The stranger shoved his hands into his pockets. “It’s illegal to hinder a federal investigation.” He sounded young, but I still refused to look at his face.
“It should be illegal to be a dick.” It slipped out of my mouth before I could stop it.
He laughed, the full-bellied type that traveled all over your body and left you warm. “It should be, but it isn’t. I’m glad, because I’m not made for jail. Are you?”
No. Neither were the Prescotts, not that they were going to jail. Not even Nash, whom I hated for sleeping with me and acting like a jerk after.
“I’m not going to jail.” I kicked at a loose brick on the path to the house. It wiggled a bit but remained an immovable force, reminding me I needed to plant my feet and stop this madness from touching Reed and his family. “The Prescotts have nothing to do with this. I don’t even know what this is, but there’s a family living inside that is completely innocent and does not deserve to have their belongings torn apart and searched.”
“Who lives there, Miss Winthrop?”
Liar, my lips begged to scream. You already know, you snake.
Magic words couldn’t heal this, but I mouthed one anyway.
Querencia.
Noun.
A place where one feels safe.
A place from which one’s strength of character is drawn.
The Prescott cottage was my querencia.
“Who lives in the cottage, Miss Winthrop?” he repeated.
“You don’t know?”
“I do. I want to hear you say it.”
“The Prescotts.”
“No, Emery.” My name rolled off his tongue so naturally, as if we were friends. Filthy snake. “Their names.”
Not a snake.
A fiery serpent.
It reminded me of the Book of Numbers, the story some of the nannies would tell to scare us into behaving. God had sent fiery serpents to punish people for speaking out against him. Moses built the Nehushtan as protection against the serpents. A staff in the shape of a cross, a serpent coiled around the wood.
My hands itched to wrap around one and brand it as a weapon against the world. A weapon against him.
Instead, I whispered their names. “Betty. Hank. Reed. Nash.”
Maybe he wasn’t the snake.
Maybe I was.
A weak one, raised in captivity, not meant to be wild.
“Tell me about Nash,” he said.
“Why?”
“The way you say his name—”
“Is none of your business.” Venom slithered up my throat. If I were a snake, I would poison this man before he touched my Prescotts. “He doesn’t live here anymore. It’s just Betty, Hank, and Reed. And before you accuse them of anything, Reed is just a kid, and Betty and Hank are good people.”
“And Nash? Is he a good person?”
I considered it and realized I didn’t know. As much as I wanted to say no, I couldn’t. Not as an attempt to protect him, but because Nash’s actions always contradicted his words. I didn’t think of him as a bad person.
He wasn’t sweet words.
He was sweet actions.
The notes the agents had probably rifled through proved that.
Besides, Reed never talked about it, but I figured Nash was going through something, and everyone deserved a second chance.
It didn’t mean the sting of that night had disappeared. It didn’t mean my cheeks stopped flushing each time I thought of him. But it was a good type of flush. The way your cheeks warmed when you knew a secret that was too good to keep to yourself.
I’d taken too long to answer, and when I turned to my right, the stranger had already left. I pivoted, pausing when I heard a tree ruffling in the maze. Forcing the curiosity aside, I sprinted down the path to the house in time to catch the profile of the man’s face before he slipped inside my house through the backdoor.
The same face staring back at me on my sketchbook.
Brandon Vu.
The Present
I should have taken tonight’s starless sky as a warning.
Nothing good ever happened on them.
I swung the hotel lobby door open and glared at the sky, sifting through some secrets I could offer it.
Secret #1—I may shed a tear if I get to the soup kitchen and find it closed—then poison Chantilly for making us work so late without overtime pay.
Secret #2—I screamed Nash’s name so loud when Ben made me come last night. You can’t imagine the fear fueling my veins when I peeped my head out of the closet to make sure no one heard me.
Secret #3—I snuck a bag of pita chips and cold soda from the fridge when everyone went to lunch today and Delilah came down to grab Nash’s signature on a few papers. I hid the wrapper and empty can under the couch cushions when he came back sooner than I’d expected.
Chantilly sat on the cushion above the can, and everyone went silent because they thought she farted. I said nothing, even when red flushed her cheeks and she looked at Nash like he’d throw on a knight’s armor and save her.
Does that make me the dragon and Chantilly the princess in this story? (If it’s any consolation, she’d join a league of Snow Whites, and you know how I feel about that.)
There you have it. Are three secrets enough for you, Starless Sky? Will you spare me tonight?
“Waiting for the sky to fall, Winthrop? That would only happen if you ever decided to act normal.”
My legs jerked at Nash’s lazy drawl. I tamped their reaction as best as I could, exhaling as if I’d run a marathon in the past second. My staccato heartbeat reached a climax before falling.
“Following me is pointless.” I gave the sky another fifteen seconds to respond—a shooting star, a comet, anything—before I lowered my head and began walking. “I’m never going to accept your double portions. You may as well stop.”
I didn’t have to stare at him to know the corners of his lips curled up when my stomach protested.
Loudly.
“Hmm…” Nash’s stride matched mine. “Do you really want to walk yourself to the soup kitchen alone in the dark only to walk back after you figure out it’s closed?”
Translation: are you that stubborn?
I tipped a shoulder up in a half-assed shrug and catapulted to record-breaking speeds. “If the shoe fits, it fucking fits.”
“That’s not the saying.” Nash’s hand shot out and steadied me when a car rounded the corner too closely.
My heart punched at my chest, rendering me too useless to protest as he swapped our positions, so he walked on the street side.
When I finally collected myself, I should have thanked him. Instead, I continued my speed walk. “You must wear shoes that don’t fit.”
“That’s not a saying either.” He dug two hands into his dress slacks. We waited for the sign to turn white. “For the record, I’m not following you. I volunteer at that soup kitchen. Better—I basically fund it.”
“We both know the soup kitchen is closed. It’s—” I grabbed Nash’s hand to glance at his watch, but the wild rhythm of his pulse against my fingertips distracted me. Definitely didn’t think that one through. “Umm…”
“Ten forty-six.”
Catching sight of his amusement might very well kill me, so I glared at the sky. We waited for the crosslight to turn green.
I gave you secrets.
You gave me Nash.
What the fuck, dude?
“Right.” I lowered my head. “It’s ten forty-six.”
“If you know the soup kitchen is closed, why are you still headed there?”
“Hope, young grasshopper.” I rounded the corner adjacent to the soup kitchen, recalling his note about asking Betty to find his hope. Had he ever found it? “That shit gets me full.”
“Like magic words?”
I stopped and gave in, studying his face with the vigor of a straight-A student. He seemed pleased with himself. Too confident that he’d found a pressure point of mine. The real pr
essure points were the questions that threatened to spill past my lips.
The most important one being—why do you even care about feeding me?
I bit my tongue.
“What do you know about magic words?”
“I know you look batshit when you mouth them during meetings with suppliers.” His arm crossed over my stomach as a car careened past us at the crosswalk. My abs flexed at his touch, my shirt suddenly feeling too thin. Meanwhile, he appeared unaffected. “People stare at me and wonder why the fuck I hired the lunatic in the ripped jeans and selcouth tees.”
“I haven’t worn the selcouth tee since—”
He cocked a brow. “Since?”
“Is there a point to this conversation, or can we eat—Wait. You're pressing me.” My fists rested on each hip. I tipped my head up to glower at Nash. “If you think you can do some subtle ninja interrogation and find a way to trick me into eating your food, you’re as stoned as you used to be.”
“Doesn’t matter.” He gestured across the street. “The soup kitchen is closed. The lights are off. Unless…”
You hate me, don’t you, Starless Night?
“Unless?” I curled my toes inside my Chucks, knowing I’d loathe whatever answer he offered me.
“Unless you know someone who donates a shit ton of money and has a key to the place.”
“That sounds suspiciously like a set up.” I retreated a step when I realized how close we stood. “Or worse—a favor.”
“Come on, Tiger.” His jaw ticked, gaze flicking upward in a way that made me wonder if he talked to starless skies, too. “Give yourself a break.”
“If you tell me why you call me Tiger.” I bounced on my toes, wondering what else I could glean from him. Nash hoarded secrets like the Kardashians hoarded cars. He could stand to lose a few. “No bullshit. None of that abstract answer thing you pulled the other day, too.”
The pad of his thumb brushed his bottom lip. “I tell you why I call you tiger, and you go in?”
“It’s that easy.”
His curse rocked my heels back. “That’s not easy.”
The button-down he wore pulled tight when he shoved his hands inside his dress slacks. Solid stone sat beneath his shirt, and I wondered if it would ever crack. He reminded me so much of the Sisyphus statue I’d found. I almost couldn’t wait to show it to him, but I remembered I’d called the gallery and asked them to hold the Depressing Sisyphus instead.
His eyes dipped to my stomach, which took its cue to growl. “Fine.” He ran his hand through his hair—once, which I’d never figured out the meaning of.
“An actual explanation,” I warned. “Be honest.”
Waiting for him to answer felt like finishing a book and learning the next wouldn’t release for a year.
“Remember when I first said it?” His jaw ticked at his words.
“When I ran into you at my cotillion.”
“Yeah.” The scowl unfurling across his face could conquer lands and unseat kings. “After you kneed Able Small Dick Cartwright in the balls. Twice.” He delivered the words like you’d deliver a bomb. No remorse.
I jabbed at the crosswalk button, harder than necessary. “Good times.”
“I said it because you’re fierce.” Nash touched my elbow until I faced him and held eye contact. “You came out of that room looking like a warrior, ready to destroy anything that dared cross you, including me and Reed.”
Some people accept criticism well; others, compliments. I fell into a third category—neither. Mostly because I didn’t talk to many people and cared even less about their opinion of me.
It made accepting a compliment from Nash more difficult than it should have been, because it came accompanied by the underlying threat of luring me in.
I shoved my hands into my pockets, allowing them to curl into fists out of sight.
“It’s not an insult?” I barely heard my words over my pulse.
“It was never an insult.”
A hummingbird had replaced my heart, and it fluttered inside me, beating its wings to a rhythm I couldn’t keep up with.
Shut up, Heart. I can’t deal with you right now. Go hibernate.
I wanted to ask so many questions.
Why are you feeding me?
Why are you mad at the world?
Why are you mad at me?
Are you okay? Has anyone asked you that since Hank died?
Swallowing them all, I nodded across the street. “The crosslight turned green.” I dodged around Nash and made it to the door first.
He could have asked me to move, but he leaned over my body. His front pressed against my back. He reached around me and unlocked the door. I shotgunned forward at the first opportunity, making my way through the buffet with my phone’s flashlight until I realized everything had been emptied. Not even the chip packets remained at the snack station.
“Fuck.”
Nash flicked the light on from the door. “I’ll make you a sandwich in the back.”
“The deal was, I’d go inside. Not that I’d eat anything.” I trailed him into the kitchen because it felt weird to be in the buffet area without supervision. “Good thing Delilah’s your lawyer and not you.”
He ignored me, washed his hands, and pulled out ingredients with ease, obviously familiar with the kitchen’s layout. I set my phone down and studied him. His fluid movements disgusted me. No one deserved to make sandwiches with the grace of a professional athlete.
Two slices of sourdough.
Turkey.
Extra chipotle mayo.
Lettuce.
Watching him make me food felt surreal. Obviously, I knew he'd done it in the past, but seeing it was a different story. Like breaking the fourth wall.
Nash was the star quarterback who lived in his own fiery universe, and he’d somehow gravitated into my icy one. I wanted to share my starless skies and steal his scorching sun. I would never understand it, but it was my truth.
This is why happiness isn’t permanent, I thought. Life introduces you to fantasies, then makes you feel like you can’t have them. You spend the rest of your life seeking that fantasy. When you realize it grew beneath your feet, it’s too late.
I set my phone on the countertop opposite of him, leaned against it, and gripped it with both hands. When Nash added a layer of Cheddar & Sour Cream Ruffles inside the sandwich, my head jerked back.
My favorite sandwich.
He remembered.
How the fuck?
Never once did he look up to me. His attention to detail unnerved me. He sliced the bread diagonally, placed it on a rectangular plate, and set it beside my hand on the counter. My feet seemed less solid as I stared at it.
It occurred to me that we knew more about one another than we’d let on.
Getting to know someone is like gaining weight. Scattered bits acquired here and there. Next thing you know, you’re twenty pounds heavier, wondering where the hell all of it came from.
“What?” he asked when I didn’t touch it.
“Umm…” I tugged the hem of my tee.
“Jesus, Emery, spit it out.” Nash shot me a look that suggested he didn’t know why he was putting himself through this. “You’ve never been shy before. Don’t start now.”
I went with the first thing I could think of.
“There’s no card…”
“Are you serious?”
“Do I look like I’m kidding?”
I expected him to ignore me, but he shook his head, grabbed a pen and paper from a drawer, and set it on the counter. His tongue swiped his lips as he wrote. Slowly at first, then quick scribbles I feared I wouldn’t be able to read.
He folded the note and set it beside the sandwich. “Don’t read it now.”
“But—”
“Do you want it or not?”
I tucked the note into my pocket before he could take it back. “Fine.”
My stomach growled. I eyed the sandwich and toyed with the bread.
&nb
sp; “What now?” His lips pressed together. He ran his hand through his hair. Twice. “Just eat the sandwich. Fuck.”
His persistence reached a point where I couldn’t deny it. I didn’t understand his motives, but I knew he genuinely wanted me fed, and that offered me leverage. It was a matter of how much.
“If I let you feed me,” I began, taking my time, “I get to ask two things of you—a favor and a question. I expect the truth.”
“You used up your honesty for the day.”
I jutted my chin up, daring him to pull a Chantilly and argue. “Nash.”
“What?”
My eyes peered at him. I hoped he saw how much I meant it. “Work with me. Please.”
He took his time examining me. I thought he’d given up on feeding me until he grabbed the sandwich and held it in front of my lips.
“Take a bite first, then we talk.”
Blood rushed to my cheeks. I leaned forward and bit into the sandwich, pulling back when my lips brushed against his finger. I hurried to chew, unable to enjoy the taste as his eyes fixated on my mouth.
“What’s the favor?” he asked when I swallowed.
“I want a centerpiece for the hotel.”
“Why?”
The door seemed further away.
I peeked at it and considered making a run for it. “Why what?”
“You know what I’m asking. Stop being cute.” A fingertip met the bottom of my chin. The slightest touch turned me to face him. “Why do you want the centerpiece so much?”
“This isn’t part of the deal.” His touch burned my chin. I dislodged from it with a shake of my head. “I eat, and you do it. That’s the deal.”
“Fuck the deal. Answer the question.”
“You can’t follow rules, can you?”
“Rules are made to separate leaders from followers. I know which I am, and it seems you're not the one I thought you were.” He set the sandwich down and folded his arms across his chest, studying my face like he didn’t understand me and didn’t fully understand why he wanted to. “You could ask for any favor. A centerpiece doesn’t benefit you. Why this?”
I resented Nash for being so relentless. His conviction matched my own, which meant every time we spoke, one of us won and one of us lost. And I usually sat on the losing side.
What was that Robert Kiyosaki quote?
Devious Lies: A Cruel Crown Novel Page 30