“I can’t believe I just said that to you. It doesn’t matter, okay? I’m sorry I frightened you. It won’t happen again.”
The tone for the end of class sounds and Jake grabs his bag and breezes past me without a second glance. I stand watching after him for a full minute before I get my own bag and start shutting down the computers since Jake neglected to turn his off. My back is to the door when I hear someone clear his throat.
“I want to touch you,” Shockey says. I swing around to face him. He is only inches from me.
“Sorry, what?” I stammer, my stomach shifting queasily.
“I said I heard raised voices a bit ago. Is everything alright?”
“Oh. Um, yeah. Everything’s fine. Just a little…journalists’ tiff,” I answer, surreptitiously taking a step back. I am up to here with psycho guys getting in my face today.
Shockey’s face twists into an awkward smile. “Glad to hear it. Are you settling in?” His voice practically drips with fatherly concern. He stands between me and the door.
“Yeah, everybody’s been great.” I shift slightly to the left. He tracks me with his eyes, a hard glint hiding behind the mask of normalcy. I repress a shudder of revulsion.
“Well, if you need anything, come to me. I’ll be happy to help,” he says, lingering over the word help as though savoring the taste on his tongue.
I manage a weak, insincere smile. “Thanks.” I gesture toward the door. “Well, I gotta get going.”
He shifts slightly and waves for me to go. I slip past him, cringing away from his touch, but my shoulder brushes his arm. I can’t be sure, but I think he sniffs my hair as I pass.
“See you tomorrow, Derry.”
“Yeah, see you,” I stammer and take off down the hallway like my feet are on fire. If I go the rest of my life without being within fifty feet of that man again, I will die happy.
I make it to the loop where parents wait to pick up their kids before I realize what a mistake I’ve made. I told Mom this morning that she didn’t need to pick me up since Nicole was going to give me the grand tour. She is no doubt at the store now, not waiting patiently in the line of cars.
“Damn it!” I grumble, stamping my foot. I dig out my phone and call her, but her voicemail comes on.
“I probably won’t return your call,” her recorded voice cheerfully pierces my ears and I hit end, knowing it’s useless to keep trying. She’s got her phone turned off, probably sitting in her purse back in the storeroom. I try the store number, and after ten rings she picks up.
“I’m going to overcharge this guy,” she says brightly and I bite back a smile. Mom has the shopkeeper’s innate ability to sense which customers will pay more than something is worth and those who know how to spot a price hike.
“Hey, Mom. Nicole wasn’t at school today, so I don’t have a ride.”
There is a pause and I hear the cash register slam shut. “It’s a little busy here. Can you hang out for a bit? Or maybe get a ride with someone else?”
I sigh and look around. Most of the cars in the student lot have cleared out, and I don’t recognize any of the people still milling about. The sound of my mom’s voice is muffled as she talks to a customer, her bubbly laugh suddenly grating on my nerves.
“You know what? Don’t worry about it. I’ll be there in a bit.”
“Okay, Sweetie. Call me if you need me,” she says distractedly and hangs up. I stare down at my phone and fight the burn of tears behind my eyes. I just want to go home. I don’t want to have to walk to the store; it’s at least four miles into town from the school.
A loud rumbling intrudes into my moment of despair and I glance up. A glossy black motorcycle roars past me, swinging to a halt in front of the double doors to my left, where the last students of the day are exiting to the parking lot. I tense as Jake emerges and catches sight of the helmeted rider waiting at the curb. He strides forward and waves his arms angrily, pointing past the school in a clear message for the rider to go away. The guy on the bike abruptly straightens and turns his helmeted head around until he faces me, his gaze powerful even across the distance. I look away quickly, but my eyes are drawn back to the strange pair in time to see Jake glaring in my direction and then shaking his head at the rider. With a jerk of his head that seems almost dismissive, the rider revs the bike and does a quick turn, leaving Jake behind to wave exhaust out of his face as he heads toward a battered looking truck.
I shake off whatever fascination I felt and concentrate on the fact that I must now walk home. Before I can turn to head down the sidewalk leading to the road into town, the outrageous growl of the bike surrounds me.
Glancing up, I see the rider has stopped beside me and is looking me over from behind the shaded visor of his helmet. I smile hesitantly, unsure of what he wants, and without meaning to I return his appraising study. He is wearing a familiar looking black pea-coat that outlines broad shoulders and a narrow waist. Lean denim-clad legs hug the sides of the bike, and I watch as they shift to throw the kickstand and the rider swings his other leg over. My heart is pounding frantically now, and an overwhelming urge to run sweeps over me, my entire body screaming flight.
He removes the helmet and shakes his head, dark hair falling into his eyes, a midnight blue dark enough to drown in. I gasp and take a step backward. It is he, the boy from my nightmare, watching me with the same amused intelligence in his eyes, the same feline grace to his stance.
“I am fear,” he says, his voice delicious and deep, like dark coffee. I just stare at him, his truth too close to what he said in my dream. Even as dread drips down my spine like melting ice, it is impossible to ignore this guy’s dangerously appealing edge; the sharp angles that slash his features into a fierce beauty no artist could even hope to sculpt. I take another step back. There is so much peril here I can’t think straight.
His mouth tilts up into a crooked smile. “Can you speak? Or do you just stare and back away?” he asks wryly. I shake my head and take another step back, noting with embarrassment that my hands are shaking. He glances at them and laughs outright. My skin is vibrating.
“I’m guessing you need a ride,” he says, glancing around at the departing cars. Out of the corner of my eye I see Jake standing next to his truck, watching us from across the lot.
Like an idiot I say nothing, but stare down at my feet, hoping if I just continue to ignore what’s happening I’ll look up and see my mom waiting for me.
“You’re afraid of me, aren’t you?” he says quietly and I look up despite myself. He is still exuding laughing confidence, but there is something in his eyes that is wounded, a crack in the perfect veneer. It gives me the courage to answer.
“Maybe a bit. You know you hit me with the door yesterday,” I finally answer, yanking my coat sleeve up to display my bruised arm. His lips twitch and he obligingly looks at the miniscule spot on my forearm. After a moment he reaches out and takes my arm, fingers gingerly pushing the edges of my sleeve back. I am startled by the warmth that scores my skin at his touch until I see the already forming bruises he has exposed higher up on my arm. His entire countenance darkens as he interprets the marks left from Jake’s rough handling. I jerk my arm away and take another step back. My heart slams against my ribcage so hard it hurts.
“Who did that?” he demands, his voice a stern threat. Inadvertently my eyes dart over to where Jake is still standing by his truck and then I look my interrogator in the eyes.
“It was an accident.”
He looks at Jake over his shoulder, his scowl deepening, jaw clenched in a punishing line. Jake jumps into his truck as the boy in front of me shifts his gaze back, softening his expression and loosening his lips into smile. I am mesmerized by the way his mouth moves, like liquid marble, hard and fluid all at once.
“Hop on, I’ll give you a ride,” he says, swinging back onto the bike and handing his helmet to me. I take it without thinking and then laugh jerkily.
“What? No way. I don’t even know you,” I p
rotest, holding out the helmet. He ignores it and laughs low, the sound brushing my ears like a feather.
“You’re right. I’m Cole. I work at the restaurant across from your store. What’s your name?”
“Derry,” I answer without thinking.
“Now you know me. Hop on.” When I resist he sighs and points over his shoulder. “Look, it’s either me or Jake the Ripper over there. Trust me; I’m a much safer bet.”
With a start, I follow his gesture and see that Jake’s truck is idling at the end of the sidewalk. The window is rolling down. I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that I do not want to get into a car with Jake. I look Cole over again and watch as his grin stretches, lightening his features into something more approachable, less severely beautiful. Still, this is the boy who starred in my nightmares last night, whose face was burned into my brain all day as the very image of fear.
“We need to talk anyway,” he says, interrupting my train of thought. “That’s why I came here today. I know what you are.”
I look at him sharply, forgetting my uncertainty as I taste the truth in his words. My skin doesn’t tingle a bit, and I know he is being honest. The fear that has been ruling my decisions today takes a backseat to curiosity as I grit my teeth, pull the helmet on, and climb behind Cole.
“Hold tight,” he says quietly, taking my hands and placing them on his stomach. Even through the thick barrier of his coat, I feel the muscles in his abdomen contract as I touch him and something deep in my core flares into burning life. Without another word, Cole kicks the ignition and we fly forward, careening down the road and leaving my doubts in the dust.
Chapter 5
The frigid air hits my face like a wall even through the visor of the helmet and I squeeze my eyes shut so they don’t freeze. Wind whips through the lining of my coat, fusing my bones with a deep, aching cold that makes me tighten my arms around the warm body in front of me. It’s my first time riding on a motorcycle, and with an incredibly hot guy, but all I can think about is what kind of maniac rides a cycle in the dead of winter?
“Let’s make a pit stop,” Cole shouts over his shoulder and picks up speed, darting through the light traffic punctuating our descent into town. The high school perches on a flattened hilltop with a curving, steep incline of a road trailing down from it with the same twisting unpredictability of a river. Each time I dare to open my eyes a bit, I immediately slam them shut as the trees and houses blur past me with nauseating speed.
“Can you slow down?” I beg, not even a little ashamed of the panic in my voice. No sane person would be anything but terrified in this situation.
Cole scoffs, but gradually drops his speed until I feel safe enough to open my eyes again. Though everything we pass still seems to be sprinting in the opposite direction, it’s not with the same breakneck pace.
“Thanks,” I say sincerely. He takes a hand off the handle bars and grabs my arm, pulling it tighter around his waist.
“Don’t loosen your grip too much. There’s no seatbelt holding you on,” he warns, and I strengthen my hold on him until my entire body is pressed into the scratchy wool on his back. He laughs again even as my skin hums a signal that he’s stretching the truth. Realizing he is just messing with me so I’ll hold him tighter, I pull away slightly and look around as we make the last curve into town.
Heavy clouds hang over the mountains like a scowl and the scent of snow is on the air, a crisp, biting taste that burns my throat pleasantly. The town is huddled against the hills as though seeking shelter from the coming storm, the eroded brick buildings pressed close together in defense. For a moment, I forget the upheavals of the day and let the charged breeze caress me, the rapidly cooling air no longer painful but alive, stinging my skin into wakefulness. I feel the steady thrum of the engine beneath me and the accelerated pulse of the boy in my arms and throw my head back in sudden exhilaration, a wild grin stretching my mouth.
Cole pulls the bike to a stop and cuts the engine, the quiet almost oppressive after the riot of noise. I release him and pull off the helmet, shaking my hair free. He turns, opening his mouth to speak, when he pauses, his breath catching and eyes darkening in an expression I don’t recognize. I realize I am still grinning, probably looking like a crazy person with my hair all disheveled, and I drop the smile and paw self-consciously at the tangles. Cole gives his head a slight shake and the familiar sardonic smile catches his lips.
“I think you’re beautiful,” he says and my heart swells and stutters before resuming its flow.
“Sorry, what?”
“Your first time?” he asks in a voice that would leer if it could.
I roll my eyes and prepare some scathing remark, but honesty compels me to answer without sarcasm. “Yeah. That was amazing,” I laugh, unable to pretend differently. A light sparks in the shadowy blue of Cole’s eyes and for a moment we smile at each other in perfect understanding.
The cough of an abused engine startles me and I am rigid with alarm as Jake’s truck materializes around the corner. Belatedly, I realize we are not in front of my mom’s shop, but down the hill on the street that runs adjacent to the train tracks. A small café advertising hot apple cider and pie waits to my left and I remember Cole mentioning a pit stop. A door slams and I flinch involuntarily. Cole emits a jaded sigh as Jake strides toward us, a thunderous expression on his face. The bruises on my arm throb in response to the anger that seems to precede his every step.
“Calm down, Jake. We’re just going in for some cider,” Cole calls, jumping off the bike, nearly dislodging me in his haste. He moves to stand between me and the swiftly approaching Jake.
“I’m barely in control,” Jake barks, with a glance at me. Cole puts out a hand to prevent Jake from getting any closer.
Noticing the gesture, Jake’s expression darkens, fury pouring off him in waves. “I told you to leave her alone,” he growls, pointing at me. I am stunned by his reaction and completely at a loss as to the reason for it. At the same time, I am more than a little exasperated by the overtly masculine standoff playing out in front of me. Two overdramatic boys hyped up on testosterone.
“Hey, standing right here,” I interrupt sharply, and both boys shift their attention to me. Seeing them stand next to each other, I can’t help but notice some similarities in their appearance; a curve of the jaw, the shape of the nose, a way of holding themselves.
“You stay out of this,” Jake snarls before returning to Cole. My knees are nearly knocking at the ferocity in his voice, but I draw in a breath and get ready to ream him up one side and down the other. Cole beats me to it.
“Don’t talk to her like that! If you’re pissed, be pissed with me. But back the hell off.” Cole fills his voice with a hardness I haven’t heard before. Jake narrows his eyes, his body taut with hostility. I take a step back and he glances at me again. Seeing me move closer to Cole, his expression falls and he presses his fists into his head like he’s trying to push through to the other side.
“Damn it!” Jake yells and spins around, leaping back into his truck and slamming the door with a reverberating crash. A moment later the engine guns and the truck spins the gravel of the parking lot as it tears away, the angry motor soon just a distant echo. My shoulders sag in relief and I realize just how exhausted I am by the entire day. Too many unexpected difficulties and challenging people. I think I might skip going to the store and go home instead. A nap sounds pretty good right now.
“I’m sorry about that, Derry. Jake can be a little…out of control sometimes,” Cole is saying, his voice gentle and concerned, totally clashing with the bad boy, rebel without a cause look he’s sporting. I can’t understand him at all, and I definitely can’t comprehend what it is about me that has Jake so worked up.
“I really don’t like him,” I say vehemently. Cole lifts the corners of his lips in another of those mercuric smiles that make his austere face so engaging.
“Oh, he can be alright. He’s just got a stick up his ass.”
&nbs
p; I frown at Cole, recalling my earlier impression of similarities with Jake. “How do you know him?”
With a wry twist to his smile, Cole takes the helmet from me. “He’s my brother,” he answers simply. Though I am a little taken aback, his declaration isn’t a complete surprise to me.
“Oh. Sorry,” I say, not sure what I’m apologizing for, but feeling it is somehow necessary.
Cole laughs shortly and holds out a hand to me. I hesitate for a moment, but then place my hand in his, trying to ignore the thrill that races up my spine when his fingers close around mine. “Don’t worry about it. Believe me, I know what he’s like.” He leads me to the door of the café and then pauses. “He doesn’t mean to scare you, you know. But you should be careful around him. He’s not always…safe,” Cole says enigmatically, and pushes open the door.
The warmth of the interior is welcome after our chilly plunge down the hill and any protest I might have made about being dragged here by Cole is swallowed up in bliss when the waiter puts down two mugs of hot cider in front of us. The heady scent of apple and cinnamon fills my senses and I am instantly at ease. A song that was popular five years ago plays on a jukebox in the corner, the singer’s voice raspier than natural through the blown out speakers. There is something comforting about the laziness of the man at the cash register, who leans back in his chair reading a tattered paperback, the slow but efficient movements of the single waiter as he goes back and forth between the three occupied tables, smiling and calling each customer by name, knowing their orders before they even speak. I experience a sudden sense of belonging, as though my life in Williamsburg was only a stopping off point until I found my way here, to this town that can’t make up its mind about which era it belongs to.
“What are you thinking?” Cole asks, interrupting my train of thought. I look at him with more focus and feel my heart sputter just a bit as I take in the tender expression in his eyes, the soft curve of his lips as they hover over his drink.
“I like it here,” I reply honestly, at the same time wondering what it is about Cole that makes me feel safe now, when yesterday his glance paralyzed me with fear. Being so close to him, I can feel a fragile thread connecting us, an unexpected magnetism, two polar opposites suddenly switched and now drawn inexorably together.
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