
A car pulled up near the park entrance and Clara stood, watching, her stance tense until it pulled away. She sat back down on the edge of the fountain, turning toward the splashing water dejectedly and running her fingers through it.
Her movements were elegant, heart-achingly feminine, and everything masculine inside of Jonah responded to her. She’d dance beautifully, and Jonah felt a tiny tremor of grief move through him to know he’d never see it.
He watched her as she waited, memorizing her movements, seeing the way she glanced at the stars now and again. What are you thinking when you do that, Clara? he wondered, the need to know an ache of despair within his chest. What are you looking for? He’d never know, of course, not after this.
An hour went by and still she waited, Jonah’s heart growing heavier by the moment. She waited for him, and he needed her to leave so he could return home as well. But he wouldn’t abandon her alone in this dark, deserted park even if she thought that’s exactly what he’d done. He’d wait for her ride to appear and then he’d go. But when Clara finally stood a few minutes later, looking around one final time before walking toward the park entrance, there was no car waiting for her.
What the hell?
It was a relatively safe area but still . . . she shouldn’t be walking through strange neighborhoods by herself.
Jonah followed, keeping to the shadows, raising his collar higher and lowering his head in case someone passed. But the streets were mostly empty as he trailed Clara, far enough behind, he hoped, that she wouldn’t hear his hollow footsteps.
Despite his raw emotions and the guilt he felt over standing Clara up, he experienced that surge of triumph he’d felt earlier. He was outside his self-ordained prison, walking down a residential street like any other normal person. He’d done it!
He closed his eyes, breathing in the freedom, breathing out the fear.
If he took precautions, covered himself so no one looked twice, he could walk around just like this. He’d remain hidden—he deserved a life of shadows—and had no desire to be seen. But he didn’t have to torture himself any further than he already did with days of nothing but boredom and sameness. Did he?
The area became less residential the farther Clara walked and when she finally entered a mostly empty, well-lit diner, Jonah took a sigh of relief, standing in a darkened doorway as she sat at a table next to the window across the street, her hands wrapped around a steaming mug of coffee.
He could see her more clearly in the bright lights of the diner, see the pretty heart shape of her face and the beautifully wide set of her eyes, the sweeping elegance of her cheekbones, and the full lip that she chewed on as she stared forlornly out the window.
And he ached. He ached with longing so intense it left him breathless. She was his Clara. That beautiful girl in the window, who looked so deep in thought.
He leaned his head so he could see her better with his good eye, knowing he’d let her down, but also knowing it was better this way. He took that moment to merge this Clara with the girl he’d come to know until he could not only hear her in his memories, but picture her as well, sitting on the other side of the wall, her shiny hair pulled into a ponytail as it was now, her long slim legs pulled beneath her.
He startled when Clara suddenly stood, digging in her purse for money that she then placed on the table before rushing out of the diner.
He hadn’t seen her call for a ride, but he figured she must have and that’s where she was heading. But when she looked both ways and then jogged back across the street, he ducked into the doorway, looking out when he heard her footsteps hurrying away, back toward the park, back toward Windisle. What was she doing?
He followed her again, only this time in reverse, as she hurried down the darkened streets, moving fluidly through the night. She was going to Windisle. He had stood her up—or so she thought—and now she was going to confront him.
Or, wrong choice of words. She was going to give him a piece of her mind through the stone that would forever be between them.
Some part of him thrilled at her audacity.
This girl didn’t give up. She might have made a damn fine lawyer if she hadn’t been given a body made for dancing. And he could see that she definitely had been given a body made for dancing. She was slim and strong, her lean legs encased in a pair of fitted jeans, her every movement elegant and graceful. God, to see her dance. To carry that vision in his mind forever. Maybe it would sustain him all the rest of his lonely, sheltered days behind that damn wall he both hated and was forever grateful for.
Jonah stilled completely, focusing on the whisper of water, a tinkling sound that let Jonah know the fountain was very nearby. Clara. Was she there already? He’d been so much closer to her than this and yet, in that moment it felt as if they’d never been closer. He was going to lay eyes on her for the first time.
He was going to put a face to the sweet voice through the wall, the woman who had given so much of herself to him, a stranger who didn’t come close to deserving it.
But she was going to see his face too. Would it horrify her? Would she grimace and turn away? Oh God, he was terrified of her reaction. He was so fucking scared.
He pictured the faces of those who had looked upon him right after the explosion, their expressions of disgust. He shivered as he remembered the way it had hurt, how it had punctured something soft and vulnerable way down deep inside of him. And he didn’t think he could take the same thing from her. Not her.
Stealing a breath, he moved through the trees, following the sound of that flowing water, the promise of Clara drawing him forward.
The fountain came into view, the bubbling water catching the glow of the streetlight that shone upon it.
He stood among a grouping of trees, stepping around one ancient trunk and then pressing himself against it. She was there, sitting on the edge of the gray stone, her hands on her knees as she waited.
The light picked up pieces of gold in her hair and flashed them in the air surrounding her. She turned slightly, her eyes scanning the entrance to the park, then moving briefly to the dark area of forest where Jonah hid, his body motionless against the solid strength of the massive oak.
His heart stalled for a moment and then took up a quickened beat as he caught sight of her face. He groaned, so softly it mixed with the night sounds, disappearing before it could reach outside his darkened hiding spot.
She’s beautiful.
Jesus, she’s beautiful.
Clara, the girl he’d only previously known as the soft voice on the other side of his fortress, the woman who both soothed him and caused him to question everything, was beautiful both inside and out. Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck.
His heart sank lower in his chest, pressing against his lungs until he couldn’t breathe. Why did he suddenly feel so devastated? Had he hoped she was unattractive so she might want to give someone like him a chance? To kiss him again, only the next time with nothing between them? And was he really so insensitive—so superficial—that he thought unattractive women had to settle for disfigured men like him anyway? Or that people loved each other based only on looks? Then again, why shouldn’t he? Hadn’t he chosen women solely on their physical characteristics once upon a time? Hadn’t he been proud to enter a party or a restaurant with some beautiful woman on his arm that he’d replace with a new one once things grew stale as they inevitably always did? He’d never loved any of them. Not one.
God, but his mind was everywhere. And Jesus. Love? What was he even doing thinking about love? Him, the scarred man standing behind a tree in the park, too intimidated and ashamed to emerge from the bushes and approach the girl waiting for him.
Jonah sighed, the energy draining from him as he leaned more heavily against the tree. He felt confused, sad, lonely, and he just wanted to slink back to Windisle and hide again.
As if she’d heard his tiny exhale of breath, Clara turned her head, her eyes probing the darkness around him. He froze, her gaze moving over him without seeing.
A car pulled up near the park entrance and Clara stood, watching, her stance tense until it pulled away. She sat back down on the edge of the fountain, turning toward the splashing water dejectedly and running her fingers through it.
Her movements were elegant, heart-achingly feminine, and everything masculine inside of Jonah responded to her. She’d dance beautifully, and Jonah felt a tiny tremor of grief move through him to know he’d never see it.
He watched her as she waited, memorizing her movements, seeing the way she glanced at the stars now and again. What are you thinking when you do that, Clara? he wondered, the need to know an ache of despair within his chest. What are you looking for? He’d never know, of course, not after this.
An hour went by and still she waited, Jonah’s heart growing heavier by the moment. She waited for him, and he needed her to leave so he could return home as well. But he wouldn’t abandon her alone in this dark, deserted park even if she thought that’s exactly what he’d done. He’d wait for her ride to appear and then he’d go. But when Clara finally stood a few minutes later, looking around one final time before walking toward the park entrance, there was no car waiting for her.
What the hell?
It was a relatively safe area but still . . . she shouldn’t be walking through strange neighborhoods by herself.
Jonah followed, keeping to the shadows, raising his collar higher and lowering his head in case someone passed. But the streets were mostly empty as he trailed Clara, far enough behind, he hoped, that she wouldn’t hear his hollow footsteps.
Despite his raw emotions and the guilt he felt over standing Clara up, he experienced that surge of triumph he’d felt earlier. He was outside his self-ordained prison, walking down a residential street like any other normal person. He’d done it!
He closed his eyes, breathing in the freedom, breathing out the fear.
If he took precautions, covered himself so no one looked twice, he could walk around just like this. He’d remain hidden—he deserved a life of shadows—and had no desire to be seen. But he didn’t have to torture himself any further than he already did with days of nothing but boredom and sameness. Did he?
The area became less residential the farther Clara walked and when she finally entered a mostly empty, well-lit diner, Jonah took a sigh of relief, standing in a darkened doorway as she sat at a table next to the window across the street, her hands wrapped around a steaming mug of coffee.
He could see her more clearly in the bright lights of the diner, see the pretty heart shape of her face and the beautifully wide set of her eyes, the sweeping elegance of her cheekbones, and the full lip that she chewed on as she stared forlornly out the window.
And he ached. He ached with longing so intense it left him breathless. She was his Clara. That beautiful girl in the window, who looked so deep in thought.
He leaned his head so he could see her better with his good eye, knowing he’d let her down, but also knowing it was better this way. He took that moment to merge this Clara with the girl he’d come to know until he could not only hear her in his memories, but picture her as well, sitting on the other side of the wall, her shiny hair pulled into a ponytail as it was now, her long slim legs pulled beneath her.
He startled when Clara suddenly stood, digging in her purse for money that she then placed on the table before rushing out of the diner.
He hadn’t seen her call for a ride, but he figured she must have and that’s where she was heading. But when she looked both ways and then jogged back across the street, he ducked into the doorway, looking out when he heard her footsteps hurrying away, back toward the park, back toward Windisle. What was she doing?
He followed her again, only this time in reverse, as she hurried down the darkened streets, moving fluidly through the night. She was going to Windisle. He had stood her up—or so she thought—and now she was going to confront him.
Or, wrong choice of words. She was going to give him a piece of her mind through the stone that would forever be between them.
Some part of him thrilled at her audacity.
This girl didn’t give up. She might have made a damn fine lawyer if she hadn’t been given a body made for dancing. And he could see that she definitely had been given a body made for dancing. She was slim and strong, her lean legs encased in a pair of fitted jeans, her every movement elegant and graceful. God, to see her dance. To carry that vision in his mind forever. Maybe it would sustain him all the rest of his lonely, sheltered days behind that damn wall he both hated and was forever grateful for.
