Nightfall

by Douglas, Penelope

  I pulled up next to him, rolling down the window.

  He peered up at me, batting his eyelashes against the rain.

  “I really don’t like you,” I said nice and loud so we were clear.

  He smiled and pushed himself up, coming up to the truck and climbing up on the step, peering down at me.

  “I like that you don’t like me,” he taunted.

  He pushed his hood off, and I watched streams of rain cascade down his face.

  “So, I’m a challenge then?” I asked. “That’s what all this is really about?”

  “No.” He shook his head. “You just make me want to be…”

  “Better?” I rolled my eyes at the cliché statement.

  But he paused a moment. “More,” he finally said. “No one ever expects more from me.”

  I studied him, not having anything to say to that.

  I looked down at the phone in his hand instead. “Is someone coming to get you already?”

  “No.” He stuffed the phone in his pocket. “I was getting ready to call your brother to report my stolen car.”

  I widened my eyes and almost screamed, but I just clamped my mouth shut and gritted my teeth.

  Son of a bitch.

  “Scoot over,” he said.

  I huffed and crawled over the console into my seat, and he opened the door, climbing in.

  • • •

  “Can I pick you up for school Monday morning?” he asked, turning onto my street.

  I unfastened my seatbelt. “No.”

  “I just asked to be nice,” he said in a stern tone. “I’m picking you up. I don’t like you walking.”

  “Please…” I shook my head, ready to plead. “Please don’t.”

  We approached my house, and I grabbed my bag and flute off the floor.

  “Stop here,” I told him.

  “I’m not afraid of your brother, Em.”

  “Please just drop me here,” I bit out. “Stop the truck, Will. Please.”

  “Okay.” He quickly pulled over to the curb, sliding behind Mrs. Costa’s Buick.

  I opened the door, but he grabbed my hand.

  I looked at him over my shoulder.

  “I’ll be right here,” he said. “At seven.”

  I stared at him for a moment, wondering if saying no again would do any good, but I just took my stuff and jumped down from the cab.

  I met his eyes once more before I closed the door and then jogged down the sidewalk, turning up my walkway. I looked around for anyone who might’ve seen us, but thankfully, it was late and the street was quiet.

  I climbed my steps and twisted the door handle, my heart dropping a little because that meant Martin was still up.

  I stepped inside and heard Will’s truck finally pull off, breezing past my house. I closed and locked the door, my lips twitching with a smile.

  He actually waited until I was inside to leave.

  Dishes clanked in the kitchen, and I dropped my bags to the floor, heading in to face the music. I had no idea how late I was, and I hadn’t checked my phone for missed calls.

  Hands in my jacket pockets, I stopped just inside the dark kitchen.

  Martin stood at the sink, pre-washing dishes before loading them into the dishwasher. He turned his head, eyeing me over his shoulder.

  “Dinner is there.” He gestured to the plate on the table.

  But I rushed up to his side instead, taking the plate out of his hand. “I can do it. You worked all day.”

  He let me take over, grabbing a towel and drying his hands as he stepped away. I took the dish brush and scrubbed the crust from our breakfast this morning.

  “You know,” he said. “Funny thing. When you didn’t make it home by ten, I tracked your phone.”

  I faltered, feeling the hair on my arms rise. He could track my phone? How long had he been doing that?

  “It told me that you were at the Cove.” He walked away and leaned against the counter, his eyes on me. “Funny thing is, the Cove closed at eight tonight, and when I drove out there, all I saw was Will Grayson’s truck in the parking lot.”

  I rubbed circles on the plate, pressing hard so my hands wouldn’t shake.

  “I support your education, Emory,” he told me, “your extracurricular activities, and your projects, because I want you to make something of yourself, and I know that all looks good on your college resumé.”

  I put the plate in the dishwasher and picked up another one, avoiding his gaze.

  I wished I was still in Will’s truck.

  “And while you’re off playing, I’m working or I’m here.” He inched closer. “No woman wants me with you in this house. No one wants me because I can never give her the Thunder Bay life, because I’m paying for Grand-Mère’s nurse and for you.”

  He stopped at my side, and I couldn’t stop shaking as I washed the dish.

  “And you’re off playing,” he said, pushing me in the head.

  I stumbled to the side. “Martin…”

  “You don’t listen to anything I say.” He dug the tips of his fingers into my skull and shoved again, and I almost dropped the brush. “Is it so hard? Just doing what I tell you to do?”

  He pushed me in the head again like I was stupid, and I fell to the side, dropping the dish and brush into the sink. I waited for the slap, but he just grabbed my wrist and yanked me to the table.

  Pushing me down in the seat, he grabbed a handful of the spaghetti and stuffed it to my mouth.

  Tears swelled my throat, and I squeezed my eyes shut, holding it back.

  “As if we don’t have enough problems, you go and get a reputation for being one of their little whores,” he said, stuffing another fistful into my mouth. “Thinking you’re going to be one of them. Thinking you’re better and them thinking they’re better because they get to play with you like a toy!”

  Spaghetti flew in my face, dirtying my glasses as he stuffed handful after handful at my mouth, the noodles pressing down my throat so hard I couldn’t breathe.

  Silent tears streamed down my eyes. I twisted my head away, trying to spit it out, but he grabbed my face and squeezed my jaw to open me up again.

  I couldn’t stop crying as I gasped for air. I couldn’t breathe, and I gripped the sides of the table, my teeth cutting the insides of my mouth.

  I tried to think of my gazebo. If Will helped me build it.

  How nice that might be someday.

  Will and the gazebo… Will and the gazebo…

  The breeze on my face was warm, and the leaves in the trees smelled like summer.

  But as Martin yelled, and I gagged, spaghetti choking me, I couldn’t muster another single coherent thought.

  I couldn’t think. I couldn’t remember what Will looked like. What my gazebo looked like.

  I didn’t have a gazebo. There was no Will Grayson.

  There was nothing but this.

  There was nothing but this.

  Emory

  Present

  Wrapping the towel around me, I ignored the eyes I felt through the glass and grabbed the clothes Micah had brought, taking them to the privacy—hopefully—of the bathroom. Of course, there could’ve been a two-way mirror in there, too.

  Stripping off my soaked boxers and top, I dried my hair as best I could with the towel, brushed with the brush I found on the sink counter, and dressed, pulling on my clean underwear I’d washed out last night and hung to dry on the shower door, someone’s clean boxers over them, and their button-down white Oxford.

  I rolled over the shorts to make them fit and buttoned the shirt, rolling up the sleeves. If I had to guess, I’d say these clothes were Rory’s, since he was the smallest.

  I still swam in both pieces of clothing, though.

  Heading back into the bedroom, I sheathed my knife and stuck it into my breast pocket. I still had no idea how I got the knife. Whoever brought me here might’ve wanted me to be able to defend myself, but if they didn’t want me hurt, why the hell dump me here in t
he first place?

  I had so many questions.

  Turning my head, I spied the wall of antique sporting equipment I’d vaguely noticed but hadn’t inspected. Plenty of weapons on that wall. Cricket bats, old blades from rowing teams, and…

  I walked over, grabbing the shadow box of old fish hooks. Flipping it over, I pried out the backing and set it on the table against the wall, picking out four hooks and taking them to the dresser where Aydin had left the bandages.

  Sticking each hook through the gauze, I wrapped the bandage around my knuckles, fitting the ends of the hooks between my fingers to pinch them in place, while the sharp, curved ends reached out like claws.

  I bit back my smile, wrapping the gauze around my hand like a glove, ripping it free from the rest of the roll, and tucking the slack into the bandage over my palm.

  Balling my fist, I lashed out, hearing the claws cut the air. I wanted a weapon I didn’t always have to carry. Freddy Krueger glove, it was.

  With my wet head, weapons, and glasses on, I left the room, keeping my eyes peeled in all directions.

  I passed the secret door and kept walking around the landing, treading quietly down the hallway that I saw Taylor come out of yesterday when I’d arrived.

  I hadn’t heard any more movement above me or in the walls since last night. Maybe it was critters.

  I passed a couple of rooms—a bedroom and a nursery—and then I walked past an office before I came to a closed door, quietly reaching for the handle as I debated.

  I wanted to know which rooms were what, which ones had windows, and who was settled where, but I also didn’t want to draw notice.

  To hell with it.

  I needed to know.

  Gently, I twisted the handle, but then I heard grunts from the other side of the door and stopped, leaning my head in to listen.

  Another grunt followed by a groan with muffled whispers, and I took a step back, releasing the handle.

  That was undoubtedly Micah and Rory’s room.

  Noted.

  I trailed around the second floor, finding another dark bedroom with the sheets mussed, clothes on the floor, and a couple of more rooms freshly made up by the cleaning crew yesterday.

  I stepped into one with a massive bed, an ornate hardwood headboard and footboard, and a large cushioned chair in the corner. Unlike most of the other rooms, this one wasn’t white or black. Earth tones and decorative lamps dressed the room, and I instantly felt cozy and warm.

  If it wasn’t already taken, then it was mine if I was still here tonight. I checked the handle for a lock, but there wasn’t one, same as Aydin’s room, and there was also a mirror in here, too.

  I could secure the door with a chair and hang a sheet over the glass. Just in case.

  Walking to the window, I peered through the curtains, taking in the rundown courtyard below with dead leaves covering the patches of grass, the remnants of a fallen tree, and a fountain in the center of the drive that held a couple inches of rainwater that had now turned brown.

  It was a mess compared to the inside of the house. There may be outdated décor, torn drapes, and peeling wallpaper, but it was clean in here.

  For now.

  I left the room and closed the door behind me, trailing around the rest of the second floor, opening every door, every closet, and looking out every window to get a lay of the land.

  I headed for the stairs to explore the rest of the first floor, but a floorboard creaked above me, and I stopped, looking up to the ceiling.

  Footfalls moved from my left to my right, the wooden floor whining under the weight of whoever was up there, and I swallowed the lump in my throat, turning around instead.

  I followed the sound, checking the ceiling for an entrance to the attic, thinking perhaps Will was up there. I guessed that messy room I found was either his or Taylor’s, but that meant there was one bedroom still unaccounted for.

  But I couldn’t find an entrance to an attic or one to a third floor.

  Hmm. I was pretty good at finding the secret room. I still had one in Thunder Bay, now that I thought about it.

  Heading downstairs, I inspected every inch of the bottom floor, spying Taylor in the gym again, but I scooted away before he saw me.

  Walking into the natatorium, heat rolling off the surface of the pool and fogging the windows and glass ceiling, I gazed at the water, tempted to dive in. I was alone, and it had been ages since I swam, but I wasn’t here to play.

  I spotted a half-wall about fifteen feet beyond the other side of the pool and headed over to inspect. Probably some sort of dressing area or something.

  As I got closer, though, I heard water running, but it wasn’t until I’d rounded the wall that I saw it was showers.

  I stopped, seeing Will—naked, wet, flexed, and…

  My stomach dropped.

  And hard.

  I quickly backed up, dashing back behind the wall.

  Shit.

  Pool showers.

  What the hell? Aydin was naked in plain sight yesterday. Will was naked in plain sight today.

  I breathed hard, but I didn’t move, remembering the last time I saw so much of him. He had been fit, his body unmarked back then, but before I could stop myself, I peered around the corner again, taking in the sight of him now, years later.

  He’d changed on the outside, too. I let eyes fell down his body, the soap spilling down his skin and little bubbles dotting his stomach and arms.

  I gazed, heat rising up my neck as he tipped his head back, smoothing hot water over his hair, steam billowing around his golden, wet skin. Tattoos covered both arms, drifting onto his chest and back, and they lined his collarbone and hands, but I couldn’t see them well enough to decipher everything.

  I made out his basketball number on the back of his right hand, his Devil’s Night mask on his left arm against the backdrop of Thunder Bay, the cemetery, the Ferris wheel, and St. Killian’s easily visible. His other shoulder and arm featured a cascading vine of leaves surrounding a skull, words written on the forehead I couldn’t make out, and the rest of his body was covered in big and small pictures as well as words, some even draped around his collarbone like a necklace.

  I wanted to see everything. I wanted to touch him.

  He had shaved, and every muscle on his body had doubled in size since the last time I’d seen him, too.

  I dropped my eyes and froze, staring at the other hard muscle standing damn-near upright, long and thick between his legs.

  My lungs emptied, and he turned around, leaning into the wall with his hand as the water cascaded down his face, and he grabbed his cock, stroking it slow and tight.

  I gripped the wall for support, heat pooling between my legs as I chewed the inside of my mouth.

  I stared at his hard-on, and in the not-so-far recesses of my mind, I wondered what he was thinking about.

  Me?

  Or her?

  A whisper hit my hair. “You want him?”

  I sucked in a breath and whipped around, swiping my fist with the claws.

  Aydin jumped back, slivers of red opening up on his chest where I’d caught him with the hooks.

  He looked down and then up at me, reaching out and grabbing me by the throat with one hand, and my wrist with the glove in the other.

  I whimpered.

  Slamming me into the wall, the showers on the other side, he pressed his body into mine, staring down at me hard.

  “You said you wouldn’t hurt me,” I told him.

  “I’m not hurting you,” he cooed as the shower ran behind me. “I’m scaring you.”

  He pressed my wrist to the wall out to our side, and he looked over, studying my glove.

  He grinned. “It’s clever.”

  Staring down into my eyes, he breathed across my lips and sweat covered my stomach and back. I needed air.

  “What happened between you two?” he asked. “It’s not a coincidence that you’re here, you know?”

  I studied him. Yes, I k
new that. It had something to do with Will. “So you think whoever dumped me here is giving Will a present?”

  “Perhaps.” He eased his grip on my neck. “They are definitely no friend to you, though.”

  Spinning me around, he forced me to the edge of the wall, both of us leaning in and watching Will.

  “Do you think he’ll protect you?” he whispered.

  I tried to jerk out of his hold, but he held tight. Will fisted his cock, leaning into the wall, eyes closed, and breathing hard.

  “Does he have to?” I asked, my eyes trailing down his body again. “Why are we watching this?”

  “You’re watching this,” he explained. “I’m watching you.”

  “Why?”

  He didn’t answer, and I turned my head, looking up at him. His amber eyes watched Will and his brow knit, troubled.

  “I don’t know,” he finally answered. “Maybe to remember what it feels like when you weren’t alone. When you weren’t the only one looking out for yourself.” He looked down at me. “Maybe to remember what we left behind. And to remember what we didn’t.”

  What was he talking about?

  “Will and I are about the same age,” he said, “but I think we were probably very different in high school. He was the talker, right?” He smiled at me. “I was the quiet one.”

  Now it was the other way around, it seemed.

  “I wasn’t always like this,” he told me. “I was miserable. Six feet of weakness, fear, and cowardice.” He gazed at Will again as he talked. “‘You’ll be a doctor,’ they said. ‘You’ll study that. Work there. Go here on vacations. Spend your free time doing this. Marry her. Have three children. Live up there in that house after the honeymoon tour of London, Paris, and Rome.’”

  I tried to picture him as he described himself, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t imagine him docile.

  “Until one night, buried in my books, I saw her,” Aydin continued.

  I listened, but I turned my gaze back on Will as Aydin spoke in my ear.

  “It wasn’t her body or her face,” he told me. “It was how everything with her was effortless. Every movement. Every look.”

  Will sucked in air between his teeth, his strokes harder and faster and the muscles in his arm tight.