by Cecelia Earl
Where did Nicholas take me? It seemed so far away. While there, it seemed an entire night and day must have passed. But this all looks so close to home.
Could it be twenty-four hours since he pulled me away from the hospital parking lot?
Have I missed Noah's surgery? What if they've woken up and I've missed them?
What if they think I've abandoned them like Dad did?
I bring myself to near-tears, missing Mom and Noah. I give up trying to watch for deer through the forest trees as they race past, too fast to see more than the dark gaps in between trunks, shrubs, and faded leaves. Noah, Mom, and I used to see who could spot the most deer, the loser owing the others foot massages once we got home. Mom and I usually pointed them out to Noah, he'd claim them as his own, and Mom and I would take turns tickling his feet until he screamed with laughter, begging us to stop. I close my eyes and focus on the black behind my eyelids. By the time Cole pulls in to a gas station, the horizon is buttered with a layer of creamy peach light and clouds. The promise of nighttime hangs above, navy battling plum to first push the sun below the earth.
The line between earth and sky tells me night will soon be victorious over the day.
He meanders through the city streets, familiar maple and oak trees lining the sidewalks, mere silhouettes in the starless, lamp-lit night, past houses and our one supermarket, also dark in the midnight hour. Now it's the stars I watch, only they don't race by as we speed underneath them. They don't move at all. The tiny flickering lights hover, staring down at us, unhurried, like they're waiting for the right moment to surge forward.
I wonder what they're waiting for.
When he turns on Gabriel Street, I realize he's taking me to his house. He pulls into the winding driveway, through the black, cast-iron gates, beneath an opening garage door. Silence greets us. No sirens, no wailing, just stillness. I remember the last time it was this still, the calm before the storm, right before our diner exploded.
He stops the bike next to the right-hand wall and sits there a minute before pulling his leg over and slipping off. Even his garage is amazing. The walls are finished and painted slate. The floor is a stamped concrete, light gray. Shelves line the walls, stacked meticulously with garage-type tools and outdoor equipment. There's a large screen television, with speakers set into the wall, and cars. Cars that must have cost a fortune. When I turn my attention back to Cole, he's looking at me.
Cole stands at my side, his hair a wild mess, his eyes electric. They search my face; looking for what, I don't know. But he looks scared or mad, maybe both.
"How did you find me?" I blurt, pulling my leg over the side of the seat so I am facing him. He unlatches my helmet and sets it on the back of the bike. Then, without answering, he rests his hands on either side of my hips. His thumbs tap a thoughtful rhythm, stoking the fire inside me that seems to flicker to life whenever he's near. I'm not used to this serious side of him. He reminds me more of Nicholas this way, and I don't like it. I want his laughing eyes, his carefree shoulders, his happy dimple. He squints, looking into my eyes as if searching for an answer to a question he never asked. I huff, reminding him that I did ask a question and am waiting for a response.
"I followed Nicholas' van from the hospital." Before I can ask him to explain how it took him hours to get to me, he runs his tongue over his lower lip and sighs. "Don't ever do that to me again," he scolds. "Scare me like that." Then he lowers his soft lips until they are pressed against mine, ever so lightly. I'm taken off-guard, but only for a second. In that second, my heart pounds, flooding my veins with heat. After that second, I wrap my arms loosely around his neck, my wrists lying on his shoulders. His fingers dig into my hips and our lips open, the kiss going from soft and sweet to deep and needy.
I open my knees and his body slides in, his chest pressed against mine. Our tongues meet and I wrap myself up in him up to my elbows. I like losing myself in this way, I need to lose myself in this way. I realize how consumed with needing him I am, with needing this, and I hate it. Neediness is the last thing I need to be right now. I slip my right hand down until the palm is open against his chest. I push him to stop, gentle but firm. He pulls his face away and opens his eyes.
"Sorry," he apologizes. "After you disappeared with Nicholas... I didn't know if I'd see you again." Cole raises his eyebrows but sets his lips in a firm line. "Let's go."
I tap my fingers on his chest, thinking how easy it would be to lean in and kiss some more. Maybe if I was still just some silly homecoming queen, with nothing on my plate this week other than buy a dress for the dance and keep my nails from breaking, but that's not me.
Never been me.
-29-
Wordlessly, he offers me a hand and helps me down. Without releasing me, he leads me up a step and into a dark house. One flip of a switch illuminates an enormous kitchen. Creamy granite tops an island and counters. Stainless steel fronts a six-burner gas stove and double-door refrigerator. Ovens are built into rust-colored brick that covers a wall, from floor to high ceiling.
"Hungry?" Cole asks, his voice strangely hoarse, echoing through the room.
I shake my head. "What are we doing here?" I can't help but whisper, afraid of hearing my voice in this vast, empty space.
He clears his throat. "Where else could we have gone?"
"I mean, thanks and all, but... I wanted to go to the hospital. I need to go to the hospital."
"It's one in the morning." He turns, tipping my chin up so I'm looking into his eyes. "I'll take you there as soon as you sleep a little. At five in the morning, if you want." He walks away and pulls open the fridge, removing orange juice. He takes out two glasses and fills them both to the brim before returning the juice to its shelf. "Here, drink this, just a little something to keep you from fainting."
"I've been gone over twenty-four hours?"
He looks at me, looks at the clock on the microwave, and clenches his jaw.
"Where did Nicholas take me? It didn't take you long at all to bring me here. It seemed so much farther away." My voice trails off. Confusion is exhausting. I glance at the orange juice, but don't move to take it. "Do I look like a girl who has a habit of fainting?" I don't mention passing out a few hours earlier, because those were extreme circumstances and don't count. Or weren't real. Or something.
He picks up my hand and wraps my fingers around the glass. "You look like a girl who has a habit of not taking care of herself. You can't take care of anyone else unless you keep yourself healthy. That means food and sleep." He tugs on a strand of my hair. "Okay?"
Whatever. I drink it without complaining, not because I'm thirsty—or near fainting—but because when his eyes look at me like they are, I think I'd do anything he asked. Once it's gone, I set the glass on the island. "Happy?" I ask.
"Relieved." I don't think he means because I drank the juice, but I don't ask, because exhaustion is starting to set in, and when I feel like this, tears threaten to emerge. When overtired, I'm a bit like Noah. I don't need a ton of sleep, but no sleep in twenty-four hours is a tad too little. "Tired?" he asks.
"Beyond." As he leads me through the kitchen, into a wide hall, and up a winding staircase, I question, "How come you haven't asked about where I was, or what happened?" At the top of the stairs, we stop and he turns on more lights. An upstairs hall shines in the yellow light. The hallway itself is larger than our living room and kitchen in the apartment. Floral arrangements adorn sofa tables, and large, elaborate mirrors hang on the wall behind the flowers. The carpet is creamy and plush. I could curl up and sleep on it, no pillow needed. It's rich and beautiful. Cole doesn't move, but he turns so his side is facing me, like he wants to move on, pretend I didn't speak.
"Do you want to tell me?" His voice is low, hesitant. Suddenly, more than anything, I want to know what he knows, and not the other way around.
"Who is Nicholas to you?" I try to turn him toward me, needing to read his eyes, but he won't comply. I speak into his shoulder. "A brother? A
cousin?" What I want to ask is, Are you an angel too?
"Something like that." He starts walking, and I move to stay by his side.
"That's not an answer."
"Speaking of not answering. Do you want to talk about your day or not?" He doesn't sound angry, just tired and frustrated. I want to know what's going on in his brain!
"No. Not yet." He stops in front of an ornate door, white with gold designs on the surface. He reaches in and turns on a light. I peer behind him and see the illuminated crystals dangling from the ceiling. A chandelier. In a bedroom. Of course. I'll have to install one in my new room. I'll let the contractor know tomorrow, first thing. As if.
"Why the look of fury?" he asks, finally looking at me with interest.
I snort. "Your house is ridiculous. And silent."
"And this upsets you?"
Jealousy, burnt and bitter, festers at the back of my throat. I swallow it down. "Where are your parents? Do you have parents?" Are you a Hybrid, like me? Did your parents go rogue?
He shrugs. "Trip. They travel a lot. I'm eighteen, so they leave me alone." Suddenly, I see this house in a bit of a different light. Pitying him instead of myself. Big, but empty. Which would I rather have? Both, I decide. This house with Mom and Noah would rock. "You're changing the subject."
I move past him into the room. A four-post bed with a black and white comforter and matching pillows sits front and center, between two floor-to-ceiling windows. Long, black curtains hang from each. In the corner, two black chairs and white ottoman rest, just waiting for someone to sit and read, or sip tea with a friend. Naturally, there's even a stone fireplace, complete with a black mantle. A white rug with a black flourish lies in front of it. It's too much. "Whose room is this?"
"Yours." He pulls up behind me and rests his hands on my shoulders. "For the night." His chest is at my back. If I gave in and leaned back a fraction of an inch, I could rest against him. I don't. He turns me toward the fireplace and I notice two doors, one on either side. "There's a bathroom in there." He leaves me and walks toward the door on the left. He steps inside and emerges with clothing folded in his hands. He flips on a light in the other room, the one on the right. Bathroom. "Coming?"
I move and join him in a bathroom as big as my bedroom was. There's a garden tub surrounded by Roman-style stone and columns. Three long, rectangular skylights stare down at me from the ceiling. A dresser-like vanity with a sink and towels folded below it sits along one entire wall, complete with a makeup bench. Sconces and mirrors, rustic and whitewashed, make the room expensive-looking and feminine. "Whoa." I breathe in and out loud enough that he can hear it.
"Impressed or irritated?"
"Both."
"Towels there. Pajamas, here. Toothbrush, toothpaste, soap, etcetera." He runs a hand through my hair. "Need anything else?"
"I wouldn't touch that if I were you. My hair is nasty."
"I think it's beautiful."
"Even with demon guts in it?" I stare up at him to see his reaction. He flinches, sets his lips in a straight line, but says nothing until I move toward the sink.
From behind me, he comments, "You've had a long day."
He turns me toward the mirror. I look tired, worn out. My hair is tangled from the long motorcycle trek, but the blood and dirt is nowhere to be seen. I didn't imagine it. I wanted it to be a dream, an illusion, and looking at myself now, maybe it was.
"I'm tired. I want to shower and go to sleep."
He nods. "Okay." He moves to leave, and suddenly the thought of being left alone is frightening.
"Stay." I grab his arm. "Stay in the bedroom and wait for me. Okay?" This house is too big. I won't admit to being scared, but I'm sure he can figure it out.
"Of course. Take your time."
I shut the door behind him and don't breathe again until the hot water is spraying down at me, washing away my tears and the unreality of the past three days. If only the memories of explosion, the kidnapping, and the battle could really swirl down the drain so that when I emerge, clean and warm, my life could be the way it was before.
After brushing through wet hair, I stare at myself in the mirror, too nervous to step into the bedroom with Cole. Thinking about Nicholas plants anxiety in my stomach. I wait to feel relief that none of what I experienced with Nicholas was real. It doesn't come. Nothing makes sense. I find lotion along with other toiletries in a decorative bin and begin rubbing it on my dry skin. I turn and peer over my shoulder at the reflection of my naked back in the mirror. Is it my imagination, or are there faint gray lines drawn horizontally down my shoulder blades? I try to reach them with lotion on my hands. I had wings, angel wings. I felt them, didn't I?
A knock sounds on the door, and I stare into my eyes—my dad's exact shade of hazel— for another few seconds before pulling a shirt over my head and going to the door. I open it and look up at Cole, aware I am standing in a V-neck T-shirt and thin cotton pants. He's shirtless and wearing navy sweats that sit low on his hips.
"Seriously?" I say, glancing down and back up.
"What?" One sculpted arm leans against the doorframe to my right, and the other hangs casually at his side.
"Don't pretend you don't know how hot you are."
"I'm going to pretend you didn't really just say that. Save myself from your imminent hostile rejection."
"Oh, I said it." I'm too tired to pretend he's anything but amazing to look at. I'm also too tired to understand the jumbled mess of emotions he stirs up in me.
"Tell me how you really feel." Then he leans forward so I have to look up at him, my chin grazing his bare chest. "I love your honesty," he confesses, low and strong, his breath warm and minty. His eyes do a little dance down my body. "And let's not, then, pretend you don't have your own sexy factor." Heat slips down over my body. I cross my arms over my chest. Okay, so I should have left my bra on. This is feeling a little too intimate, and I am definitely having a weak moment.
I ignore the warm haze his nearness emits, shake off the effect my hormones are having on me. I put my palms on his pecs—oh my—and push him away. "You left me alone and brushed your teeth, didn't you? I trusted you to stay right. Here."
"Like I said, so quick to return to hostility. I thought we were having a moment." He clenches his jaw and his fists, looking at the ceiling. He turns and walks into the room, his back screaming for me to touch it in the dimly lit, romantic room. A fire is crackling, and he's pulled the chairs from the corner over to the rug. Two mugs are on a small, circular table in-between them. "My room is across the hall, scout’s honor." He holds up three fingers. Thank goodness he's turned so his back is facing away from me—not. His chest, his abs...
I clear my throat and change the subject. "Were you really a boy scout?"
"No, I don't even know if it's supposed to be three or two fingers. I was hoping you didn't know."
I shake my head, looking at the flickering flames, at the rug, at the floral arrangement on the mantle, anywhere but at him. "I'm a girl. Noah isn't in scouts either. He's a musician and wannabe NFL player." I pull a black flannel blanket from the back of one of the chairs, wrap it around myself, and sit down. A glance at the nearest mug tells me he's made hot chocolate with tiny marshmallows. "Is the kitchen across the hall, too?"
He puts his hands up. "Okay, so I sprinted downstairs and made hot chocolate. I hoped the real cocoa would redeem me. Please, take a sip before you kill me with those accusing eyes."
The aroma is enough to warm my stomach alone, so it takes nothing to convince me to sip the cocoa. When half the mug is gone, and my mind has climbed out of the gutter, I'm brave enough to ask, "So, anything you want to tell me?"
He sets his mug down and raises his arms, folding his hands behind his head like a headrest. "No. Should there be?"
I swallow. Something about Cole feels off now. Almost like I can't see the whole picture, like something black and opaque is blocking the truth. But I'm so very tired, and any reason, any explanation, is better t
han it all being real. Than any other more complicated reality.
I rub my eyes, yawning.
Only the lamplight beside the bed and the firelight make his features clear. His left eyebrow is twitching, and he's still looking at the fire, not at me. He's leaning down on his knees, his shoulders less confident than I'm used to.
"It's late. Let's get you to bed."
I take his hand and he leads me to the bed, standing beside it as I climb up. Exhaustion makes my head and everything he's said tonight fuzzy.
I tuck my feet under the comforter then slide my legs under. Looking up at him, his silhouette stark and black against the fire-lit backdrop, his shoulders are arrogant and set back like I'm used to seeing, until he leans forward, his fists against my sides, only the blankets separating his skin from mine. My hormones are doing that thing again. What is going on with me?
What is it about these two boys? With one, I can't control my visions. I see crazy things. With the other, I can't control my hormones, my emotions, my thoughts. Cole is like this magnet. I want to go toward him and need to touch him. He doesn't seem to notice the fiery imbalance inside me, though, as he slowly tucks me in, underneath the thick comforter and black satin sheets. I lean my head back, down. The pillow is the perfect mixture of firm and soft. Unbelievable. Even their pillows are better than ours back home. The ones we used to sleep on. Maybe I'll take this one with me when I leave.
Cole walks to the door, opens it, and steps out. Once he's that far away, I can breathe, and my body eases back into non-hormonal teenaged girl mode, but my hands start to shake as the darkness envelops me in memories and fear.
"Wait!" I cry, shooting up to a sitting position. Real or not, the images of demons won't stop haunting my mind.
He turns his head so I can see his profile with the hall light behind him.