Page 25 of Someone to Call My Own
“I moved in right before Easter.”
“I moved to Cincinnati a year ago, and I’m still not as settled as you.” He finally looked back at me and gave me a tight smile that showed how tense he felt. Why was he nervous? He wasn’t on the brink of betraying his husband. Or was he? I knew nothing about the man.
“I’m particular about my space,” I lamely answered.
The truth was that setting up my house gave me something to do. As much as I resented the visions at times, they gave my life a purpose. Without them, I was flailing about, untethered to anything or anyone. It wasn’t a feeling I liked or wanted, but I didn’t know how to change it. I didn’t want to move on from River; I wasn’t ready to find another man to fill my bed and life, but I couldn’t deny how lonely I’d become. I might not have known what the answer was, but I knew what—or who—it wasn’t. Jonathon Silver was nothing but trouble for me.
He stood in my kitchen with his legs slightly apart and squared shoulders like he was bracing himself for a fight. He wasn’t wrong either; I would fight with everything in me to prevent my premonitions from coming true. His expression wasn’t as easy to read. His face was a mask of indifference, but his light-blue irises burned hot. Lust? Anger? Regardless, I would not be the moth to his flame.
“I think we need to clear the air,” Jonathon said in a calm, rational voice.
“There’s nothing to clear,” I countered. “I’m nothing to you; you’re nothing to me.”
“You think it’s that simple?” Jonathon took two steps toward me. I took three steps back. Jon jerked to a stop when he saw my reaction. “Emory…” He broke off and ran both his hands through his hair. “I know you feltitthe night we met. I saw your eyes widen in surprise when the electricity shot through our bodies.”
“So.” Denying it existed wasn’t working. It was time to change tactics. “That doesn’t mean I want or will act onit.” I ran my hand over the infinity tattoo I had inked over my heart. It felt like River’s name was burning my skin like he knew the truth and was calling me a liar. Or, maybe it was anxiety that gripped my heart in its tight fist. Whatever the reason, I felt lightheaded and dizzy. Suddenly, my body felt cold and hot at the same time, and tiny little needles pricked my skin from head to toe. I licked my lips that had suddenly gone dry and numb.
“Emory?” I heard Jonathon’s voice, but it sounded like he was calling to me at the end of a very long tunnel instead of five feet away. He walked toward me, but I kept backing away. I hoped he would stop, but I saw the determination in his eyes. “Emory, I just want to help you.”
“Then leave,” I wheezed between gasps.
“I’d never leave anyone alone in this condition,” Jonathon said angrily. “Now be quiet and let me help you.” He gripped my bicep firmly, but not painfully, and guided me to a kitchen chair. He gently set me in the chair then placed his hand on my stomach beneath the center of my ribs and the other on my chest. I burned beneath his touch. I wrapped my hands around his thick wrists and tried to push his hands off of me. “Stop it, Emory,” he said firmly. “You’re hyperventilating, and I can help you. I. Will. Not. Hurt. You.”
Hot tears of humiliation flowed freely down my face. No one had ever seen me in the midst of a panic attack and I’d always been able to pull myself out of them on my own. That one was different, and I knew I needed help.
“Ignore my hands on your body, but look into my eyes and listen to me.” His demanding, deep voice was nearly hypnotic. “Inhale deeply through your nose, Emory. Hold it for a count of three and release it slowly. When you do, you’ll feel my hands moving up and down with your lungs, and your brain will recognize you’re breathing even before the fresh oxygen pushes the carbon dioxide out of your body. Do it with me, Emory.”
I breathed in slowly, held it for three seconds, and released it. I focused on the way his hands moved up and down with my breathing and pretended that I expelled all the bad energy with every exhale. I repeated the process ten or twelve times before I was completely calm again.
Jonathon pulled his hands off of me and balled them into fists. He didn’t look angry or like he wanted to hit me. It looked like he needed to do something with his hands but wasn’t sure what. He lowered himself into a chair beside me.
“What caused your panic attack?”
“You,” I replied sullenly.
“Emory, I haven’t done anything to you so why would the sight of me cause you to panic?” Jonathon sounded truly baffled and a little insulted.
I knew it would take drastic measures to push him away, so I let him have it with both barrels. “I had a psychic vision about you—well. Us.”
I expected him to look wary or alarmed, but he squinted his eyes and asked. “What kind of vision?”
“I tell you that I’m a psychic and you don’t question it?” My voice had risen by the time I finished my question. I’d never had someone blindly accept my confession. The announcement was always met with a variety of emotions, but acceptance wasn’t one of them. “You’ve searched my name on the internet.” Somehow, Jonathon knowing my story felt more personal. I didn’t want him to know anything about me, but I was powerless to prevent him from reading about my history.
“I did,” he admitted. “I would’ve believed you if I hadn’t.”
That comment piqued my curiosity. “You would?”
“I’ll share a little bit about my history so that we’re on a level playing field.” I shook my head because I didn’t want to know a single thing about him.Liar.Jonathon ignored me and continued talking. “I was a soldier in one capacity or another from the ages of eighteen to thirty-eight. There were too many times on a mission that one of us had a strong feeling that we needed to veer from our plan. We were never wrong when we listened to our instincts.”
“And when you didn’t?”
Sadness washed over his face. “Lives were lost.”
“I’m not sure it’s the same thing,” I replied.
“Perhaps not, but I’m willing to concede that the brain is capable of things beyond my grasp and that life isn’t all black and white. There are many shades of gray.”
“And silver,” I added. I could tell by the crooked smile that he thought I was doing a word play on his last name, but I wasn’t. “Your aura is many shades of silver.”