Page 57 of Caged in Silver


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Meanwhile, it’s his chest I’m worried about. I lay a hand on it, guessing at the point of impact. “You’re going to have a bruise.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Betts,” he smiles. “I’ll be fine.”

“Thank you,” I whisper. “For catching me.”

“I have a promise to keep.” His voice is soft, and I swear he’s closer than he was a moment ago. He still has one arm around me, and I can feel his body against mine, even through our thick coats. I dare myself to look directly into his eyes, swallowing hard when I realize he’s looking intensely back at me.

That was a mistake, because now I’m trapped in his gaze. His dark irises sparkle rose-gold. Is it the sunlight? The exercise? The cold has nipped his nose and cheeks, turning them pink. I curl my hands tightly in my gloves to keep from touching him. To keep from tracing the dip below his cheekbones and the strong line of his jaw.

He draws a hand up my back.

Neither of us blinks.

And all of a sudden, he’s not holding me anymore. Instead, he moistens his lips and looks over his shoulder at the path. “Should be an easy walk from here on,” he says, voice gruff.

I nod and clear my throat. With my arms wrapped tightly around me, I follow him until the trail widens enough that we can walk side by side. Even then, we avoid one another’s eyes. We both know what almost happened. I should be relieved that it didn’t, but honestly, part of me is disappointed. A disappointment that needs stashed away in the don’t-even-entertain-that-idea folder.

Because yeah, maybe in the moment, I wanted to kiss him. But I didn’t. I wouldn’t. And obviously he knows better than to kiss me.

We passed the test. We can be friends without worrying about crossing that line. Which is good, because the truth is, I need Leo’s friendship. He, Avery, and Aaron are probably the only people I know who understand what it’s like to be psychic, and only Leo witnessed what I went through near that bridge today. I want—no, Ineed—him in my life.

While we finish out our hike, he resumes his trail guide role, pointing out more trees and identifying a bird or two. Between sightings, we debate which is better: Shakespeare’s comedies or his tragedies? Christmas or Halloween? A latte or a shaken espresso?

On the drive home, I struggle to stay awake. It’s not until he parks the car and turns off the engine that I snap out of my daze. I rub my eyes as I gaze out over campus, wondering how we got here so fast.

Leo grins. “Good morning.”

I stretch and fight back a yawn. “Did I fall asleep?”

“I think so.”

“Too much fresh air.”

“How’s your head?”

“Fine.” I poke around the top of my forehead, but I can’t find the burgeoning bruise. I give up and ask him how his chest is feeling.

He flattens a hand on his sternum and doublesover in agony.

“You’re a worse actor than a Brazilian soccer player,” I laugh. As I gather up my gloves and hat, I tell him, “You don’t have to walk me back.” It’s broad daylight and not far to my dorm.

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

He angles himself to face me. “Are you going to be okay?”

I press my palm to my injury—still no pain.

“Not your head.” He removes my hand. “I’m talking about the logging accident.”

Oh, that. “I don’t know.” Maybe if I’m lucky, I can stuff the incident deep in the back of my mind.

Until it happens again.