“This is wrong. See? I’m askin’ ye, Marguerite.”
The older woman tilted a sympathetic look at him. “Ah, Boo. I’m surprised you haven’t yet realized. That dial on your wrist…it was never about her,mon ami. It was about you.”
In shock, Connor stared at the dial as if he’d never seen it before.
“You must come now. It’s time.” Marguerite held out her hand to Emma.
Inexplicably compelled, Emma obliged, and Marguerite’s fingers closed around hers. They felt so different from his but still comforting somehow. The woman pulled Emma to her feet. The dog leapt up, too, wagging his way over to stand beside Connor.
“But…wait!” she stammered. “I—I’m not ready!”
Beside her, Connor’s jaw worked. She could see him fighting what he wanted to say. Instead, his eyes met hers with a kind of desperation. Desperation and surrender.
“But you are,” Marguerite argued. “You’re more than ready now.”
“’Twill be all right,mo ghràdh,” Connor told Emma, his mouth still bruised by her kiss. “She’s right. Ye must go. Ye’ll be all right now.” But he wore an expression she’d never seen on him before, and it scared her. Where was she going?
Marguerite pulled her away from him, and Emma felt herself falling, fading. The park, the fireworks, the sound from the orchestra, all of them disappearing behind her. Worst of all—
“Connor!” she called out as the space between them widened and the fireworks crescendo overhead exploded in a final overpowering finale. “Don’t leave me! Please! Wait! Will I ever see you again?”
But he was on his feet, the July evening breeze tugging at his too-long hair, but he didn’t reply. He only stared after her as the sky, the angels on the rooftops, and the crowds in the park grew farther and farther away.
And then, Conner, along with all the rest, disappeared behind her.
Chapter Eleven
Emma opened hereyes with a gasp. She blinked as the too-bright room she found herself in swam into a blurry focus beyond her lashes.
There was white. Lots of white. A bright light coming from somewhere to her…left? She sensed people. Several people nearby. But moving her head seemed like an overwhelming task, so she slid her gaze sideways and saw—
“She’s awake!” Aubrey practically shouted. “Look! Someone call a doctor! She’s awake!Emma!Emma, can you hear me? Oh, thank God!”
She felt Aubrey’s hand holding hers—but she wanted Connor’s hand instead. She opened her mouth to speak, but only a croak came out.
Aubrey leaned closer. “What? What is it, Em? You’re okay. You’re right here with me. Jacob’s here, too. You had an accident. Do you remember?”
But Emma wanted to close her eyes. Return to where she had just been. Because she couldn’t see Connor anywhere in the room. And she needed to see him.
Some machine beeped beside her on its tall table, echoing her erratic heartbeat. Now Jacob leaned over the bed, too. “You’re getting her too excited. You’re okay, Emma.”
She shook her head no. She was not okay. She was not going to be okay. “Did you,” she croaked very slowly, “see him?”
Aubrey sent a confused look at Jacob. “See who?”
Emma tried to say his name but couldn’t get the word out without choking up.
“What did she say?”
“I couldn’t make it out,” Aubrey said. “Oh no. We’ve made her cry. It’s okay, honey. Don’t cry.”
“She’s bound to be a little confused,” Jacob whispered. “Don’t press her now.”
They were talking about her as if she wasn’t in the room. But she knew they hadn’t seen him or Marguerite, either. Both of them were gone. From the sunlight pouring through the window, time had clearly passed as well. Who even knew what day this was?
But Aubrey was here. Jacob. Just seeing them still here for her—as they’d been through her whole ordeal—meant everything.
“No,” she whispered emphatically, taking Aubrey’s hand in hers. “Love you, Aub. Thank…you.”
