Page 39 of Killaney Fire

After a moment, I speak. "Do you ever get tired of it?"

"Tired of what?"

"This." I gesture vaguely. "Standing around. Watching. Never letting your guard down."

He's quiet for a moment.

"No," he says finally. "It's what I do. I don’t know any other way."

I shake my head. "That's not an answer."

"It's the only one I have."

I turn to face him fully, leaning against the windowsill.

"You know, most people would go insane living like that."

His dark eyes meet mine. "Most people aren't me."

"No," I say softly. "They're not."

I push off the windowsill and move toward him.

He doesn't move, but his shoulders tense.

"You don't have to be a statue all the time, you know," I say, stopping just in front of him.

His jaw tightens. "It's easier this way."

"Easier for who?"

He doesn't answer at first.

Then, "It's easier if I never turn it off."

My eyes drop to the small cut on his lip. I've never noticed it before "How'd you get that?"

His gaze follows my hand as I touch my own mouth to show him. For a second, he stares at my lips, too long. Heat spreads through my chest.

"My brother," he says.

"Your brother?"

"Yeah."

I laugh. “You probably deserved it, huh?"

A sadness comes across his eyes, and it startles me.

"Maybe," he says and clears his throat. "Want to tell me what you need from your house?"

I suddenly realize how close I'm standing to him, and I step back, playing with my hair.

The room suddenly feels too warm.

"No, I uh, I'll go with you. I can pack my own stuff.”

I grab my purse, and we walk out of the room. My face feels red for some reason, so I keep a brisk pace, not letting him see.