He reminded her so much of a candle she'd long extinguished. His brilliant mind, his quick, brilliant bind.. oh, how it brought back memories! Memories of her love, Byron, of his smooth words and steadfast embraces. Memories of contraband whiskey, of tipsily dancing and leaning further into his embrace as he spun her. His grin was true, and each rotation brought that smile closer. Her heart fluttered at the very thought of it.
But this was years ago, and he was long gone. She'd been there, in the end, to hold his hand. They'd lived a beautiful life together, and exciting life, though she couldn't help but feel robbed. He'd told her once that he had a theory—people like him weren't made to live long lives. They lived fully and greedily, consuming all of live, devouring it. What was it that he said? She cursed herself, for the words eluded her. She was no old woman, mind you—her mind was sharp. But the words slipped away.
She looked down at the ring on her left finger; it had been years, but she would never remove it. The ache of a lost love would always be there, but now.. when she looked at the ring, she was reminded of the inside jokes, of conning the world, running, living beyond their means. They had a wonderful life, but God, how she missed him.
And maybe she just really wanted to go dancing again.
She sat there in the dark, let out a sigh, and straightened her shoulders in a dignified way. She rose and made her way to the window to lose herself in the hustle and bustle of the city.
He waltzed in, the delicate green flicker of his ankle monitor illuminating the dark hallway.
"June?"
She turned to face him, a delicate smile on her face.
"Over here, darling."
He looked at her and saw—the two of them always saw, always had such an understanding. He reminded her so much of Byron in that moment. Her eyes burned, and she fought to keep his gaze, to not look away. To look away would provide instant relief, but looking into those brilliant blue orbs… it was a drug within itself. And the pain of looking away wasn't something she could take.
He took a step toward her.
"May I?" he asked, extending his hand. She smiled.
There's no music, she almost said. Instead she gently rest her head on his shoulder, and the two of them swayed to the music of the city, of the cars. If Neal felt the tears on his shoulder, he didn't say anything. He just held her closer.