“What? No!” I almost laughed at her crestfallen pout. “Why would we keep it a secret?”
“Neither of us have time for your weird head games, Sadie,” Connor sighed. “I asked her over as a favor last night, to help her escape your bullshit. And then Paul said—”
“Oh, don’t drag Paul into this. It would have been so romantic, is all. So clandestine. Like, if part of your plan was to act like you’re just friends, and then—”
“We didn’t plan it,” I cut in, “but it happened. And here we are.”
“Oh. My. Word.” Her face was a supernova, bright around the biggest smile. “This is perfect! We can double-date! What are you doing tonight?”
My eyes strayed behind her, found Grey standing there, silent and staring and blank. He turned away from us and began messing around with the display, stacking bars and rearranging bottles on the tabletop. I looked away, attempted to discreetly wipe my mouth on the shoulder of my shirt. Double date, my ass.
“Okay, calm down.” Connor rubbed a hand over his eyes, as if the act would blot out his sister. “This is literally hours old.”
“And we’re not a couple,” I added over Sadie’s protests. “We’re friends, but—”
“But? But nothing.” She gestured to the way we stood: his arm curled around my shoulder, mine crossed over his waist. My thumb unconsciously hooked through his belt loop, fingers resting on his hip bone. “Lane Jamison, this is not how we touch our friends.”
I couldn’t help echoing the laughter that burst from Connor, spilling over both of us like sunshine. She was miffed to the point of cute—goody-goody Sadie, hands fisted on her hips, chin up, feathers ruffled. A little mother hen, pecking at our unrepentant toes.
“We’re friends,” he repeated. “We’re involved, but not committed. Nothing complicated.”
“So you’re not officially together?” Her face scrunched into a pout at our simultaneous headshakes. “Well. I guess if you’re happy, I’m happy. I’ll have to work a little harder to convince you you’re destined to be, but I don’t mind. We can start with dinner tonight, just the two of you. I’ll make a reservation.”
“Or maybe you could mind your own business for once.” Connor released me, ran his fingers through his hair and over his face, swatted at the hand Sadie jammed in his jacket pocket as she rummaged for his phone. At least she wasn’t mad. “Not that I have a hope in hell that’ll actually happen, but it doesn’t hurt to put it out there.”
“I’m sorry, honey, what? I wasn’t listening. Does seven o’clock sound good? I know you’re on duty tomorrow, but this is a special occasion.”
“Goddamn it, Sadie.”
My eyes cut to Grey, catching the corner of his sullen gaze as he abandoned the display and started poking around in the cash register.
“Everything okay, Greyson? You seem tense.”
“Sorry if my mood’s not great,” he sneered. “When I offered you a ride last night, I didn’t realize I was actually offering you a ride this morning.”
“Holy shit, really? You told me to text you. How are you still mad about that?”
“I don’t sleep enough as it is, Elaine. I don’t appreciate what little I get being derailed by your conquests.”
I blinked at the surge of venom in his voice. This was more than the migraine, or his precious sleep schedule—this was territorial. Was it some form of misplaced family protectiveness? Would he be throwing the same fit over any random guy, or was he upset I’d been with Connor in particular? Was he actually jealous?
And was he seriously doing this in front of Sadie?
My eyes crept over to her, waiting for the glitter-crusted rage tsunami to crash right down on our heads. She was preoccupied, trying over Connor’s protests to add God knows what to his phone calendar.
“You hadn’t even gone to bed yet, Grey. Anyway, I never told you to wait up.” I turned back his way, caught the heat off his glare. Let it reach inside and spark and flame, until mine was a match. “But if it bothers you so much, next time I’ll just stay over.”
He was so close to smug at the beginning of that sentence. The smugness had even manifested on his face in a tiny, shitty smirk, all geared up for what he thought would be acquiescence on my part—maybe even an apology. Once my words hit the air, that smirk twisted into something crooked and dismayed beneath eyes swirling with contradictions; shifting between pain and shame, anger and confusion. I clenched my teeth around an outburst, choked back a bitter surge of guilt.
“Oh, next time?” he drawled. “Really? Wasn’t aware there’d be one of those.”
“Wasn’t aware that was a problem.”
“Oh, leave him alone, honey,” Sadie interjected, pressing Connor’s buzzing phone back into his defeated hand. He turned away from us, stepped outside the booth to take the call. “He’s got that migraine, poor thing. Baby, why don’t you take a break? You’ll feel better after some lunch.”
At Grey’s reluctant nod, she tugged him off the stool, so I could take his place. I knew without looking that every bill in the register was lined even with the others, all faceup, all bottom-edge left. If he was really agitated, the coins would be stacked level with the tray partition. I opened the drawer, and sure enough.
Something ancient and sorrowful squeezed around my heart, a familiar hand fingerpicking my veins until they wept. That he could reach past my fury so easily with one unconscious tell; that he could still summon such poignant longing—that had to mean something. There had to be more to this than my own exquisite ache.
I raised my head and turned to him, followed his path: always in Sadie’s footsteps, always even. Always, almost a perfect match.
She practically skipped out of the booth, beelining for the cider vendor. Grey trailed a beat back, his hand in hers, his eyes on mine. His gaze was a black hole, threatening to eat her light.
17
THE NIGHT GALLOPED IN ON autumnal hooves, left its chill on the bridge of my nose as we climbed into darkness. Asheville lurked at our backs, eyed the four of us through the cloud of sage smoke rushing out the Forester’s open windows as we snaked toward our usual Parkway overlook. A smudge stick smoldered in the ashtray, and Sadie chattered away in the front seat; neither was potent enough to cleanse the car of tension. Grey’s mood had been set to low-grade bitch since the Samhain gathering.
Six days. An entire timeline built around my stepbrother’s shitty attitude, measured and marked in the regular pause of his footsteps outside my bedroom door. Nearly a solid week spent catching his eyes across every empty space, catching the heat off his skin when he stood too close—which was everywhere he stood, in every room of our house. So sudden, the way our world had turned to flame. So wrong, how I couldn’t help but let us burn.
Connor’s phone trilled in his pocket. He retrieved it and checked his texts, returned my smile across the gloom of the back seat—yet another empty space, this one flaring and sparking every time his eyes found mine.
Once we’d successfully dodged Sadie’s attempts to arrange a formal date, I’d expected our friendship status quo to continue unchanged. Not that I’d been up for anything more vigorous than hand-holding since our brief hello at the market—my period had shown up early, commandeered my body that very afternoon, right before the end of my shift. Grey had had no choice but to sack up and run the booth, migraine notwithstanding. In any case, after about eighty years spent drowning in the memory of my night with Connor, picking apart every possible thing he might say when I saw him next, I figured it was safest to assume the whole thing had been a one-off, that we’d checked each other off our respective lists and would never speak of it again.
After the worst of the vomiting had passed, I’d returned to the warehouse, prepared for business as usual: gossiping with Paul, working on our projects. Discussing yarn, and metal, and other art-based topics. I was not prepared for the tiny, monumental changes in our interactions—the anti-nausea lozenges that appeared in my project bag after that first day. The way I di
dn’t hesitate to apply my limited knowledge of acupressure to his work-tired hands, or the way he leaned against my shoulder as we sat side by side. And I really wasn’t prepared for the charge in the air; for the thrill of a simple glance; the press of his fingers on my hip bones as he massaged a cramp out of my lower back, thumbs slowly working the ache from my muscles, lips hovering a breath from my neck. The way he deliberately held back, turning every moment into a tease.
He hadn’t tried to take things further. We hadn’t even kissed.
It was maddening.
“Anyone I know?” I asked, nodding to the pileup of emoji-laden notifications on his screen.
“Paul, locking up on his way out of town. I’m on watch until Sunday night.”
“By yourself?”
“All alone.” He sent a reply and set his phone aside. “Unless you want to keep me company. Maybe pick up where we left off, if you’re feeling better.”
“Oh.” My teeth caught the edge of my grin as his hand found mine. “I don’t know. Maybe.”
“Open invitation, whenever you’re ready. Tonight. Tomorrow night.” He lifted our hands together, brushed his lips across my knuckles, leaving a warm glow on the back of my neck. “Any night you want.”
“We have to work tomorrow.”
Grey’s voice plucked me out of the moment, grating my nerves, piercing my heart. I met his glare in the rearview mirror, resenting the habitual double beat of my pulse.
“Whatever, Greyson. Eavesdrop much?”
“Just save the hookup shit for later, okay? I don’t need that in my car.”
It was a glitch in the already thrumming atmosphere. I held his gaze until he had to look away, let his words fuel my mounting anger. Sadie’s head turned slowly toward him, then back to the window. Her profile stalled in neutral, a wary question she didn’t want answered edging her reflection.
Connor, of course, had no such qualms. His laugh was a chemical burn, harsh and caustic. Sure to scar.
“This conversation is the most action this car has ever seen,” he scoffed, waving away a curl of sage smoke. “Which is not really surprising—it smells like Stove Top stuffing, for fuck’s sake.”
“Connor,” Sadie muttered, still frozen in place. “Be nice.”
“It’s just sad, is all—a rugged off-roader like this, and he still drives it like a little old lady. Won’t even let me ride on the roof.” He leaned between the front seats, aimed a smirk directly at Grey’s stony profile. “And we damn sure know he’s never even seen this back seat.”
Grey didn’t bother slowing—just fishtailed to the shoulder and slammed on the brakes. Practically hanged himself on the seat belt as he twisted to hiss in Connor’s face.
“You want action? Go on then, man. Get up there.”
Sadie’s gasp sucked away what little air was left in the car. Connor stared at him for a stunned split second, and then he was out the window and out of sight in a thump of boot soles on steel. A scuffle, a thud; then his voice reached down to us from above.
“Ready.”
“All right, then. Here we go.”
Grey’s low mutter, aimed at the steering column, snapped me out of my shock.
“Ready nothing, Greyson. Don’t you dare move this car an inch until he’s back inside it.”
“You think he’ll just climb down if I ask real nice, huh? Since when do I get a say in the shit he pulls? Since when does anyone?”
“Oh, stop it, both of you. This is ridiculous.” Sadie stuck her head out the window, aiming an impatient, mother-hen cluck at the roof. “Connor Hall, you come back inside here, right now.”
“Fuck off, Sadie!” Connor yelled. “Let’s go, Greyson. Show us what you got.”
The sun had set hours ago. The closest streetlight was miles behind us. The moon lurked on the far side of the mountain. We had the headlights, the dash lights, the faraway stars. Nothing more. Plenty by far to illuminate the teeth-grinding clench of Grey’s jaw.
“Fuck him. He wants to play?” He slammed a fist against the ceiling. “HOLD TIGHT, BITCH.”
Sadie’s shriek blew through the car and out the window as his foot hit the floor. The Forester’s back end swung out, rattling over branches and underbrush as we leaped off the shoulder and around the curve of the road, breakneck and sloppy, way too fast. Connor’s boots beat on the roof, spurring my stepbrother on in a flurry of profane rage and another answering ceiling punch. I’d seen flashes of Grey’s temper before, witnessed plenty of his sulks and snarls and assorted shitty moods, but I’d never seen him like this. His eyes were wide and furious in the rearview, face a twisted, fearsome blaze. He was a fucking stranger.
I pawed at my seat belt latch, shrugged off the strap, and leaned between the bucket seats, heart pounding, fingers numb.
“Grey, stop the car.”
Grey’s head turned toward me, so close his breath grazed my cheek—his gaze was a cut power line, live and lethal. It arced and sparked, zapped a current along the curve of my spine. Burst into flame as it locked with mine.
“How’s this for ‘action,’ huh? See? No hands.” He laughed off my panic, blocked my frantic grab for the wheel with one of his outstretched arms. “What? Everything’s cool here, Lane. He wanted a rush—he’s got one. You’ll thank me later, I’m sure.”
The Forester groaned around another curve, and I gave up on logic and on him. I scrambled across the back seat and pulled myself up and out the window. I braced my butt and thighs against the ledge and my legs against the door, clung to the roof rack as I slithered into open air.
Connor lay flat on his back, hands locked on one rack bar, feet planted against the other. Mouth stretched in a howl that broke and scattered and flew away. He ignored my shouts, my tugs on his jacket; he doubled his grip, drew breath, loosed another yell into the wind. I chickened out, withdrew back into the car as the tires left rubber around another turn.
Sadie was a silent cluster of nerves, shrinking against the passenger window. The rearview gleamed with the ugly curl of Grey’s mouth. His hands were back on the wheel, at least, but it didn’t matter. I was done with his bullshit passive aggression and his weird attempts to strong-arm my behavior—like he really expected me to seek his approval before getting laid. Like he had the right to even say a word.
I was so very, very done.
“How’s it going out there, Elaine? Is he having fun yet?”
“Pull over. Now.”
“Can’t. I am but a vessel—a cog in the machine.” He shook his head, steered us around another curve. “Talk to the puppet master, not the string.”
“Greyson, I swear to God—”
“Shut up, okay? This was his idea. He—FUCK.”
It came out of nowhere. Or, rather, it rose up over the lip of the mountain slope, leaped across the road, cantered past us, and continued up in an untouched flash of hooves and antlers. It missed us by less than a foot.
Grey jerked the wheel and the Forester obeyed, swerved left, squealed and shuddered. Slammed me hard into his seat, then pitched me onto the back seat floor, knocked the thoughts from my head and the wind from my lungs. Sadie’s scream blasted through the car, and I scrambled up in time to watch Connor slide down the windshield, roll sideways off the slope of the hood, and disappear.
18
“OH GOD. GOD. FUCK. SADIE? Babe, are you okay? Elaine? Fuck. Fuck.”
The Forester shambled to a stop on the wrong side of the road, cozied right up against the goddamn guardrail. The world was a vast, bottomless cavern, seething with Grey’s rambling and Sadie’s tears and the steady nighttime buzz of the trees. Broken by a wild shriek of laughter from the shadows at our backs.
Sadie was out of the car before I even made it off the floor. I climbed past the panting, barely coherent husk of my stepbrother and went straight for the window, pulled myself halfway out as Connor loped into view, breathless and disheveled. His grin stretched all the way back to Asheville. Sadie tackled him in a flurry of howls and
hysteria, nearly sending them both over the guardrail.
“I’m okay,” I heard him say through her wails. “Sadie, I’m okay.”
Connor caught my eyes over his sister’s head. He broke from her and flew to me, an icy wind reaching to wrap around the moon. He caught me by the waist, dragged me out the window, and spun me off my feet.
“God,” he gasped. “That was—”
“That was what? Amazing? Fun?” I shoved him off me, sent him stumbling, then rushed in and tackled him, running us both into the Forester’s bumper. “Never again, Connor. You could be dead right now.”
“But I’m not. I’m fine.”
I tightened my grip on his jacket, felt the night roll off him in waves. His hand was knotted in my hair; his heart threatened to pound through both our chests.
Grey staggered out of the car, stammering over every apology on earth. I pulled away from Connor and turned on my stepbrother. His anxious face bloomed to fear as I advanced on him.
“Greyson. You—”
“I’m sorry, Elaine. Connor. I’m so sorry. I—”
“Sorry? You’re sorry?” Connor rushed forward, catching Grey off guard and off his feet, swinging him around the same way he’d done to me. “That was awesome, McIntyre. No idea you had it in you.”
“Had it in me? If I’d been going any faster—God. I’m so sorry, man, I swear, I—what are you doing?” Grey threw off Connor’s arms, stumbling backward as Connor swooped in again. “Dude, get off me.”
“Grey, baby, let’s just go home,” Sadie sniffled. “Connor, get in the car. Please?”
“You need to do this, baby, no joke. Sadie, you’re driving back. Your boy is riding on the roof with me.”
Grey’s face was a wreck of guilt and fury as he dodged another hug.
“The fuck is wrong with you? Leave me alone.”
“No backing out. It’ll blow. Your. Mind.”
The headlock was a bad idea; the accompanying hair ruffle the final nail, smashed right down into the coffin. Connor was taller, but Grey was broader, big and solid and already rattled past reason.
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