Free Fury by Fisher Amelie Page A

painstakingly slowly she pulled away from me and looked up at me. Her hands, her baffling and mysteriously pacifying fingers found my face, pushing my hair back from my eyes. Her palms held my hair back at my temples. We stood there quietly as she examined my face for something. Though I had no idea what she was looking for, I let her do it just to keep her hands on me.
    “You’re a tortured soul, you are,” she finally said. I swallowed but kept my focus on her.
    She began to pull her hands away but I quickly grabbed them and placed them around my neck. “No, please,” I begged her. She nodded in reply, asking for no explanation.
    I brought her back to me, hugging her frenziedly. I asked if I was hurting her to which she replied, “Not even a little.”
    I kissed the top of her head and she wrapped an arm around my waist, leading me with tenderness to my truck. I noticed that she never stopped touching me, not for one second, even when we were forced into awkward corners and walkways on the way back to the lot.
    “You need to get to work now, don’t you?” I asked.
    “Yes, but you’re comin’ with me,” she answered simply.
    “It’s okay, Fin. I’ll be okay. You can go.”
    She stopped then and shook her head at me. “What if I told you that I wanted you to be with me tonight? That just knowing you’re there will make me happier?”
                  “That’s kind, Finley, but you don’t have to—”
                  “No,” she interrupted, “it’s a selfish kindness. Just appease me, Ethan.”
                  “Okay,” I conceded, happy to be near her.
                  I walked her over to the passenger side of my truck and opened the door for her. She swung into her seat and started putting on her seatbelt as I was shutting her door. I walked to the driver’s side and got in. The key turned and the engine roared to life. I turned left onto Second Avenue and headed for Main and then Ninety-Three on our way to Buffalo’s.
                  “What brought you to Sykes?” I asked her quietly, keeping my eyes trained on the road. Her hand sat on my shoulder, bringing me relief.
                  “I was making a deposit before heading in and when I was crossing the street, I saw you. I shouted your name a few times before realizing that you were struggling with something and couldn’t hear me.”
                  “You must think I’m nuts,” I laughed without humor.
                  “Absolutely not,” she answered. I glanced at her and saw she was staring out her window at the passing scenery. A haunted song played on the stereo.
                  “I don’t think it a coincidence I found you today.”
                  “I’m starting to believe it’s not a coincidence either. That goes for all of the days you’ve saved me, actually, and I don’t believe in anything anymore,” I added quietly.
                  She squeezed my shoulder in answer.
                  We pulled into the lot and Buffalo’s looked unbelievably crowded. I wondered if it’d have just been better to drop her off then pick her up at the end of her shift.
                  “No,” she said softly, reading my thoughts, “just come in. It’s cool. There’s a booth in the back corner no one’s ever assigned so it can be left open for family and friends of Charles.” Charles owned Buffalo’s. “He won’t care if I use it tonight.”
    I pulled into an empty space in the far back of the restaurant and we walked in the side door together and I almost turned right around.
    Let me explain something to you, something I’d experienced every day of my life. I’m Native American. Mixed, yeah, but with a light olive skin tone, six foot three inches, almost translucent grey eyes, and I have long black hair. I’ve known since I was little that I didn’t look like