Goyle
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- Parts 20
Goyle first saw her on a rainy Tuesday afternoon. She was standing on her porch, yelling cheerfully at her cat Mr. Darcy to get out of the rhododendrons. It was as if a switch flipped in him. Something old and primal and dangerous.From that day, he watched. Quietly. From his second-floor window or his bike parked in the shadows. He learned her routines: when she opened the library, what tea she drank, the way her curls bounced when she walked.He told himself it wasn't stalking.It was protection. Curiosity. Obsession.Dreams started to form behind his stoic eyes-soft ones. Of Emmy in white lace, smiling only for him. Of little feet running down the halls of that haunted house. Of warmth.But dreams were dangerous for men like himBut for the first time, Goyle didn't feel like stone.He felt like maybe-just maybe-he could be flesh and blood and hope again.And God help anyone who got between him and the girl with galaxies in her eyes.
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#114
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