A Keeper's Truth (24 page)

“I know
how you feel now, but in time you’ll think differently.”

“Time
won’t make a difference, Thomas.” I plow into the overturned chair by mistake,
grunting in pain. “I have feelings for Bryce, a connection I don’t see an end
to. We have history.”

Thomas
blocks my way from the kitchen, his entire frame swallowing the doorway.

“I’ve
heard all about my brother’s pathetic theories. Did he tell you he was your
lover in past lives? Ha! I’m sure he did. Anything to get you in his bed.”

“Thomas,
this is none of your business, and you’ve no right to—”

“Let me
guess, he left out the part about the two of you never producing a child
together. Never ever. Not in a single past life did you bear his son.”

My gaze
falls to the floor as bells go off in my head.

“Did he
forget to mention you were killed before finding your happily ever after? Every
time. Every fucking time! You were brutally murdered in each and every life
that mingled with his.”

I stumble
back and grasp the table to keep from sliding to the floor. My head swims in a
lifetime of nightmares.

The brunt
of a fist.

The fatal
twist of a knife.

The theft
of my soul.

Suddenly
my violent dreams take on new meaning. Shudders run through my body. A cold
sweat leaves the smell of fear on my skin.

“You have
no future with Bryce.”

Oh my God,
what if Thomas is right? I hold tight to the counter, my body going into shock.
Maybe it’s too dangerous to consider a life with Bryce. Is that what I’ve
chosen, a future with Bryce? My baby girl, Abby, my innocent daughter, her
safety comes first. Should I take her away, leave Carlisle and find another
place to live, a safer place, somewhere far from lost souls and Keepers? Where?
How?

I follow
the wall down the hall, slowly, unbalanced. My emotions are on overload.

I’m
enthralled with Bryce’s lessons, the wonders of this world being unraveled like
a good book, but is it all too much for me? Am I making the right choices?
Maybe a normal life, the life I had with Meyer . . .

“Be with
me,” says Thomas, stepping close, too close.

I look up,
into his eyes. They’re a turbulent storm of gray, and I’m struck by one word:
longing. What if the kind of life Thomas offers would keep my family safe?

“Tess, be
with me, we’ll have our family. With me you’d be—”

“Lying,” I
say, pushing past him. A rush of clarity has me heated to a boil as I stomp
down the hall to the front door. “I don’t want to hear anymore.” I grab my coat
and boots. Thomas reaches for me and I plow past him, opening the door. “I’ll
be back for Abby at one o’clock. Have her ready.”

Thomas
grabs the door so I can’t pass. “Promise you’ll think about what I’ve said.”

He’s not
going to let me go until I agree.

“Fine,” I
say, actually hating him.

He opens
the door and I step out without looking back.

Think
about what he’s said . . .

How can I
not?

M
y toes
dangle over the edge, curled against cold stone. I flex and a biting wind rises
up the monstrous precipice to burn the tender skin between all ten digits. I
stare into nothingness, the unfathomable abyss, as the chill smothers my face,
stinging extremities. The spread before me is so dark I might as well be blind.
Anxiety builds within my core, setting fire to every internal morsel. I can
hear fear in the wind. It should affect me. It should rattle me and attack my
senses. It tries, desperately, but my soul is numb and too stunned to run.

Tap
,
tap
.

I jump
inches from the ground before registering the sound of bone on glass. Bryce
stands at the glass-paneled door of my studio, my haven. A pensive smile fails
to reach his eyes. He slowly raises his hand to wave.

Somewhere
in my mind swims the notion to open the door and welcome him in, but my feet
are firmly planted, my toes still wrapped around the ledge of frigid rock. To
move would mean stepping into the abyss. Or running in the opposite direction.
Bryce opens the door a crack and asks for permission to enter, snapping me from
this self-induced trance. I nod and smile awkwardly, crimson paint dripping
down my sleeve. Bryce gently closes the door behind him.

I pull at
my smock, hiding the tea stains on my clothes. Days of sleep deprivation have
left me looking a little worse for wear. Okay, I look like shit. I stare at
Bryce, unable to speak. At least one of us looks good. My favorite scarf hangs
from his neck, and his dark tailored suit and crisp white shirt remind me of an
Oreo cookie. I haven’t eaten today.

Seconds
into pleasantries Bryce asks, “What’s wrong? Something has changed. I can’t
read you. You have walls up,” he says, peering into my eyes.

“For
real?” I’m surprised to hear this. I didn’t even know I could do that, block
his intrusion into my head. I glare right back, losing myself in his hypnotic
glow. “I had a chat with Thomas,” I say, shaking my head clear. Bryce’s
expression evolves to concern in an instant. “You were right, your brother has
an interesting perspective.”

I don’t
need to repeat Thomas’s position. I doubt he’s ever held back with Bryce.

“Yes,” he
says, pulling his spine straight and rolling his shoulders back.

He doesn’t
look shocked in the least, and for the first time I wonder if his sudden
departure was legitimate or just a ruse to get me to speak to his brother. I
study him, suspicious, but my stance doesn’t prompt a confession and I’m out of
energy to bicker.

“You knew
Thomas would try to talk me out of . . . everything.” I’m
struggling to find the right words. Having had days to toil over my thoughts
and emotions, my lines are well rehearsed. But now, now that he stands before
me with the face of a god and the ability to melt my every defense, I can’t
bring myself to rant.

“Yes,” he
whispers, the sound barely distinguishable from the swish of ceiling fans. “I
wanted every option presented to you. As much as it pains me to see you torn
and confused, you needed to hear my brother’s point of view, your choices. That
is life’s gift, the freedom of choice.”

The studio
falls silent. Minutes tick by. Even the blowing wind seems to halt while I
process.

Bryce
steps closer. “You can tell me anything, you know.” His expression desperate.
He looks past me, taking in my canvas. Then looks to the floor. “Thomas is a
good man. He can give you the life you want, a good life, a different life
than . . .” The obstruction in his throat clears. “He’d make you
happy if you gave him the chance.”

“I don’t
understand. You want me to be with Thomas?”

“No.” He
inhales a mouthful of air, moving closer. “I want you to be—” He looks
away, studying my canvas, obviously troubled. “If you choose to be with Thomas
or to live his way of life, now that you’ve learned the truth, I will respect
your wishes and leave.”

“Leave for
where?” I ask on a whim.

Bryce
deflates, obviously assuming I’d prefer he move from Carlisle, leaving me with
Thomas. This is not an option. There is no future for Thomas and me. Since our
heated discussion, I’ve thought about all he said—thought of nothing
else—and although some of it scares me, frightens me to the core, I’m not
about to let fear choose my path in life. Thomas’s picture-perfect existence sounds
beautiful. Knowing he’s great with Abby even makes it tempting. But I’m not in
love with Thomas. And although I’m sure he’s being forthright with me, at least
some grains of truth in his speech, I know his words are tainted with jealousy,
fear, and anger.

I cross my
arms, the air suddenly thick with determination. I’m not sure what I want from
this life, but I’m sure of what I don’t want. And right now I want answers.

“You leave
town and Thomas watches over me,” I say, standing tall. “How long do you think
I’ll tolerate being babysat? Maybe I shouldn’t learn your truths. Maybe I
should learn to run and hide? Maybe I should get as far away from Carlisle and
Keepers as possible?”

“You are
free to pick any course of action you wish,” says Bryce. “But I doubt even
Thomas would suggest you abandon the life you’ve made here. Lost souls are
everywhere.” He sighs and steps toward me. “I can’t find a single reason this
particular lost soul was here in town. As far as I can tell, he had no
connection to Sonia, and no reason to be here, no family, no friends, not even
employment. And I’m not sure if his interest in you is coincidental, spurred by
curiosity, or planned, in hopes of eliminating a possible threat to his
freedom. But I think he was satisfied with what he saw in your home and left
town for good.” Bryce sighs. “Look, you want and deserve your independence,
your freedom. I can give you that. I can help you. There are worse out there,
and there is much you don’t know. But I am sure if you don’t learn, your nightmares
will eventually catch up with you.”

He knows.
Bryce knows I have gruesome nightmares. And that these scenes, these
deathly reenactments are real: history, my history, moments my soul’s past had
to endure as its body was tortured and stripped of its will. Thomas was telling
the truth.

Suddenly
I’m pissed, fed-up with feeling powerless.

“Thomas is
not divorced,” I say. “His wife is dead.”

Bryce
neither confirms nor denies this fact, which in itself says plenty. The thought
of death overwhelms me, and a vision of Sonia lying naked and bloody in the
snow attacks my conscience. I snap the paintbrush in two and hurl it and the
palette I’d spent hours mixing across the studio, splattering several shades of
red across the floor.

“Had
I . . . had I . . . in the
café . . .?”

Bryce
reaches out. “Oh, Tess—”

I push him
away. “Tell me the truth, would Sonia be alive?”

“No,
absolutely not.” He groans. “You can’t believe you had anything to do with
Sonia’s death. Tess, there is nothing you could’ve done. There is nothing
anyone could have done.”

Lifting my
canvas from the easel, I hitch up my chin. “Your last girlfriend, is she dead?”

Bryce tips
his head back and closes his eyes. “Yes.”

He
flinches as I thrust the wooden frame over my knee, breaking it in half. Bits
of wood, paint, and staples fly this way and that.

“How did
she die? Was she killed by a lost soul? What happened? And don’t you dare lie
to me.”

“Her name
was Lilith and I loved her,” he says, voice pained. “I loved her for all the
wrong reasons. She was wild and sexy and kept me on my feet, but she had no
interest in being a Keeper’s wife, and I didn’t have the heart to try and
change her, to make her into something she wasn’t. I didn’t have the right.”

I shrink
back, realizing I’ve forced him to talk about something private, something
heartbreaking, something Thomas shouldn’t have told me.

“Lilith
lived life on the edge, like every day was her last. It was intoxicating, and I
was drawn to her, to the way she soaked up every teeny morsel of every minute,
hour, day. But Lilith also liked to play with fire, with danger, with lost
souls, and her choices ultimately got her killed. I tried to help her, as a
person I cared for dearly, not a student. I told her she’d lose, that her life
was worth more than the thrill of the game, but she wouldn’t listen. She never
listened.”

My focus
on destruction has faded, ire gone. The canvas in my fists drops to the floor
in a heap. Red paint is splattered everywhere.

“These
previous lives, when you and I were . . .” I can’t say the word
lovers while he stands within arm’s length. “Was I killed before we could have
a family?”

Bryce
sways before me, the look of horror tensing his face. He inhales a gust of air,
holding it captive. Seconds pass before he regains his composure.

“Yes. I’m
sure your nightmares have given you more than enough detail.”

Oh my God.
I’ve dreamt over a hundred lifetimes, all ending in death. I look to the
canvases gently swaying from the ceiling on delicate chains. Creatures of
mythical proportion stare back at me, daring me to rip them from their godlike
positions. A renegade tear slides down my cheek and in an instant Bryce closes
the space between us, holding my face against his warm chest and enclosing me
in his jacket.

“Oh Tess.”

We stand
like this, me in Bryce’s embrace, for countless minutes. His scent is calming,
drug-like, sending me over the edge of the precipice to weightlessly drift in
the abyss.

When Bryce
finally loosens his grip I cling to him. I want to crawl under his shirt and
fall asleep on his bare skin. At this moment I want to pretend. I want to live
in a world where everything is as it seems. I want to forget these new
discoveries and go back to thinking my visions are delusions and my nightmares
are nothing more than an overactive imagination. I want Bryce to be a man, not
a Keeper.

“What
happens if I don’t want to learn anymore?” I mumble into his chest.

“This is
my fault. I let your eagerness and enthusiasm set the pace. I should’ve known
not to go so far, to give you time to think on it all. No more for now.”

“But I
want to know.” My mind is running in chaotic circles.

“We’ve
been moving too fast in your lessons. We’ll slow things down. You need time to
absorb. You need to think about what Thomas has told you.” His words get lost
in my hair, his lips warming my scalp. “I’d prefer you come to terms with your
choices without a Keeper’s influence. And if you still feel the same about
me . . .” He takes a step back so he can peer into my eyes,
still holding me tight. “Come to dinner with me. Better yet, come to my place
for dinner. Valentine’s Day. No kids. No talk of Keepers and souls. Just you
and me on a real date.”

The sparks
in his eyes ignite and I hold tight to this energy, this escape from reality.
Valentine’s Day. My first Valentine’s without Meyer. I have feelings for Bryce,
no doubt, but a date on such a day is making a statement.

“I
understand,” Bryce mumbles, looking away.

His lack
of confidence when it comes to my affection baffles me. “You can’t possibly
think that my hesitation has anything to do with Thomas?” I see his reply in
his eyes. “For someone so smart you are awfully dense.” I fiddle with my
wedding ring. “I don’t know if I’m ready for the whole dating thing. And
Valentine’s is such a . . .” My words die off.

What am I
saying? Valentine’s is a day like any other, a media inflated holiday meant to
boost the sales of overpriced roses that die in two days. I can handle a nice,
quiet dinner with Bryce. We can discuss normal things like average men and
women do on dates. I can wear that new skirt Grams bought me for Christmas
along with my kick-ass red heels. I can put my hair up and dig out the
audacious scarlet lipstick I haven’t worn in ages.

“Maybe
another day would be—”

“Valentine’s
is fine,” I say, peeling the canvas stuck to his pant leg. Red paint drips over
his shoes.

“My place,
six o’clock.” He places a finger under my chin. “Just a date. Just you and me,
two ordinary people sharing each other’s company.”

He’s
trying to sound reassuring but the grin plastered across his face proves how
big a deal it really is, and I start to second-guess myself.

Bryce
disappears before I can change my mind. The canvas strip sways in my grasp, and
the wind stirs branches into a chorus that sounds kind of like a death march.

Apparently
my walls are down.