Sparked (27 page)

“I’m not trying—” he said. “I don’t want to force you to do something you don’t want to do. If you don’t feel as strongly about me as I do about you, then—”

“No. That’s not what I meant.”

“Then what do you propose? We need a solution.”

“I don’t know, all right?” she said. “I don’t know what to do.” She walked over to him. “Can’t we just—for now at least—enjoy each other?”

She slid her hands over his chest, looked up into his eyes with those big blue ones of hers. How could he help himself when she was looking at him like that?

He held her cheek in his palm. “I love you. And that’s not something I take lightly. I’ve never said that to anyone before.”

“Neither have I.”

“Don’t you understand how difficult it is for me to let you go back to that house every night? It’s killing me, Cora.”

“I know,” she said, pulling away. But everything about her—the frustrated tone in her voice, her darkened brow—told him that she didn’t. He could feel his ire rising, strong and hot.

“I don’t think you do,” he said. 

“I told you I needed time.”

“What part of this situation is going to change in the next two weeks?”

“You’re the one who insisted on two weeks, not me,” she said.

Was she going back on her word? Anger boiled in Clayton’s chest.

She continued, “I’m perfectly happy waiting until I save enough money to leave home on my own. Why can’t you just be happy with that?”

“That could take years! Why in God’s name would you do that when you know perfectly well I can solve all of this for you tomorrow?”

She whirled on him. “How many times do I have to tell you that I don’t want your help?”

Clayton’s nostril’s flared. He was risking everything for her, going to his parents like that. He hadn’t told her. Couldn’t tell her. If he had any hope of being with her in any real way she could never know how his parents were betting against her. Still. All he was asking was for a little bit of cooperation on her part, and she seemed downright unwilling to budge.

“Don’t you trust me?” he growled. 

“Of course I trust you.”

“You don’t. If you did, you’d be trying, even just a little bit.”

“Don’t turn this into something more than it is. It’s just money. Why do you have to let this come between us?”

“You have no solution, Cora. I do. You’re the one letting this come between us, not me.”

“Your solution isn’t a solution! And you’re right, I don’t have a plan. Not yet. But I know I’m not going to be indebted to you.”

“Why the hell not?”

“You can’t understand this, Clayton, because you’ve always had everything you ever needed.”

“Yes. I have. And that’s what I’m trying to give to you,” he roared.

“Have you ever had to go through the church donation boxes for shoes, or stand in line for soup, smiling the whole time to show how grateful you are even though you’re dying inside? Because I have. And it changes something between people. It ruins things.”

“I know the world hasn’t been fair to you. But I’m trying—”

“Oh, yeah? When did you learn that lesson? While your daddy was paying off your fancy college not to expel you?”

Something inside him snapped, any control he had over his anger now gone.

“You’re right,” he shouted. “I was born with a silver spoon.” 

He stomped over to the picnic basket and pulled out the envelope he’d stashed there earlier, just in case. There was enough cash inside to make every single one of her problems disappear. He held open the envelope to show her its contents. 

“I brought this to give you today and I’ll barely notice it’s gone. I have money, Cora. I have lots and lots of money, and that’s not going to change anytime soon. But it’s damn useless to me if you don’t take it and use it to make both of our lives better. I don’t want it if you’re not safe. I really don’t. So take it,” he said, thrusting the envelope toward her.

But instead of taking it, she turned away from him and stomped back up the trail.

This was insanity. He’d had enough. He grabbed her hand, shoved the envelope into it. “For Christ’s sake. Just take it, Cora!”

For a moment, her face seemed to freeze in an odd mix of shock and pain. Clayton didn’t understand. He’d been forceful, yes, but he hadn’t grabbed her hand hard enough to hurt her. He would never, ever do that.

Suddenly there was a buzz in his chest, a warmth in his palms.

Then he heard her scream. Really scream. 

At first he thought she had lost her temper—that he’d made her so frustrated and angry that it finally pushed her over the edge. Then he looked into her eyes and realized what was happening.

He was pulling from her—pulling her energy. 

She looked pale and drawn, pain etched across her face. There was an unnaturally blue hue to her skin. And he realized, with a start, that it was coming from the orb forming above his other hand.

He wrenched himself away as she crumpled to the ground.

What had he done? 

Oh, God, what had he done?

He could feel her—part of
her
—pulsing in his hand. It was larger than anything he had ever pulled before—huge and electric like a beach ball on fire. And more intense too—stronger and brighter and more intoxicating than anything he’d felt before. He didn’t want to let go this time.

He wanted to hold her, hold on, keep her there in his hands. He wanted more of her, and he hated himself for wanting it. His own desire made him sick. He blinked, tried to clear his mind. 

It was wrong. 

So wrong. 

Everything was wrong.

The energy was infecting him, making him greedy. He had to stop it. Had to stop himself.

He threw the orb. Hard. As hard as he could. 

The blue sphere crashed into a tree and felled it instantly. 

The trunk shattered to ash. 

The branches went flying, sending a clatter of loose rocks crashing around them.

He lunged to cover her body with his. And that’s when he heard her breath. It was faint. Too soft and too quiet—but it was still there. For how long, he didn’t know. How much had he taken from her? He had to get her to Dr. Pinkerton. He had to move. Now.

He lifted her off the ground. He hated touching her, hated the fear coursing through him right beside the vile sickness of his own desire. But who else was there? He couldn’t leave her here and waste the time of going to get help. It had to be him.

He cradled her in his arms and raced back up the trail, leaving everything else behind: the blanket they’d been huddled together on just ten minutes ago, the picnic basket he’d prepared just for her, and the envelope of cash, its flap fluttering in the breeze.

Clayton banged on the door of Dr. Pinkerton's clinic, Cora in his arms. It was after hours and the door was locked, but he had to get in. Cora’s body—once lush and vibrant—now hung limp against him.

But it wasn’t Dr. Pinkerton who answered the door. It was his grandson, Dr. Porter.

“Help. Please help her,” Clayton struggled. It felt as though he hadn’t taken a breath since it had happened. But getting her here, through these doors—he suddenly felt the rush of adrenaline race through his veins. He started to shake.

“Over here,” Dr. Porter said, motioning to an open room across the hall. “What happened?”

Clayton laid her on the bed, suddenly realizing his dilemma. “She’s—it was an accident.” 

Dr. Porter didn’t know what Clayton was capable of. Only Dr. Pinkerton. But he couldn’t take any chances. If there was any possible way to save her, he couldn’t waste a second. He had to try. 

“It was me. I hurt her. I—”

“What’s going on in here?” Dr. Pinkerton was at the door, taking in Cora’s weakened state. He looked between Clayton and Dr. Porter. “I’ll take over here, Henry.”

“There’s no one else in the clinic. Nurse Patrice already went home. Let me help.”

“Out. Right now,” Dr. Pinkerton commanded.

Dr. Porter obeyed, shooting worried looks at both of them. Dr. Pinkerton closed the door behind him and turned to stare at Clayton. Clayton felt like he shrank three feet under his stare. And he deserved it. He deserved every bit of Dr. Pinkerton's mistrust.

“It’s my fault. I lost control.”

Dr. Pinkerton was already leaning over Cora, his stethoscope to her heart.

“How long?”

“I don’t know. Fifteen minutes?”

“No. How long were you touching her?”

“Just a moment. I didn’t—I didn’t mean to hurt her.” He hated the words as they came out of his mouth. He was making excuses. He was a miserable bastard making excuses for himself. 

“Of course you didn’t, boy,” Dr. Pinkerton said. “No one’s blaming you.”

At that very moment Cora’s eyes fluttered open.

“Cora?” Clayton asked.

“Clayton?” she asked. Her voice sounded so weak. So small. It nearly broke him all over again. He gripped her hand. 

“Good. That’s good,” Dr. Pinkerton said.

“It hurts,” she said. 

Guilt coursed through him. This was his fault. He had done this.

“I’m going to give her something for the pain,” Dr. Pinkerton said.

Dr. Pinkerton opened a cabinet and pulled out a vial of something, then plunged a needle into its center. He lifted Cora’s arm—God, had her arms always been so tiny, so fragile?—and injected her.

Just as quickly as her eyes had opened, they closed. Panic gripped him again.

“She’s—is she going to be okay?”

“I believe so, yes. But I’d like to keep her overnight.”

“Whatever she needs,” Clayton said. “I mean it. Whatever she needs. I’ll pay.”

Pay. It was just like him to throw money at his troubles. Like that could fix anything. 

He could never fix this. He could never undo what he had done, the line he had crossed. There was only one thing he could do, one way he’d ever know she was entirely safe. 

He took one last look at Cora. Dr. Pinkerton was right—she was looking stronger already. Her lovely face was flushed pink instead of the terrifying gray it had been when he’d brought her in. But that didn’t mean he’d risk hurting her again. 

He wanted to kiss her goodbye, wanted to taste her lips one last time, but he wouldn’t allow himself to do it. He couldn’t trust himself to touch her. He didn’t deserve her kiss and he didn’t deserve her love.

“It’s best if you go home now, son. Get some rest. You can come and check on her tomorrow.” 

“Yes, sir,” Clayton said. But he knew he wouldn’t be back.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Cora

Cora’s eyes opened to the face of Dr. Pinkerton peering over her. He looked tired, drawn.

“Good morning, dear girl. You’ve given us quite a fright.”

“Where’s Clayton?” she asked. Her mind felt fuzzy, wrong. What had happened to her? 

“I sent him home. There was nothing he could do to help.”

She moved to sit up, but everything swirled in her vision. She couldn’t put her finger on why, but she knew she had to see Clayton. Now.

“Relax. You need to rest, get back your strength.”

She felt so weak—like she hadn’t eaten a proper meal for ages. Fear struck her heart. Was it finally happening? Was she finally following in poor Jan Clarkson’s footsteps?

“Can you tell me what happened?” Dr. Pinkerton asked. 

Cora tried, but she couldn’t remember. Everything in her memory felt cloudy, like peering through smoke. The last thing she remembered was a picnic. Clayton had made her the sweetest picnic. So why did the memory of it hurt so much?

For a moment, she wanted to confide in Dr. Pinkerton about her powers, but she decided against it. She hadn’t spoken to him since Clayton had told her he was trustworthy, and she wasn’t sure she was ready for anyone but Clayton to know.

“I don’t remember what happened,” she said. 

“What’s the last thing you recall?”

“We were having a picnic,” she said. “I was eating a strawberry.”

“And where was Clayton?”

“Sitting near me. I feel so strange. Did he tell you what happened?” 

Had Clayton told him about
her
?

Something like relief flitted across Dr. Pinkerton's face.

“It seems as though you had a bit of a fainting spell. Probably not quite yet recovered from that bout of illness you had.”

Fear clutched Cora’s heart. It
was
happening. She was going to leave Bethany all alone.

“But it’s nothing to worry about,” Dr. Pinkerton said. “You’ll be right as rain very soon.”

Cora wasn’t entirely sure she could trust Dr. Pinkerton to tell her the truth. What if he was trying to protect her from it? 

Then she remembered sneaking out of her house, lying to her family. What time was it right now? Had they already discovered she was gone?

“I really need to get home, Doctor. How long until I can leave?”

“We’ll see. I want to make sure you’re feeling better first.”

“Could I send a message to my family? I don’t want anyone to worry.”

“Of course. There’s a pen and paper in your bedside table. Write up a note and I’ll have someone take it over to them.”

“Thank you,” she said.

“And don’t worry. I’m sure your young man will be by to see you soon. He was quite distraught when he dropped you off.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” she said again as he left the room.

She reached into the nightstand and pulled out a pen and paper. She jotted a note to Bethany:

Bethany,

My sickness last night got worse. It’s nothing to worry about, but please tell everyone that I had to go to the clinic very early this morning. Dr. Pinkerton is seeing to me and thinks I should be home soon. Sorry for the trouble and for forgetting to leave a note before I left. I hope your sleepover was fun!

Cora

Cora waited and waited for Clayton to appear. Each hour that passed increased her worry. Where was he? She desperately wanted to talk to him—to ask for more details about what had happened when she fainted. He was the only one who understood what she was going through right now. And she needed him, really needed him. Why wasn’t he here? Had she done something to scare him away?