Darker

Baby, you read me like one of your books; except I’m not the hero. I’ll never be the hero.

I’ve been so busy I haven’t managed to contact her since this morning, but she’s been hovering at the edge of my consciousness all day, like a guardian angel. My guardian angel. Ever present but not intrusive.

Damn right. She’s my girl. Handkerchiefs are my business, not his.

We move in the light. We slow in the shadows. We stop in the dark.

I slip it into my inside pocket, pleased that it will rest close to my heart.

I’m her lost boy, now found.

Christian, I’ve long held the belief that you never really had an adolescence—emotionally speaking.

You’ve seen the photos. You’ve spoken to the boy.” “His name is José,” she asserts, louder this time.

what does a young woman from Montesano do to keep herself amused?” I take a sip of my beer. “Read.” “It always comes back to books with you, doesn’t it?” “Yes.