Page 75 of The Secret
After a moment, he closed the distance between us and captured my cheek in his hand.
“I’m starting to thinkyoudon’t know whatyou’recapable of, Constantine, because it’s more than you give yourself credit for. You don’t have to prove anything to me or anyone else. But at a certain point you have to decide if you’re going to live forever as the guy people think you are, or showyourselfthat you’re worthy of something different.”
He pushed to his feet and dusted off his jeans, all casual.
Meanwhile, I sat on the ground, staring at the spot where he’d been sitting, thinkingOh, shit.He’d razed me to my foundations and built me back up again all at the same time.
My stomach trembled violently, and I was pretty sure sweat was breaking out on my forehead, which made sense because there was some kind of seismic activity happening in my brain, too—tectonic plates shifting and realigning, old bridges collapsing, and little islands springing into existence in its wake. My mind vomited the wordloveinto my consciousness before it blue-screened completely and panic took over.
Wasthis love? I’d sort of imagined love as a pleasant experience. Hearts and flowers. Unicorns. Possibly rainbows. Was love supposed to make every nerve in your body dance like you’d stuck your finger in a light socket and adrenaline race through your bloodstream like a T. Rex had appeared on the horizon? Did love root your feet to the ground and make your fingers cold and then hot and then cold again?
Because if so, it was a wonder they let justanybodyat this shit. They had age requirements for alcohol, licenses for guns, and prescriptions for fuckingbirth control, but apparently any old idiot could wander out into an apple orchard and find himself electrocuted by love with no recourse whatsoever.
It was monumentally terrifying.
Micah bent down and kissed me softly, then pulled me to my feet. “Have I broken your brain?”
I nodded.
“Just think about it, okay? No pressure.” He grinned. “Now let’s find some damn donuts. Because I know you’redyingto talk my ear off about permaculture, and I’m gonna require sustenance if you expect me to listen.”
I tried to speak, but no sound came out, so I cleared my throat and tried again. “Fuck that. If you think you’re eatingallthe donuts, Bloom, you have another think coming,” I said, though it came out all weak and reedy and weird.
Micah looked at me with those gorgeous, mind-reading eyes and gave me an amused smile, like maybe he saw my terror and saw my deflection, too. Like the crazy and the trouble really didn’t bother him one bit.
“Race you!” he challenged, but in the end, I’m pretty sure he let me win. And for a second, I could almost let myself believe that everything between us, this wholecrazy, secret, beautiful thing between us was somethingreal. Something that could exist outside of the shadows.
Chapter Ten
Constantine
October
“Jules!” I ran out of Goode’s Diner after my brother, following him as he zig-zagged down the sidewalk, through the parked cars, and across the street to his clinic. “Julian! I’m talking to you!”
I knew he heard me, but he didn’t even slow down, and I kinda couldn’t blame him. Jules—the responsible Ross brother, the professional, not-troublemaking Ross brother, theboringRoss brother—had just stood up in the diner in the middle of our usual Saturday morning breakfast and announced to the entire fucking town that he was dating a guy none of us knew. When my mother found out—which she absolutely would, within minutes, thanks to the O’Leary gossip network—there was going to be hell to pay, and he knew it. When he’d pushed himself away from the table, I’d thought he was gonna vomit, and for maybe the first time ever, I had total sympathy for the man.
Somehow, Julian and I had been living parallel lives,bothof us hiding our relationships. What were the chances?
And how thefuckhad that happened?
I put my hand on Julian’s shoulder as he pulled his keys from his pocket and unlocked the clinic door.
“Con, I can’t talk now,” he said. “I’ve got to get ready for Lina Davenport, and…”
I stepped inside after him and locked the door behind me. “And first you have to explain what the hell is going on.”
“Do I? I really think it’s self-explanatory.” Jules was defensive,guilty, and I got that. Oh, God, I got that.
“You’re dating the man in the woods,” I said, mostly to confirm that I hadn’t somehow misheard.
He sighed. “Could you make him sound slightly less like the killer from some 80s slasher film? His name isDaniel.”
“Fine, then. Daniel.”
“Is it really so hard to believe?” he demanded. “No, you know what? Don’t answer that.”
I couldn’t have answered him if I wanted to. This guy wholookedlike my capable, professional big brother—the guy who’d practically never gotten in trouble in our entire lives, the man who’d been my rock after all the Trent Gaynor bullshit—had melted down into this frantic, raving mess.
