by S. K. Kelley
He rejected me, and now this?
Then his eyes close, and the kiss ends.
His hand lingers in my hair. Our eyes meet as his open, and he takes a deep breath while I still can’t breathe at all. His fingers brush my jaw, soft against my skin, as his warm hand slowly leaves my face.
His eyes remain wide. I’m sure mine do too.
What just happened?
And why the hell do I want to kiss him again?
His other hand falls from my shoulder, brushing against my arm on its way down. His expression softens, and he glances away.
“Don’t get the wrong idea, Jayde.” His voice is mild, bordering on indifferent. “This changes nothing about what I said.”
I don’t understand.
His expression reveals very little. All hints of prior confusion and alarm are gone. He doesn’t look embarrassed or ashamed. No. He’s perfectly composed after rejecting me, kissing me, and rejecting me a second time in quick succession.
“But—”
I don’t know what to say. What can I say?
As I glance aside, my focus drifts beyond Ice, past his clean desk, and out the window. But, this time, my view of the backyard is obstructed. Someone stands on the patio just outside.
Round, amber eyes. Short, orange hair.
James Reid.
Our eyes meet by accident, and his already wide eyes grow even wider. The blood drains from his cheeks. Sweat drips down his brow. He’s frozen in place—unable to move.
But, this time, I can move.
I tear my gaze away, tripping over words. I raise a finger and spit out half of James’ name, and Ice glances over his shoulder.
He reacts immediately.
Fire burns in his eyes and both hands grip the edge of the desk as he growls something positively vulgar. For an instant, it looks as though he’s ready to fling himself through the window to get at the terrified man on the other side, but he changes his mind at the last second and speeds out the bedroom door instead.
Drywall cracks, chipping the sage green paint, as the doorknob hits the wall on his way out.
Holy shit.
Outside, James tries to make a break for it. He jumps off the patio and bolts toward the far side of the house just as Ice arrives at the sliding glass door. Fighting the morbid temptation to continue watching, I turn away from the window.
Ice’s wild eyes. Bared teeth. Pure anger.
I shake my head.
What should I do?
Aah...
I look toward the door, half-closed after bouncing off the wall, and slowly—very slowly—creep out of the room. Night stops me in the hall before I reach the den by placing a hand on my shoulder.
As I jump at her touch, time returns to normal speed.
“What happened?” She’s visibly agitated, but her voice is calm and level. “Is everything okay?”
I shake my head and glance toward the den.
“No. I talked to Ice, but James—”
When I look back, her face is pale. And she shakes her head.
“James?” she asks.
She stares down the hallway. At the curtain fluttering in the breeze let in through the open sliding glass door. At Smoke standing in the den. He shakes his head too, his expression rather grim.
Her eyes flick to my face. “James is here? Right now?”
When I nod, a cold darkness overtakes her, and she ushers me back into Ice’s bedroom. I glance between her and the window a couple times.
“I’ll take care of it,” she says, her hands held at chest level. She forces a smile, her eyes still wide. “James will be fine. Everything will be fine. Just— Stay here.”
“Wait—”
But she shuts me inside the room. I blink at the closed door before wandering to the desk, where I stand and keep an eye on the backyard through the window. What else can I do?
For several seconds, there’s nothing.
Then Night steps out onto the patio. She stands motionless at the top of the steps for a long moment, staring into the empty yard. Where did Ice and James go?
Quiet. Nothing.
Then her posture stiffens.
She rocks on her heels once before darting down the steps and across the yard. She stops at the corner of the house, looking down the narrow side yard. A sidelong glance toward the house—toward me.
The look...on her face...
My stomach twists.
I draw the curtains over the window to block my view of the backyard. Then I pace the room. I twirl my hair around my finger. I gnaw the inside of my cheek.
Ice kissed me. James probably saw. And now...
What did Night see out there?
James will be fine?
Ice wouldn’t... I don’t want to think...
But, no matter how I try to block them out, vivid images of a beaten and bloodied James Reid flash through my mind. Thick, red blood dripping from my hands—
What? Ugh.
I sit on the edge of Ice’s bed and hold my head in my hands.
There’s no way. He doesn’t like James, and that’s fine, but Ice wouldn’t hurt him, would he? Not so badly, right? Not like—
Oh, god...
James is in the wrong here. He’s absolutely in the wrong. He shouldn’t have come. Not today, and not on the Fourth of July. He shouldn’t have snuck into the backyard. He shouldn’t have been watching us through the window.
But—
Stop, Jayde. Stop.
Stop, stop, stop.
You’re fine.
I open my eyes.
Tears fall into my lap, leaving wet spots on the teal muslin. I run my fingers through my hair. I remove the marigold hair clip, but I have nowhere to put it. I just hold it in my cupped hands. A tear lands on the flower and disappears in the tight, silk ruffles.
Everything will be fine.
I jump as a door slams in the hallway—Night’s bedroom. When I recover, I scramble to stand and stare at the closed door.
Quiet. Quiet. Quiet.
Why is the house so quiet?
Then the door opens, and Ice strides through.
At first glance, he appears to be his usual, unruffled self, but his bright, blue eyes smolder with muted rage, and his knuckles are bloody and raw. He hit something. Hard. Past that, he appears unscathed by whatever confrontation occurred outside.
Was James on the receiving end of those fists? If so, there’s no way he came out unharmed. Why am I worried about him?
“Are you okay?” I ask, my voice weak.
He sighs, waving a hand through the air, and takes a seat at his desk. It’s an unexpectedly nonchalant gesture and seriously throws me off, but his anger has faded more completely.
Well, at least I know he’s fine.
But there’s no ignoring this. I don’t care what Night said about mentioning James or Ice’s past. This time, I have to address it.
“So, that’s him, huh? James?”
He stares at me without answering, but the meaning behind the look is clear. The awkward man I ran into at the mall—the guy who basically kidnapped me on the Fourth of July—is the same person Ice and Night apparently knew during high school.
“Right,” I say slowly. “Do you know why he was here?”
He shrugs. “He didn’t say much.”
“Did you...hurt him?”
Is asking rude? Ice clearly hates him—more than I realized, it seems—but I need to know. Otherwise, the multitude of horrifying possibilities will haunt me for eternity.
“Not terribly,” he says. “Despite my overwhelming desire to.”
Am I supposed to take comfort in that?
I acknowledge his answer in as few words as possible.
He studies me a moment longer. Then he spins the desk chair around. Once facing the desk, he puts out a hand to stop himself.
“Don’t worry. James Reid left the property walking.”
He opens a desk drawer and raises his right hand to show off the damage.
Red blood oozes from his split knuckles. The wounds are raw and angry, and the gore turns my stomach a little, so I step back and sit on the bed.
“I have the wall to thank for this.” His voice is breezy and less detached than before. “Brick does a number on the hands. But I know my limits.”
Okay... But did you hit James or not?
I can’t ask that!
So I keep quiet and wipe my eyes to remove any extraneous moisture.
With a sigh, Ice takes a roll of gauze from the drawer he was digging through. I watch him wrap his right hand for a moment before I look away. My idle thumbs pass over the petals of the silk marigold in my lap. I can still make out a few tiny, damp splotches where tears landed on my dress.
The desk chair swivels again after a few minutes. When I look up, both of his hands are neatly bandaged with white gauze. He offers me a smile, but there’s something off about it. Or maybe it’s my perception that’s off.
“James will not bother us again,” he says.
I nod but can’t return the smile—not even a forced one—and his smile grows even more strained.
“Perhaps...” He sighs, a deeper, more explicit disappointment in his averted eyes. “Perhaps we could forget about this too?”
“Um...”
My eyes dart down to my lap.
God, I wish I could. I so desperately wish I could forget the past half hour. Or the past week.
“Jayde?”
Why did I see so much blood? Today wasn’t the first time, either. Why do I keep picturing it?
I shake my head. Then I take a deep breath and look up again. He watches me with a quiet discomfort—like he truly wants the entire evening swept under the rug. This sucks, but I’m not in the mood for more drama.
“If you think that’s best,” I agree mildly.
His smile fades, not that it was much of a smile to begin with. Then he turns to the window, pulls the curtain aside, and gazes out.
“The storm will be here soon,” he says.
And that’s it?
“You think so?” I ask. “The weather’s still so nice.”
“Not for long.”
I have no intention of arguing about the weather, but I seriously dropped the ball on this one. I misread the situation—our entire relationship, it seems—from the very beginning.
How the hell did I manage that?
And what does it mean moving forward?
After a long, quiet moment, Ice turns away from the window.
“Perhaps I should stay in here with you,” he says.
“What?”
After everything—
He rolls his eyes, the disinterest clear on his face. “I’ll take feline form, of course, and sleep at the foot of the bed. No need to panic.”
Oh.
My face grows warm anyway.
“I suggest it as a precaution only,” he says. Our eyes meet. A mild, uneasy expression. “James Reid is an idiot. A coward. He clearly can’t be trusted to do the sensible thing.”
I frown.
Based on what I saw, James is afraid of Ice. He would be crazy to come back after whatever happened out there. But, if that’s true, what’s the point of sleeping in the same room?
Whatever.
I can’t handle any more conflict today. None. I’m over it.
“Fine,” I say.
“Good.”
But, right now, I can’t stay in here another second.
I leave the bed. I leave the room. I close the door, and, as I stand in the empty hallway and wipe my damp eyes, the Monroe house suddenly feels so big. I feel like I don’t belong here. I’m starting to wonder if I ever did.
But I guess I can’t go home now.
forty-one
I SAT ALONE IN THE den for at least half an hour. The house was quiet. Then a door opened in the hallway, and the twins walked out of Night’s bedroom. She was laughing, her voice a bit too light, but Smoke’s annoyance was obvious.
I don’t know why it made me feel so guilty.
Still smiling, she asked if I was okay.
I shrugged.
She asked if Ice was okay.
I said he was fine.
She never asked me to elaborate, and I couldn’t bring myself to ask what she saw in the backyard. Then the three of us moved into the great room. I sat on the couch and Smoke set himself up at the breakfast nook while Night made tea.
Ice came out not long after.
He looked at me, his expression downright indecipherable, but he said nothing. Night gave him a glass of water before she joined Smoke in the bay window, and Ice stationed himself at the glass dining table.
Since then, I’ve been trying to pretend I don’t exist. It’s the only way I can act like what Ice did earlier didn’t happen.
I can’t unhear what he said. I can’t unfeel the sinking dread as I realized the conversation wasn’t going the way I’d hoped. I can’t unexperience being kissed. I can’t unsee the fear in James’ eyes or the blood on Ice’s knuckles.
I can’t.
But I also can’t unsign the Secrecy Agreement or drop out of the Human Immortal Program. I can’t forget about immortals. Ice is my sponsor. Whether we’re dating or not, this is my reality. And I understood that when I signed the paperwork, didn’t I?
Do I regret it?
I don’t know.
I’m upset, I guess? But I panicked and agreed to forget about it again—which is exactly what Night told me not to do—so how am I supposed to approach the subject with anyone?
Now, I’m running out of ways to distract myself with my phone. I scrolled down my FaceSpace newsfeed for ages. I checked Snapgram. I even redownloaded a lame bubble pop game I haven’t played in months.
This seriously sucks.
It’s dark outside. After 10PM.
But no one has moved, and I don’t want to be the first.
Night glances at me from time to time. She’ll look up from her book to check on me. Or Ice. Or the window.
It’s so quiet.
Then a chair shifts. I look up—with my eyes, without moving my head.
Ice, who is now standing, pushes the chair back into place. Dark blood peeks through the gauze over his knuckles. His hand falls away from the back of the chair, and he crosses the room. He doesn’t say anything as he leaves through the den.
A door closes softly further inside the house, and Smoke snickers from the breakfast nook. Maybe it was a coincidence. I wasn’t looking, but he seems focused on his phone screen. Night, who sits across from him, watches me with a rather terse frown. She sets her book on the table beside her tea saucer and beckons me over.
Ugh.
Still, she has always been the easiest of the siblings to talk to, and we absolutely need to talk, so I leave the nest I formed against the arm of the couch.
“Here,” she says, scooting over to make room.
I sit on the edge of the bench seat. Our eyes meet, and I force a smile. She doesn’t bother mirroring it.
“What happened?” she asks under her breath.
Two pairs of identical blue eyes watch me with interest, hers more nervous than her brother’s. But I don’t know where to begin or what she wants to know. Does she want to know how my talk with Ice went? Because it was a disaster. Or does she want to know how James got involved? Which is more important?
My feelings are one thing, but...
“I saw him outside the window,” I say.
“James?” When I nod, she sighs. “Okay, but what happened before that—in the bedroom? You spoke with Ice, right? What did he say?”
I avert my eyes. “He, uh— Well, I asked for answers. Why he did any of it—sponsoring me and hanging out with me, you know? And he said there isn’t a reason. He said it’s not important. But, if that’s how he sees it, it’s probably better if I don’t know.”
“Wow.” She seems surprised. Disappointed and more frustrated than she was at the teahouse. “Did you at least manage to tell him how you feel?
”
“He already knew.”
She frowns, her eyes darting down. “I see. That...makes sense. What did he have to say for himself?”
“He asked—” I stare at my hands. “He asked if I wanted an honest answer. I almost said no. Maybe I should have said no.”
Glancing over, I laugh, but Night, who watches me carefully, doesn’t find it funny at all. And Smoke is wearing headphones, his full attention once again on the phone in his hand.
My smile fades, and I pick at the gel polish still firmly attached to my nails. “Anyway, he’s not interested in me like that. But it’s fine, I guess.”
“Is it?” she asks. “Is that okay with you?”
I shrug.
Her frown deepens. “It’s okay if it’s not.”
“Are you sure?” I ask, growing frustrated—more with myself than with anything else. “Does it matter if I’m okay with it or not? Knowing he doesn’t love me doesn’t change anything, does it? I still like him, and he’s still my sponsor, so do my feelings about it really matter?”
Her eyes search mine, a soft pain etched into the lines of her face. Then she looks away, into her teacup.
“I’m sorry.”
“I thought about asking you to take me home. After he said that, I almost walked out on him, but he—” I touch my lips and shake my head before dropping my hand back to the table. “He just had to go and kiss me.”
Her expression blanks
For an instant, I’m not sure she believes me. Then she holds a curled hand over her mouth. Her eyes dart toward the den for an instant. Then her brows furrow, and her jaw strains like she wants to speak but isn’t sure what to say.
Smoke glances up from his phone, his attention on his sister.
“I need to go,” she says, standing abruptly. “Excuse me.”
I step out of the breakfast nook, and she hurries past me, but she pauses mid-step, already halfway across the room. When she looks back, her frown is more severe.
“Did James see?”
My breath catches. “I— I don’t know. I didn’t notice him until after. But he could have. I mean, we were standing right in front of the window the whole time.”
“I see.” Her voice carries a hint of tension. “Well, after what happened today—not with you, exactly, but, you know... I need to talk to Ice. If you want, I can take you home when I’m done.”