Touched by Corrine Jackson Page A

voice sounded thick as I tried to put some space between us. “I was thinking my friend would drown if I didn’t try to save him.”
    “Why didn’t you let go of him when you realized you couldn’t pull him up?”
    “I couldn’t—”
    One hand slammed the steering wheel, and he glared at me. “Of all the stupid, reckless actions . . .”
    “If you’d shut up, I’ll explain.”
    The dark muttering halted, and I continued, “When I touched him to pull him out of the water, his wounds jumped out and grabbed me. It was like I was drowning, too, and I couldn’t save myself.”
    His hollowed cheekbones worked as his jaw clenched. “Has that happened before?”
    “Not that bad,” I whispered. “I’ve never been in a situation where someone else’s injuries could put my life in jeopardy before I could heal myself.”
    It was odd talking about this, especially while resting in his arms. These were my deepest secrets that not even my mother knew.
    “You take on whatever illness or injury you heal?” He sounded horrified to have his theory confirmed.
    I rolled my head away to stare out the windshield. “But you already guessed that.”
    “And the pain? Do you take that as well?”
    “Yes,” I admitted.
    Asher remained silent for a full minute taking that in. Then he sucked in a shaky breath, and I knew comprehension had dawned when he shook me lightly. His voice burned with raw emotion. “My hand. You healed my hand. I would never . . . I would never have asked.... What were you thin—Why would you do that, Remy? Why?”
    “You were hurt.”
    He laughed with disbelief. “I was hurt? Are you crazy? You let your guard down, knowing you would take on that pain, and I let you do it. And then, I thanked you for it by attacking you.”
    I needed distance to think. When I pushed against his chest, he seemed to understand and helped shift me back into the passenger seat. The cold returned without the warmth of his body against me, until he tucked his jacket around me again. I almost regretted moving. Dangerous or not, Asher was the first person to take care of me after a healing.
    His jaw tensed, and his eyes took on a flinty look.
    I hadn’t answered him and didn’t know what to say.
    In a flat tone, he said, “Did it ever occur to you that I’m not like you? That, in fact, I’m the opposite of you? You feel too much. Your power even works by feeling—by touching.”
    “And yours doesn’t?”
    “Remy, I can’t feel anything. This car, the water in that pool, my wet hair, the air coming out of that vent.”
    My body stilled. “I don’t understand. You were in pain when you burned your hand. You can’t deny that.”
    “I’m not denying it.”
    Frustration sharpened my tone. “You’re not making any sense. Either you feel things or you don’t. When you’re touching me, you . . .”
    I remembered how he’d looked on the beach. How he looked at school. Laughing and surrounded by people, he somehow managed to look alone. Detached. Unreachable.
    Until I lowered my defenses and sent my energy arcing at him. Until he touched me.
    Then he looked in pain.
    I shifted in my seat until I faced Asher.
    He reacted with a humorless laugh as if he could see my expression in the shadows. “Got it in one. I don’t feel anything, except when you’re near me.”
    “How can that be?” I whispered.
    As if he spoke to himself, his voice lowered. “I’m walking on the beach, and you appear out of nowhere looking so damned fragile. I wanted to know who had hurt you, to tear them apart. When I took your picture, I hoped you would look up and speak to me. Instead, you came after my camera, and I realized how wrong I’d been. You may have been covered in bruises, but I would never call you frail. You’re a warrior, Remy, and I had to know you.”
    “But something changed. I felt you change.”
    “You’re right. Until that moment when you dropped your defenses, and I felt your power, I didn’t know what you were.