He Staged My Funeral, Now His Wolf Howls at My Door novel · Chapter 20 of 32

Chapter 20: The Kiss

"I never hated you," I said again, to the concrete wall.

His forehead came down between my shoulder blades, careful of the bandage, and rested there.

He did not touch me anywhere else.

We stayed like that until the old woman banged a pan upstairs and shouted that the eggs were getting cold.

The day went on as if nothing had happened.

I saw eleven patients and set the paint-stick boy's wrist in a proper cast.

Eamon split wood, then stood in the clinic doorway for an hour, watching me work.

Every time I looked up, his eyes were already on me.

By dusk I was angry about it.

I was angry because my shoulder ached and my pulse would not settle, and because every time he walked behind my chair I felt the heat of him on my neck.

The last patient left at seven.

Marla had driven Calvin to the bus station that morning, with instructions to go home and tell the truth.

The old woman had gone to bed with her radio, a bottle and a book of crossword puzzles.

I locked the clinic door and turned around, and he was three steps away from me in the dark.

"Doc," he said.

It was a joke, and neither of us laughed.

"You said I could touch you when you say so," he said. "I'm asking."

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