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A Stroke Of Midnight :: Гамильтон Лорел
Страница: 51 из 293Once it was Galen in my heart and no other, but that was before I grew up enough to understand what it would mean to be at my side. It was a dangerous place to be, a treacherous place to be.
I hugged him not because he was the only name written across my heart now, but because he no longer was. A part of me was saddened by that, and another part of me was almost relieved. I understood what my father had known decades ago: for Galen the title of king would be a death sentence. I needed someone hard and dangerous by my side, not gentle and placating.
I looked into Doyle’s face as I held Galen to me. Did Doyle not know that my heart’s list had grown larger, and that his name was on that list? The way he was acting, he seemed jealous, or envious, or angry. He was hiding his emotions so well that I couldn’t decide what emotion he was hiding, just that it was something strong that he didn’t want to share. Even being able to see that much meant the Darkness’s legendary control was slipping.
“I’m going to call Gillett.” I turned back to the phone, and since I had only one good hand, I had to let go of Galen. He kept himself touching the back of my body, his body insinuated against me. He fit against me as he always had, as if he’d been born to be there. If all I’d ever wanted in my bed was gentle lovemaking, then Galen would have been wonderful, but we’d had months in bed to discover that his idea of passion and mine did not match. He did not understand my desire for roughness, or pain, or just simply being a little more forceful. Galen gave me pale, uncomprehending eyes when I asked certain things.
I dialed Gillett’s number by heart, though his number had changed over the years. I’d always had to memorize it for fear of someone caring enough to look through any address book I might have. I could have saved my worry; Doyle’s reaction had shown plainly that no one had been paying me that close attention. It was a little sad, and a little frustrating. So much wasted effort in hiding from people who weren’t even looking.
I waited for Gillette’s cell phone to ring. I’d promised him that if anyone else ever died in circumstances similar to my father’s, I’d let him know. These weren’t really that similar, but a promise is a promise. I felt half silly and half excited, as if somehow just being able to make this one call would change things. I was over thirty, but part of me was still seventeen and wanted justice. I should have known better by now.
He answered, “Gillett.”
“Hey,” I said.
“Merry?”
“Yes.
I hugged him not because he was the only name written across my heart now, but because he no longer was. A part of me was saddened by that, and another part of me was almost relieved. I understood what my father had known decades ago: for Galen the title of king would be a death sentence. I needed someone hard and dangerous by my side, not gentle and placating.
I looked into Doyle’s face as I held Galen to me. Did Doyle not know that my heart’s list had grown larger, and that his name was on that list? The way he was acting, he seemed jealous, or envious, or angry. He was hiding his emotions so well that I couldn’t decide what emotion he was hiding, just that it was something strong that he didn’t want to share. Even being able to see that much meant the Darkness’s legendary control was slipping.
“I’m going to call Gillett.” I turned back to the phone, and since I had only one good hand, I had to let go of Galen. He kept himself touching the back of my body, his body insinuated against me. He fit against me as he always had, as if he’d been born to be there. If all I’d ever wanted in my bed was gentle lovemaking, then Galen would have been wonderful, but we’d had months in bed to discover that his idea of passion and mine did not match. He did not understand my desire for roughness, or pain, or just simply being a little more forceful. Galen gave me pale, uncomprehending eyes when I asked certain things.
I dialed Gillett’s number by heart, though his number had changed over the years. I’d always had to memorize it for fear of someone caring enough to look through any address book I might have. I could have saved my worry; Doyle’s reaction had shown plainly that no one had been paying me that close attention. It was a little sad, and a little frustrating. So much wasted effort in hiding from people who weren’t even looking.
I waited for Gillette’s cell phone to ring. I’d promised him that if anyone else ever died in circumstances similar to my father’s, I’d let him know. These weren’t really that similar, but a promise is a promise. I felt half silly and half excited, as if somehow just being able to make this one call would change things. I was over thirty, but part of me was still seventeen and wanted justice. I should have known better by now.
He answered, “Gillett.”
“Hey,” I said.
“Merry?”
“Yes.