Page 154 of Shades of Grey & Gold
“Open your eyes, Max.”
The voice sounds real.
It sounds so real and so close I could almost reach out and…
I pull oxygen into my lungs slowly, digging the heels of my hands into my eyes.
But then I open them. And I’m looking out into the unchanged bedroom again. But now, a very small, dim light near the bed is throwing shadows across the vast space. My eyes adjust.
“Max.” The voice is right in front of me now.
“Cal?”
His name is foreign on my tongue, unspoken for so many days—too many days.
The dark, curly hair, the hard edges of his face, the perfect golden-green eyes. They come into focus one by one.
And I don’t dare blink.
Cal.
He steps closer to me.
My eyes search his face, for a sign, for verification, for something that tells me this is real life.
There’s a new scar stretching from his left temple down to below his ear, light pink and raised.
I lift my hand and run one finger down the six-inch scar.
His eyes close and he draws his lips together in a line.
I run my finger back up the scar, and across his eyebrows that are pulled into a frown. No, not a frown—agrimace.
Pain and sadness.
And my finger traces the lines formed between his eyebrows, before I pull my hand back slowly, aching to touch him more, to shake him, maybe to hit him.
But the shock, the confusion… the reality, it pulls me back.
I think my knees give a little. I wobble, and his hand catches mine between us before it can drop and his eyes open.
“I’m so sorry.”
“And now?”
I don’t move my hand out of his gentle grasp or respond to his apology.
“Now?” A brief look of confusion mars his features.
I hold his gaze, trying to decipher my own reasons behind this question.
“You said,” I take a deep breath, swallowing. “You said everyone had to believe you were dead. So, what about now? Are you dead… or alive?”
“Alive. Or I will be. Very soon.”
He seems to understand my question before I do. His other hand finds both of mine, and he grasps them between both of his own.
He holds my eyes as he lowers himself to the ground.
