Sidetracked: Part 1

by S. K. Kelley

  “It’s fine. I already agreed to stay a few more days.”

  Her smile doesn’t touch her eyes. “Alright. If that’s the case, we can talk later.”

  I nod, and she’s gone fast.

  Suddenly uncomfortable, I turn to Smoke. He’s still watching the wide, empty arch his sister disappeared through. Then his eyes meet mine.

  “Sit,” he says, having dropped the headphones to his neck.

  As I comply, he takes a long drink from his porcelain teacup. He seems calm and unperturbed. It’s strange considering Night’s reaction.

  “Is she okay?” I ask.

  He shrugs. “Sure. She always finds a way to be okay. Someone has to be an adult around here, you know?”

  “Ha...” I avert my eyes and scratch the inside of my wrist.

  “So, Ice kissed you?” he asks. “Right before he beat the shit out of James Reid, huh? What a guy.”

  My pleasant facade falters, but he watches me with a passive smile and muted interest that only confuses me further. Night ran outside after Ice, and I know she saw something. Maybe—

  “Do you know what happened out there?”

  “Nah.” He sighs—more of a huff, really—and his smile fades. “She hasn’t said a word about it, but we all saw the bandages, so I can imagine.”

  “You think James is hurt?”

  “Does that bother you?” he asks, his head tipped. “James hurt you on the Fourth of July, right? Your injuries weren’t too bad—easy to fix, but it didn’t look fun. Decent gash on your head.”

  “That doesn’t mean I want—”

  He stifles a laugh. “You seem like a bright girl and all, but you don’t know the first thing about the mess you’ve found yourself in. With immortals. Our family. Ice. I bet a million bucks he didn’t hesitate before breaking James’ nose.”

  “He said he hit the wall,” I stammer.

  “And you believe that?”

  I bite my cheek, but I don’t respond.

  He sighs again and pushes himself out of the bench seat like it takes serious effort. “Anyway, I should check on them. Night can get real emotional when it comes to these things.”

  “Oh. Okay.”

  “Mind cleaning up for us?” he asks, cracking a small smile. “The china goes above the sink. Step stool’s by the fridge.”

  I agree, relieved to have something productive to do, even if it’s washing cups and saucers. So I stand and collect the dishes. The porcelain feels so fragile in my hands.

  Smoke wishes me luck on his way out.

  “Thanks.”

  As always, I need it.

  IT’S ALMOST MIDNIGHT.

  A few doors opened and closed in the hall earlier, but I haven’t moved from the breakfast nook, and no one has come out to join me or check up on me or anything. The entire household, myself excluded, may have gone to sleep. Who knows?

  I’m nervous to find out, I guess.

  With a sigh, I look out the window. Up from the houses and the streetlights. The sky is dark. Navy, dotted with stars. Clouds.

  Clouds?

  Ugh. Maybe the weather forecast is right. The clouds are wispy things, gathering in the sky behind the houses, but there’s no telling if they’ll turn into something else later. Like storm clouds.

  It’s late. I’m tired.

  But...

  No, I need to get over myself. I’m fine. Everything is fine.

  It’s time for bed. It’s time to stop avoiding Ice. If it’s anything like the Fourth of July, he’ll at least pretend he’s over it—or that it never happened.

  I meant what I told Night, though.

  What does anything that Ice said change? Nothing. It merely reframes his actions. Now, it seems like he only wanted someone to talk to or get out and do things with. A friend, maybe?

  Maybe Rose was right. Maybe I am a platonic sugar baby.

  But he kissed me.

  Maybe he needs more time. Maybe he doesn’t know exactly how he feels yet. He still hasn’t said anything about what we’re supposed to do when summer ends, so it’s possible, right? Sponsorship isn’t a casual summer thing—or I can’t imagine it is, anyway.

  I leave the breakfast nook. I turn off the lights on my way through the house, and I creep down the hallway. I raise a hand to knock on Ice’s bedroom door. But I hesitate.

  Do I need to knock?

  Is he alone in there? Is he awake?

  Shaking my head, I knock. Twice. Softly.

  The door opens, and we stand face-to-face. He looks tired—like visibly tired. More tired than he did after his concurrent trips to Seattle. Maybe it shouldn’t surprise me after today. It was a rough one.

  “It’s late,” he says.

  I force a laugh. “I’ve been thinking that for the past hour.”

  “Yes, well...” He glances over his shoulder, and his uneasy expression softens. “Come in.”

  He opens the door the rest of the way. As I step inside, he retreats further into the room. He morphs and jumps onto the bed. Ice, as a white cat, glances from the mirror on the closet door to the window behind the desk and finally to me.

  “Do I...make you uncomfortable?” he asks.

  “Ah—”

  With another laugh, I drop to my knees at the foot of the bed, both to hide my face and to dig through my duffel bag.

  “No,” I say, though the word sounds more like a question.

  What else can I say?

  Today was uncomfortable for everyone, and we both know it.

  It’s not him entirely, or even what he told me or whatever he may or may not have done to James after he caught him in the side yard. It’s everything. Dinner. His confession. The kiss. The blood.

  Everything.

  So, yeah, I’m a little uncomfortable, but I don’t want to think about what happened today either. Maybe I should be happy he bothered asking.

  “I’ll be fine,” I say, standing up with my pajama shorts in hand.

  He continues watching from his spot on the far side of the bed. His ears are angled forward, and his eyes are round and attentive.

  “You’re tired?” he asks, his head cocked at a perfect ninety-degree angle.

  I nod, hold up my pajamas, and smile. “Yeah, but, um... Can you turn around for a minute?”

  With a dry laugh, he burrows underneath the comforter. I guess that works. I change clothes the fastest I’ve probably ever changed. Then I turn the light off and sit on the edge of the bed.

  The patio light filters in through the sheer curtains, so it’s not too dark. The blankets shift behind me.

  “I’ll sleep against the wall,” he says. “Don’t worry. I’ll stay in feline form the whole time. I won’t touch you.”

  “Thanks.” I guess.

  I glance over my shoulder as he curls up near the middle of the bed, inches from the wall. There’s plenty of space, and his feline form is small, but I...

  Why is this so weird?

  “Goodnight, Jayde,” he says, his eyes reflecting green in the low light.

  I lie down, facing the room with the comforter pulled up to my chin. Ignoring the urge to watch the window, I close my eyes. I listen to the sound of air blowing through the ducts in the ceiling.

  But I can’t fall asleep.

  Knowing Ice is so close. Knowing our feelings aren’t the same. Wondering what he did to James. The shock on Night’s face as she rounded the corner of the house.

  The blood on his hands.

  And what Smoke said earlier.

  Ice told me he hit the wall—that James left the property walking. But Smoke is right. That doesn’t mean he was okay when he left.

  forty-two

  STANDING IN FRONT OF Ice’s desk, I pull the curtains aside. The backyard is empty, but the sky is overcast. Grey. Unfriendly, thunderstorm-type clouds peek above the neighboring house.

  “I feel it,” Ice mumbles behind me. “The rain in the air.”

  He’s half-asleep, his feline form sprawled near the foot of
the bed. Eyes closed, he seems rather listless. I doubt he woke up early to jog like he usually does.

  “It’s not raining yet,” I say.

  A soft laugh. “Oh, it will.”

  By mid-afternoon, if the forecast is correct. But I don’t want to accept it. A rainstorm is the last thing I need.

  Ice stretches, his jaw unhinging in a yawn. Then he curls into a tight ball, and I resist the urge to pet him.

  “Give it two hours.” His voice is muffled by fur. “It will rain.”

  “You getting up?” I ask, collecting an outfit from my bag.

  “No. You’re free to leave.”

  His face is too buried in fluff to receive my dramatic glare, but I don’t say anything else. I get dressed and leave.

  The den is empty and dark. I open the heavy curtain over the sliding glass door on my way through. The great room is empty too. It’s almost 10AM. Night would usually have cooked breakfast by now, but I’m alone, so I browse the kitchen cabinets and find something to eat.

  The house is quiet. It leaves me feeling a little itchy, but I’m not surprised. Yesterday was chaotic at best, and I stayed up late. It’s a miracle I woke up this early, considering...

  God, the look on James’ face before he bolted.

  The hatred in Ice’s eyes. The blood. Night’s suppressed panic, and Smoke’s deadpan certainty. How am I supposed to feel about any of this?

  Ugh. Stop thinking about it.

  “Oh. Jayde.”

  I turn toward the voice as Night walks into the great room. She’s wearing a silky, cream nightdress, and her hair is a mess.

  “You’re eating,” she says through a yawn. “Good.”

  She continues into the kitchen, where she picks out a mug and turns on the electric kettle. She asks if I want tea, but I shake my head.

  “Excuse us if we’re out of it until the storm blows over,” she says. “Some immortals don’t do well in dreary weather—especially when it comes on so suddenly during the summer.”

  “Weird.”

  She laughs. “Ice is the worst with these things.”

  I believe it.

  Her warm expression falters as our eyes meet. She turns away and busies herself with picking out a tea bag from the impressively large tea collection she keeps out on the counter.

  I glance at my hands—at the nails that are growing out and no longer look amazing. I ask Night if she can help me strip the polish later. She agrees, her voice soft, but I decline her offer to paint them again.

  By the time she joins me at the table, I’m done with my cereal. I don’t move, though, and she doesn’t speak. I glance outside. It’s not raining, but the sky looks like it wants to start.

  Say something, Jayde.

  “Can we—”

  “—talk about yesterday?” she asks with a sigh.

  I meet her careful gaze and nod.

  “You talked to Ice last night, right?” I ask. “What did he say? Because, ah...I’m still confused.”

  Another sigh. Frowning, she stares down into her steaming mug. “He didn’t want to talk about it, of course. He said it didn’t mean anything.”

  “The kiss?” I ask, my face flushing uncomfortably.

  “Mm-hm.” She props her chin in her hand. “He laughed at me. Accused me of being jealous. I was so mad, I thought it best to let it go.”

  “Jealous of what?”

  She rolls her eyes. “God knows what that man is ever thinking. Granted, he wasn’t expecting to see James here, but— Ugh.”

  “Surely a kiss can’t mean nothing,” I protest.

  “This is Ice we’re talking about.” She meets my gaze, a hint of frustration seeping into her otherwise level expression. “But you’re right. It doesn’t mean nothing. He’s deflecting because emotions are scary.”

  “But he doesn’t like me the same way.”

  That was his honest answer.

  “No,” she agrees. “That’s what bothers me. But, for him to go so far, he must be awfully afraid of losing you.”

  “You’re saying he kissed me so I wouldn’t leave?”

  She frowns. “I don’t know, Jayde. You’re obviously important to him, but, to be honest, I have a theory that Ice is asexual—or at least aromantic. I’ve known him since he was eleven, and he’s never shown much interest in intimate relationships, so I wouldn’t take it personally.”

  Why do I feel like I should cut my losses and go home?

  “I really like him,” I say lamely.

  “I know.”

  She takes a drink, and the table falls quiet. I have absolutely no idea what to say. All I know is that I don’t want to discuss feelings anymore.

  “What happened outside?” I ask.

  Her expression shifts. A fleeting grimace. Then she coughs, her attention darting to her hands as they grip the mug more tightly. Not a good sign.

  “Outside?” she echoes. “With James, you mean?”

  “Ice came in with his hands bleeding,” I say through my teeth. “He didn’t deny hurting him when I asked.”

  “James will be okay,” she says slowly. “He—”

  “—left the property walking?”

  Her jaw tenses, eyes still averted, and she brushes a hand down her cheek. “Ice may have hit James a couple times, sure. But he broke his knuckles on the wall.”

  Broke them?

  Grimacing again, she shakes her head. “Broke is not the right word. Ice is fine, and his hands are fine. He just— You know? He hit the brick on the side of the house. It’s... Well, this isn’t the first time he’s done something like that.”

  We stare at each other. She looks guilty, ashamed, as though there were anything she could have done to stop him.

  Once again, I don’t know what to say.

  “James shouldn’t have been here,” she says, her shoulders falling as she shakes her head. “I can’t believe he’d risk it. After the Fourth...”

  Me either.

  I couldn’t believe it either.

  She takes a slow drink from her mug, staring into the liquid. “Ice said that he—that James, I mean—asked about you. He was worried about you. But he knows your necklace won’t do anything for him now. So, there’s that.”

  “He was worried?”

  That’s why he came here? As misguided as it is—ever thinking it was a good idea... If Ice hurt him, I feel kind of bad. But he should not have been here.

  “I don’t think he meant to hurt you,” she says, her voice low.

  “I’m pretty sure he was drunk,” I mumble into my hands.

  She sighs. “Drunk, desperate, or both, there is no excuse for what he did. He kidnapped you, Jayde. You were injured, and you had to walk back here in the middle of the night by yourself.”

  “Yes, well—” I did knock myself out on a table leg in front of him. “I guess I’m lucky that Smoke could fix me up.”

  Forcing a smile, she takes another drink.

  “I’m just glad it wasn’t anything serious,” she says. “And I do believe Ice is doing his best considering the less-than-ideal circumstances. Yesterday was rather trying. But enough about all that. How are you holding up?”

  “Me? I’m okay.”

  She regards me with overt skepticism. “As I said before, Jayde, immortals and humans are the same this way. We’re not perfect. None of us are. We all make mistakes and bad decisions. We all suffer and hurt others and have things we don’t want to talk about. You get what I’m saying, right?”

  I nod, but I realize what I’m asking is another one of the things no one wants to talk about.

  “I can take you home if you don’t want to stay here anymore,” she offers, her nails clicking against the side of her mug. “Ice will get over it, but you need to take care of yourself above all else.”

  “I—”

  Would being alone at home be any better than staying here? Ice can be confusing—and intense at times, it seems. I have no idea what I’m doing when it comes to anything anymore, but would
I feel any differently at home?

  “No, I’m okay.”

  “Hm. Alright.” She glances out the window. “Let me know if you change your mind.”

  forty-three

  THE FIRST RAINDROPS fell around noon.

  Ice didn’t come out of his bedroom until after 1PM. Only then, with both him and Smoke in the great room, did Night start lunch.

  She made sandwiches, and the four of us ate in relative silence. I finished first, and Smoke dipped out when he was done, so only Night, Ice, and I remain at the table.

  Ice, who ate so slowly he still has a plate in front of him, is quiet. He sits across from me at the breakfast nook, staring out the window and watching small streaks of water flow down the glass. He’s obviously displeased with the state of the world.

  The rain is a soft drizzle, but it’ll pick up later today. The storm is serious business, I guess. A tropical cyclone. There are flood warnings on the coast and everything.

  As Night cleans the kitchen, her movements are more sluggish than usual. A plate clatters in the sink, and she gasps softly. Less precise than usual. She wasn’t kidding when she said bad weather messes them up.

  Across from me, Ice yawns. He drops his fork onto his plate, which still has half a sandwich and some fruit salad on it, and my attention settles on his hands—his knuckles. They’re scraped, the skin visibly damaged, but only the deepest split on his right hand looks fresh.

  I hesitate, but I ask, “How are your hands?”

  “My hands?” He raises one to examine it and flexes his fingers, closing and opening his fist a few times. “They’re fine.”

  “Can I see?”

  He laughs easily, but he slides his hand across the table. Then he watches my face with such careful focus that I pause before I finally look down.

  The cracked knuckles are scabbed over after only one night. Some redness, but no swelling. My finger brushes against the worst split. His skin is warm, but the touch is like an electric shock seizing my heart. A series of images flash in my mind—something that can’t be real. For half an instant.

  A jolt of pain. Blood. Wide, yellow eyes. Pleading.

  Ah— My eyes dart up as I retract my hands and fold them in my lap. Ice is still watching me, but I don’t think he noticed my breath catch.