On the equally slow walk home, I evaluated an endless list of reasons Liam would lie about swimming. I didn’t like any of my ideas because they all involved dodging me. His giant frame came into view the moment I turned onto our street. He sat on his front steps, flipping through envelopes. I was still thirty feet away when he saw me. My breath hitched and my feet moved more quickly over the crumbling sidewalk, stupidly in a hurry to talk with him.
His hair was darker, wet. His eyes were brilliant in the waning sunlight.
“Hey.” He stood as I approached. An easy smile spread over his lips.
“Where were you?” The words rushed over my tongue with more force than necessary. He didn’t owe me any explanation, but curiosity pushed me ahead. “You said you were swimming today.”
He ran a large hand over his tousled hair. “I did.”
“No,” I argued. “I did. You didn’t.”
His smile widened. Unless he had invisibility working for him, I’d have seen him in the pool.
“I swam here.” He turned at the waist, looked at his house, and then back at me.
“You don’t have a pool.”
“Inside.”
“You have an indoor pool?” My jaw dropped. I could swim three hundred and sixty-five days a year if I lived there. My gaze ran past him to the enormous manor at his back and goose flesh rose on my arms. “That’s what the semi-truck brought last week. I didn’t see it. I assumed a moving truck, not a water truck.”
“Twelve thousand gallons of salt water. Do you want to see the pool?” He wet his lips, a sudden look of unease lined his forehead.
My heart stopped. No. I didn’t want to go inside Hale Manor. Ever. Not even to see a pool. I blinked hard to erase images of his great-grandmother swinging from a rope over a grand staircase.
“Uhm.” I stalled.
Palpable tension built between us.
I didn’t want to decline his invitation, but I wasn’t ready to walk away. “Are you joining the swim team next month?”
“No.”
“No? Why not?” I moved closer, drawn in for no good reason.
He tapped the envelopes against his open palm, looking conflicted.
“I planned to swim while Oliver attended football practice. It seems he doesn’t need me for a ride home, so there’s no need for me to stay after school. Plus, I prefer salt water to chlorinated.”
“Oh.” I’d never swam in a salt water pool. My thoughts dove back to Liam on deck at my pool. “What does the symbol on your chest mean? How did it get there?” I pressed my lips together, barricading a deluge of questions. One at a time, Callie.
Shock crossed Liam’s face so briskly I almost missed it. He settled on his signature frown. “What do you mean?”
I huffed. It was bad enough I wanted to know. Worse that my traitorous mouth asked. Now I had to explain? Yes, I’d haunted his family’s cemetery and ogled his bare chest. I was a crazy person. Obviously.
“They look like scars, but aren’t. I recognize them from the…cemetery.” Gah! The final word stuck in my throat. Who spent time in cemeteries?
His cool green eyes searched my face. “I don’t know what you mean.”
Really? That was his plan? Pretend two dozen headstones didn’t exist? Never remove his shirt again? The last one was sad.
“Is it a family crest or something? Why’d you choose white ink? Is that a thing in Iceland?”
His frown deepened. “It’s not ink.”
“Is it a scar?” My voice hitched. Was I wrong? “Did someone do that to you? Did you do that to yourself?” I squinted. Was Liam a cutter? Abused? Part of a cult? Was it more painful to cut a scar into your body than go the traditional route? Was India ink in short supply where he was from? “Why are you glaring at me?”
His expression went flat. “I’m not glaring. I’m thinking.”
“Well, it looks mean.”
“I am mean, Callie.”
I shook my head and rerouted my questions. “Fine. What are you thinking?”
“I don’t understand how you saw the marks.” Curiosity replaced his “thinking face.”
“At the pool.” Heat climbed my cheeks to my hairline. “I noticed them when you got out of the water.” My gaze went to his shirt, locking on the section of fabric over the scars.
“Runes.”
“What?” I tore my focus away from his shirt.
“It’s Norse.” The cutting edge of his voice said he didn’t want to talk about it.
The tenacity in my core said I now had enough information to ask Google what I’d wanted to know for a decade.
I examined the sidewalk, noting tiny gravel at my feet and Liam’s excruciating nearness. Definitely time to take my leave and hit the Internet. His shadow covered me, blocking out the setting sun at his back. He inched closer.
“Callie?” He dropped the mail onto the step where he’d been when I found him.
I pulled in a breath and met his gaze with interest. The seriousness on his face intimidated me, but not enough to look away. Every moment spent with Liam stung with the possibility he’d turn to vapor and disappear. As if he somehow wasn’t real. I suppressed an urge to poke his chest with my finger.
His lips parted and I wanted him to kiss me so much my ears rang. Something was definitely wrong with me. I blinked and shook my head hard. I knew better than to get attached to pretty faces, strangers, and brooding guys who live in haunted manors. Three strikes for Liam.
He cleared his throat, looking away momentarily. My thoughts snapped back to the present as he blew out a slow breath that teased my senses. “I don’t date. As a general rule, I mean. I’ve had some trouble in the past I don’t want to repeat.”
“Oh.” It was a strange thing to announce, but my heart squeezed at the notion.
“It’s not you.”
I groaned and stepped around him.
He wrapped his fingers around my wrist, snapping my arm back. “Callie, wait.”
Reluctantly, I turned. My name sounded powerful on his tongue, in his tenor, his accent. He gave it life. Liam didn’t release his gentle hold on me. He stepped forward.
“I think you’re smart, funny, beautiful, intriguing.” He released another breath and rubbed the top of his head with his free hand. “I’m not in a good place, and I don’t want to ask anyone to join me here. Does that make any sense?”
“Sure.” No. Not at all. Didn’t matter. I didn’t know anything about Liam. The fierce attraction was clearly a result of stress and sleep deprivation. I had worse problems than him not dating, like the sudden onset of lame romantic fantasies, three days of detention, and analyzing why people thought I was short tempered.
“You don’t see,” he muttered almost imperceptibly. Green eyes flicked to mine, pleading silently. “If I could date, I would date you.”
“Nothing’s wrong with your confidence.” I kept my voice light and breezy. “Really. It’s fine.”
“You don’t believe me.” Liam slid his palm down to rub the back of his neck.
Ropes of muscles lined his forearms, twitching beneath the skin as he turned his wrist, loosening his grip and intertwining our fingers. My hand looked like a child’s in his. Our palms pressed together and my heart took off at a runner’s pace. Apparently Icelandic guys were more forward than ones from Ohio. He lifted my chin with steady fingers, redirecting my focus to those soulful eyes. His clenching jaw relaxed and his gaze drifted over my face, resting briefly on my lips. In that moment, I imagined a soft glow to the green of his eyes.
I stared, helplessly captivated. Did he plan to kiss me? Oh, he was definitely not from Ohio. I stepped back, pulling my hand free. “Boundaries. Personal space. Grumpy face.” I swallowed, waiting statue still for what would come next.
“What?”
“Things you can work on. If you want.”
He lifted remorseful eyes to meet mine. “I shouldn’t have touched you without
asking.” His small apologetic smile warmed me. I hated to think of how the situation would’ve ended if he’d touched me more. My personality was on the fritz. I might’ve launched myself at him. Liam Hale was going to kiss me on the street where anyone might see. What would that be like? A thrill ran through me. Not smart. I mentally kicked myself. He didn’t date, but he did hold hands and give great compliments. I filed the newest conundrum away for later. Liam maintained his too-near stance, head dipped in my direction, held fast by an expression I didn’t understand. Concern? Curiosity? Regret?
A honking horn split the air around us and tires roared, barreling over the road behind me, scaring me half to death. Kirk’s massive blue truck rolled to a stop at the curb and Oliver jumped out, slapping fives to the other guys in the extended cab. Music poured out the open door before he shut it.
“Thanks, man.” Oliver’s smile was enormous, like he’d been to a party instead of football practice. “Hey, Liam.” He waved at us, completely unaffected by my presence or our nearness.
I stepped back and stopped short. Liam curved his fingers over mine and panic shot through me. Kirk glowered over the truck’s dashboard.
“Come here.” Liam’s voice was soft but firm, and I obeyed.
Oliver’s smile weakened as he took in the whole picture.
Kirk was out of his truck, rounding the hood toward us in long cocky strides. Liam tucked me under one long arm.
“What’s this?” Kirk motioned to our stance.
“Just being friendly.” Liam’s voice was congenial with an edge of menace I doubted Kirk picked up on. “Sorry about earlier. No hard feelings.”
Apparently confused by his manners, Kirk turned to me. “What the hell’s going on here, Callie? Are you dating this guy now?” Fury roared through his words.
“Liam doesn’t date.”
Oliver, Liam, and Kirk stared openly at me. I’d said the wrong thing. It was the first thing that came to mind.
“He liked the rumors.” Kirk laughed. “He went for you because he believed you’re easy. Don’t fall for him. You’re smarter than that.” He looked at Liam with an obnoxious smile. “Joke’s on you, dude. That’s the most you’ll get out of her.” He waved a palm at us. “Hope you like warm hugs and hand holding.”
Liam released me. Shame froze my face. I could only imagine the expression.
He stepped toward Kirk with authority. “You dated Callie for two years, yes?”
“That’s right.”
“And you’re through now, correct?”
My heart unfurled as I realized what was happening. Liam wasn’t ditching me. He’d put me behind him to confront Kirk. Again. As quickly as relief came, terror struck. If they fought now, we had no principal to break it up, and Kirk had three more oafs in his truck ready to back him. I looked to Oliver for help. His gaze darted between his brother and the truck full of jerks on the curb.
Kirk widened his stance. “Just ’cause I don’t want her, doesn’t mean you can have her.”
That was the whole story in a nutshell. If I wouldn’t be with him, he wouldn’t let me be with anyone else. The most ridiculous part of his psychopathic logic was Kirk had left me, not the other way around. Had he stayed faithful, I’d still be trying to make it work.
“Hmm.” Liam sounded thoughtful. “I think you’re wrong.”
One of the guys in the truck chuckled and Kirk’s jaw tightened again. The windows were rolled down now and the radio silent. Another audience to our standoff. Kirk’s hands balled and released at his sides. “You won’t date him.” He stared past Liam to me, issuing a direct order.
“Wrong again,” Liam informed him.
“I’m not dating anyone.” I glared between them. “You aren’t in a good place right now,” I told Liam, repeating his words to me, “And you are a giant horse’s ass. There’s nothing you can do or say to fix what you’ve already done. I’m past ‘us,’ and you should hurry up and get there too, Kirk. Also”—I widened my stance as fury coursed through me—“I am a full grown woman capable of making my own decisions, including who I will or won’t date and what I do or don’t do with them, so stop arguing over me like either of you get a say.”
Silence echoed on the street as I waited for an argument. The truck full of football players gawked. Oliver’s bemused expression sent a scorch of heat across my cheeks embarrassing me further. Liam and Kirk looked as if they’d only just realized I wasn’t a puppet or a child.
A black Town Car pulled into the long asphalt drive beside the mailbox. The driver side window powered down. A man wearing an argyle sweater and Clark Kent glasses slid an elbow over the window frame.
“Hello, boys. Your mother and I are ordering pizza tonight. What do you think? Are you hungry?” He looked over the small crowd and smiled. “Who’s staying for dinner?”
Without another word, Kirk climbed back behind the wheel of his truck and gunned the engine, glaring at me as he pulled away.
“Just us,” Liam answered the man in the car.
The man nodded and the car moved on, rolling out of sight in the long driveway beside the house. I battled a flurry of emotions as cool autumn winds blew dust and leaves around my ankles and into my frozen hair. My gut knotted. Nothing was resolved. Kirk wouldn’t leave this alone. I refused to be bossed. Liam had some rule about not dating. I had lost my grip on reality.
Oliver laughed sharply and marched up the steps to the front door, calling over one shoulder. “You had me going, man. I thought you were going to flatten him. Come inside and tell me what the hell that was all about. I’m starving.” He gave me a cursory smile before hauling the front door open and waiting with an expectant lift of his chin.
“In a minute.” Liam faced me, looking simultaneously sullen and livid.
Oliver closed the door behind him.
“Boxing seems a good fit for you. You have a bit of a temper,” I said.
He grinned. “Look at us, being hotheaded together.”
“Did you stop boxing because you moved?” The little dojo in town might have open ring time or whatever boxers called it. Liam might like it there. I’d definitely like to see him box.
“I stopped boxing because I’m very competitive. People get hurt.”
My thought train crashed. I looked to the empty driveway where the Town Car had rolled past. Was his family dangerous like the rumors claimed? Waning light shifted through rain clouds. Liam’s eyes gleamed, despite the fresh shadow over us.
“But…”
“I should go inside.” He watched me for a long beat before swiping the small stack of mail off the cement and taking the steps to the porch two at a time. “Callie?”
He paused, one hand on the door. “I’m keenly aware that you’re a full grown woman. See you tomorrow?”
“Yeah.” My voice cracked on the single word as Liam disappeared through the door.
* * * *
Justin arrived ten minutes later. I’d texted him on my stunned walk home from Liam’s. The timing was impeccable. I’d dropped my book bag at the door and met Mom in the kitchen for a bowl of soup. She’d barely finished her tangent on teenage boys, self-control, and the irrefutable nineteen fifties mentality of small towns when the doorbell rang. Blaming a girl for boys fighting equated to someone blaming her because Dad cheated. Everything after that sounded sweary and came in murmurs.
“I’ll get it.” I set my bowl in the sink and opened the door to Justin’s brilliant smile. His dark lashes made long shadows on his cheeks. He’d changed into his favorite fitted T-shirt over a thermal long sleeve and stood with fingers shoved into his front pockets.
He touched my poofy air-dried hair with his fingertips, curling one crazy strand behind my ear. “You look like a shampoo commercial.”
I smiled back. “You look like Abercrombie.”
“Hello, Justin.” Mom cooed from behind me in the hallway. “How’s your mom?”
“Great, Mrs. Ingra
m. She said for you to stop by anytime. She owes you lunch.”
“That she does.” Mom smiled brightly.
I grabbed my coat. “I’m going to Justin’s. He’ll drive me to work. I’ll be home before you leave.” I kissed her cheek and ran for the mammoth off-road Jeep parked on the street before she could embarrass me. Given ten more seconds, she was sure to ask Justin about the brawling boys and his thoughts on our new neighbors. She could go on about this sort of feminine injustice without stopping for breath until she left for work.
Justin sauntered down the porch steps and slid behind the wheel, pulling away from the curb with subdued skill. Mom always watched until I was out of sight.
He checked the rearview before speaking and speeding. “You have so much to tell me, you little trouble maker. You’d better start now.” Justin adjusted the heater and the direction of the vents on his dash. He turned the stereo on and lowered the volume to background noise.
I sighed with no idea where to start. “What did you hear?”
“You were suspended.”
I shook my head. “Detention. Three days. I can still swim afterward.”
“Okay. I also heard Kirk beat Liam Hale’s ass in the school library for flirting with you.”
“No one was hurt. The whole thing was stupid. Kirk was acting like a jackass. Liam didn’t like it, so Kirk made a big show of his authority for the new kid’s benefit.” I grabbed the seat and staved another smile as we splashed over pothole puddles. “Unfortunately for Kirk, the new kid refuted said authority by punching him in the head.”
Justin slowed at the stoplight and flipped on his turn signal. His blue eyes widened. “You’re shittin’ me.”
“Nope.” I smiled, remembering this was Liam’s response to Kirk. “Kirk kept calling him chap. It was weird.”
“Yeah. That’s the weird part. Kirk’s going to get him back.” A smile changed Justin’s expression from merely impressed to pleased.
“Undoubtedly. He started with Liam again when he dropped Oliver off after football practice. I texted you right after he left.”
We rolled through town at a respectable rate then flew down empty country roads to Justin’s farm. Trees seemed to have bloomed overnight into an array of brassy colors. Green leaves no longer won the battle over crimson and gold. Years of use and heavy machinery had pitted and grooved the long gravel drive to the Maze Family Farm. Mr. Maze repacked and graveled it every spring. Combines, four-by-fours, and horse trailers took a toll on the old dirt road, probably etched out by settlers. I bounced happily beside Justin, enjoying the view and my company.
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