Читать книгу Pieces - Группа авторов - Страница 2

The next day, I returned to the hospital room earlier than usual, driven by the stubborn loyalty that had carried us through scrapes and silences. He was awake, propped slightly against the pillows, his eyes distant but restless. The machines kept their steady rhythm beside him, indifferent to the storm inside his head.

I pulled my chair close, the same way I had yesterday, shoving down the frustration that he lit up for her memory but not for years of shared history, and leaned forward. “It’s me again,” I said softly. “I want to try something.”

His gaze flickered to me, faint but aware.

“You’ve been talking about her,” I continued carefully. “About that night. The doctors say it’s memory fragments. I think it’s more than that. I think it’s real. So… I want you to walk me through it. Slowly. From the beginning.”

For a moment, he was silent. Then, with a hoarse voice, he whispered, “Amber light.”

I nodded. “Good. Amber light. Where was it?”

His eyelids fluttered, and then his lips formed the words. “The bar… dim… music.”

“Yes,” I said, my voice steady, encouraging, despite the brotherly ache of watching a ghost outshine our bond. “You’re in the bar. Tell me what you see.”

His breathing quickened. “She… she’s there. By the counter. Watching me. Her eyes…” His voice broke into a whisper. “God, her eyes…”

I reached out, steadying his trembling hand. “You’re doing well. Stay with me. What happened next?”

* * *

The night wrapped itself around me like a cloak, heavy and alive with sounds. Outside, the city pulsed with neon and footsteps, but inside the bar, the world shifted into something slower, softer. The lights were low, amber spilling across polished wood and worn leather. Music moved like smoke through the room, a languid jazz melody that seemed to hum against my skin.

I sat alone, tracing the rim of my glass with a fingertip, not drinking, not waiting – at least, not for anything I could name. Still, there was a restlessness in me, a quiet ache, as though my body knew something was about to happen long before my mind could catch up.

And then I felt it.

A gaze. Steady. Heavy enough to reach me across the room.

I lifted my eyes, and she was there.

Leaning casually against the bar, her body relaxed, yet her presence filled the space like a storm waiting to break. Her dress was dark, simple, but it clung to her in ways that left no room for doubt. Her denim jacket hung loose over one shoulder, casual yet framing her like it was made for that exact moment under amber light. Her hair spilled down in waves, untamed, catching the light in glimmers that framed the delicate strength of her face. But it was her eyes that held me. Unflinching. Curious. Bold.

The first glance should have been fleeting. It wasn’t. Our eyes locked, and in that moment the noise of the bar, the hum of conversations, the music all of it faded to silence. It was as though the air itself had tightened between us, charged with something I couldn’t name.

My chest rose sharply with breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. Her gaze didn’t waver. It lingered, slid over me, and traced me as if she had every right to see beneath my skin. Heat rushed to my face, to my throat, lower still, leaving me unsettled in my own body.

She lifted her glass slightly, a small, deliberate tilt, her lips brushing its rim with a hint of a smile. It wasn’t casual. It was invitation. And my body responded before my thoughts could form a protest. I stood. My legs felt heavy and weightless at once. Each step toward her felt longer than it was, the distance both impossible and inevitable. My heartbeat pounded so hard I could hear it over the music. By the time I reached her, I was breathless.

Up close, she was devastating. The lines of her face were softened by shadows, yet her eyes burned with an intensity that made me feel stripped bare. Her perfume drifted to me, jasmine and something darker, something that smelled like skin after heat. My pulse stumbled.

Her voice broke the silence between us, low and velvet, carrying a tease wrapped in warmth.

“Do you always stare at strangers that long?”

I should have laughed. I should have denied it. But my voice betrayed me with honesty I didn’t plan.

“Only the ones worth remembering.”

Her lips curved into a smile, slow, deliberate, and dangerous. It was a smile that promised something the night had not yet revealed but already, I knew.

This night would not let me go.

Her smile lingered, but her silence weighed heavier. She didn’t move right away, didn’t rush to fill the space with chatter. Instead, she let the air between us hum, as though she knew exactly what she was doing, drawing me deeper into her orbit with nothing but her presence. I swallowed, my throat dry. “May I sit?” I asked, though it came out softer than I intended, almost reverent.

She gestured toward the stool beside her, her fingers graceful, unhurried. “I was hoping you would.”

I slipped onto the seat, aware of how close she was, how her arm rested against the counter, her skin bare, smooth, so close I could have brushed it with the back of my hand if I dared lean an inch. My body vibrated with restraint.

Her perfume reached me again, subtle, intoxicating, curling into my lungs until it felt like I was breathing her. The warmth of her body radiated through the small gap between us, and already, I could feel the edges of my control fraying.

She tilted her head slightly, studying me. “You’re nervous,” she murmured, not as a question, but a quiet observation.

I met her eyes, heat pooling low in my belly. “Maybe.”

“Good.”

The word slid from her lips like silk, and I shivered. She didn’t explain it, and I didn’t ask. It was enough to know she enjoyed the effect she had on me, enough to let her lead the dance I hadn’t even realized I’d stepped into. Her hand moved slowly, deliberately. She reached for her glass, her fingers brushing over mine on the counter. Just a whisper of touch, feather light, but it set me ablaze. Electricity shot up my arm, spreading in sharp, delicious waves through my chest, down my spine.

I froze.

She didn’t.

Instead, her fingertips lingered, tracing the edge of my knuckles as though mapping me. My skin came alive beneath her touch. I hadn’t realized how long it had been since anyone had touched me like that not rushed, not accidental, but intentional. Intimate.

I looked up at her, and our eyes collided again. This time, there was no room for escape.

The bar around us disappeared, or maybe it still existed, but in that moment, she was the only thing I could see, hear, and feel. The faint smile at her lips told me she knew. She knew the way she was unravelling me, thread by thread, with nothing more than the brush of her fingers. “Soft,” she whispered, her eyes dropping briefly to where her hand still grazed mine. “I like that.”

My breath caught. I wanted to tell her she hadn’t even begun to discover softness, that she was awakening something deeper than I’d ever dared share. But the words wouldn’t come. Instead, I let the silence carry my confession, my pulse beating against her touch like a secret I couldn’t hide. She leaned closer, her lips near my ear, her breath warm against my skin.

“Don’t pull away,” she murmured, her denim jacket brushed my arm as she leaned in.

As if I could.

* * *

The days that followed felt suspended between dream and waking. Each morning, he rose with the dull certainty that something or someone was missing, a presence that lingered just beyond reach. The doctors called it recovery, but to him, it felt like chasing the echo of a voice: Don’t pull away.”