Chapter 21: The Night

Neither of us said anything on the drive back from Nicolette's building.

Mark's mother had gone home in a taxi, holding the urologist's letter against her chest, and Knox had watched it turn the corner.

Then he had opened my door.

At his place, I stood in the middle of the kitchen with my coat still on.

My hands would not stop shaking.

"Sit," Knox said.

I sat.

He made tea, black with a slice of lemon, and set it in front of me without a word.

I drank half of it.

"I thought I'd feel like I won," I said.

"You didn't."

"I feel tired. And I feel clean."

"That's about right."

He leaned on the counter with his arms crossed, and I looked at him in the yellow kitchen light, his broken nose and his big careful hands.

I had been looking at him for weeks without letting myself.

"You kissed me on the stairs," I said.

"You kissed me."

"I kissed you back. You started it."

"I did not start it." He nearly smiled. "You put your hand on my face."

"And you let me."

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because I wanted you to." He said it flatly. "I have for a year."

My heart gave one hard beat.

"You never said."

"You were my brother's."

"I'm not anyone's."

"I know." His voice was low. "That's why I'm standing over here."

I got up and crossed the kitchen.

I stopped close enough to feel the heat of him through his shirt.

"I'm not your brother's. I'm not the list's. I am extremely tired of standing over there."

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