Out of Time 01 - Out of Time

Elizabeth rose and walked out without so much as a backward glance. He deserved it. Far worse really. He waited for the other passengers to leave before making his way up the aisle. Passing the seat where Elizabeth had been sitting, he saw the small, stuffed tiger abandoned on the empty train. He nearly reached out to take it, but it was useless now. He’d made his choice. He left the train car and followed her home.
    He knew this journey into the past would be fraught with dangers. He just hadn’t realized that losing his heart would be one of them.

Chapter Fourteen
    E lizabeth couldn’t bear to look at him, not without yelling, or worse, crying. She wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of either.
    The walk home was silent. She wanted to run; she wanted to run and hide and disappear. Her father’s voice was the only thing that kept her from losing it completely. Never let ’em know you’re scared. Eddie West’s kid didn’t run away. No matter what.
    The door to the apartment closed behind her. She shivered and wrapped her arms around her chest. It was so damn cold. Eighty-five degrees and absolutely freezing. She walked into the room and stood in the middle of the beige carpet with her back to him. For a fleeting moment, she wished he’d come to her. Say he didn’t mean it, that it was all a mistake.
    A mistake. How those words cut. She heard him pad over to the table by the window. He wasn’t going to take it back. He meant it. She was a mistake.
    She lowered her hands to her sides and tightened them into fists to keep them from trembling and walked into the bathroom. She simply couldn’t be in the same room with him. Slamming the door behind her, she looked into the mirror.
    How was she going to face him again? The look in his eyes when he’d said it, shocked and appalled, almost angry. She’d put her soul into that moment, into that kiss. She offered him her heart, and he’d looked at her like she was a fly in his soup.
    Why was it the things you want to forget the most are the things that stay with you forever? She closed her eyes, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill out. There were precious few times she missed her mother. Daddy was all she’d ever needed, most of the time. But what she wouldn’t give to have her mom, right here, right now.
    Elizabeth grabbed a handful of toilet paper and wiped her runny nose, sniffling back the tears that clogged her throat. There was no one here for her to talk to. No one was going to rub her back in those reassuring circles. No one to tell her it was going to be all right. And besides, it wasn’t going to be all right.
    What an idiot. How could she have done it? What the hell was she thinking? He’d spent a few dollars on a cheap stuffed toy, and she threw herself into his arms.
    She pushed away from the sink and slumped down onto the toilet. She was a complete fool. He’d been nice to her. Nothing more. Just nice, which, okay, for Simon was tantamount to a proposal. Or so she’d thought. A few looks, and she’d melted like butter. Was she that desperate for the illusion that he cared? Seeing things when nothing was there. A few longing looks that were probably all in her head anyway. Simon was right. Believing something doesn’t make it true. It just makes you look like an ass.
    Elizabeth ran a shaky hand over her eyes. God, if she could only take it back. Rewind, call a do-over. She replayed the scene in her head again and again. The way he looked at her right after she thanked him for the tiger. He wanted her, he felt something. Or was that revisionist history? Did she see desire because it was there, or because she wanted it to be? And the kiss. God. The kiss. She could remember every nuance, every place his hands had touched her. That was even more pitiful. It didn’t mean anything to him. He was caught up in the moment, she was there. Nothing more.
    Could she be more pathetic? She’d actually discovered a whole new level of humiliation. Maybe they’d name it after her, like Lou Gehrig’s disease. West’s Shame: not fatal, but you wished it were.
    But the way he’d held her. She could still feel his body pressed against hers, strong and protective. She could still taste him on her lips. He hadn’t fought her. He didn’t push her away. Not at first. He’d responded. She might not be a femme fatale, but she knew enough to know when a man was excited. There are some things you can’t hide. And it was more than that.