“Be nice,” said Chris.
Becca shoved her hands into the pockets of the pullover. “I’m not staying long.”
“Why are you staying at all?”
Chris gave a disgusted sigh and turned away from the doorway. “Ignore him. Come on.”
“Why are you all wet?” Michael called.
Chris didn’t answer, just started up the steps. Becca followed him—only hesitating for a moment. “Does he hate me or something?”
The upstairs hallway was a well of silence, their footsteps muffled by carpeting. “It’s not personal. He’s a dick to every girl who comes around here.”
Bizarre. “Just girls?”
“Yeah.” Chris reached out and turned the knob to his bedroom. He didn’t elaborate, just pointed at the half-made bed. “Sit down. I’ll give you some sweats so we can throw your clothes in the dryer.”
She dropped onto the edge of the mattress. Chris pulled open some dresser drawers, rooting through them. A new bruise was forming on his jaw from where Seth had hit him. His tee shirt was still damp, clinging to the muscles across his back.
Becca realized she was staring and jerked her eyes away.
He’d jumped out of the front seat so quickly that she didn’t want to press for painful memories about his parents—but she couldn’t sit silent, doing nothing but inhaling the September night air that poured through his window. “So ... why is your brother mean to girls?”
“Because,” said Michael from the doorway, “I have three younger brothers who think it’s hilarious to parade jailbait through here on a daily basis.”
His tone was enough to make her glad she’d worn the pullover into the house. “No one told me there was a parade,” she said acidly. “And here I forgot my banner.”
Michael leaned against the doorjamb to study his brother. “What happened to your face?”
Chris busied himself with digging through the clothes again. “Nothing. Go back downstairs so she can change.”
Michael stepped into the room and stopped beside the dresser. He reached out a hand to lift Chris’s chin.
Chris smacked his hand away. “Jesus. Stop.”
“You want some ice?”
“No.” The dresser drawer slammed, and Chris turned to her with a gray tee shirt and a pair of cutoff sweatpants. “Here.”
She reached out to take them, feeling like an intruder. “Thanks.”
Michael watched this exchange. “I thought you’d still be at that party.”
Chris wasn’t looking at him. “We were. Nick and Gabriel might still be there.”
“Nick sent me a text. They wanted to make sure you got home before they came back with the car.”
Becca definitely wanted to be changed before the twins got here—and she didn’t want to sit through an argument between Chris and his big brother. She hugged the sweats to her chest and half rose from the bed. “I’ll just—ah, go in the bathroom—”
Michael swung his head around to look at her. “You involved with Tyler somehow?”
The expression on his face made her mouth go dry, and she remembered Chris’s comments from the car, that Michael had a temper. She shook her head quickly.
“She’s not,” said Chris.
“Because,” Michael continued without looking at him, “when Chris comes home from two fights in one week, and you’re with him both times, it starts to look—”
“Damn it, Michael.” Chris shoved him toward the door. The move was a little too aggressive to look brotherly. So was the glare. “Just—go downstairs.”
For an instant, she thought Michael would shove him back. That kind of tension hung between them, as if some pendulum would shift and they’d fight. But Michael drew back to hang by the door. He gave Becca another long look, and she fought not to squirm, but then he just turned and stepped into the hallway.
Chris was leaning against the dresser, his jaw set, his arms tight at his sides. He watched his brother leave.
Becca wet her lips. “Sorry,” she said softly.
“It’s not your fault.”
That wasn’t what she’d meant at all. “I just—I’m sorry.”
Chris glanced at her with eyes shadowed with anger and tension, making her wonder at his relationship with Michael.
But Chris gave her a dark smile and pushed the hair off his forehead. “Don’t sweat it. He likes being angry. Go change.”
The bathroom smelled like boys, from spicy sticks of uncapped deodorant and a large bottle of body wash that looked like it could climb a mountain on its own. Nothing floral here. At least the towels looked clean.
Becca locked herself in and peeled the filthy clothes away from her body. Thank god her mother had seen her leave the house in a pullover, because the silk cropped shirt was nearly ruined. She rinsed out her jeans in the bathtub, but kept her underwear. Damp or not, she wasn’t handing over a bra to Chris Merrick. She held her hair under the bathtub faucet, squeezing it into a towel before finger combing it away from her face. One of them had a bottle of some guy-brand face lotion sitting on the counter, and she used a dab under her eyes to wipe away the running mascara.
Another look in the mirror convinced her that she’d made the right decision in coming here—once her hair dried and she had her jeans back, her mom probably wouldn’t notice that her daughter had taken a swim. The borrowed clothes felt soft on her skin, worn and almost threadbare. She wondered if Chris wore them to sleep, and the thought felt too personal, so she blushed, even there in the privacy of the bathroom.
Becca pulled the fleece back on, balled her soaked clothes into the towel, and unlocked the door.
She heard the twins before she saw them, and she stopped short in the hallway, scowling. They were talking to Chris from the sound of it. She wanted to just walk down the steps and out the front door. Maybe she could hang her jeans out the car window and dry them that way.
But one of the twins—Nick, if she remembered the clothes correctly—was closest to the door, and he spotted her first. “Hey, Becca.”
She put the ball of damp clothes under an arm and squared her shoulders. His dark hair was a little windblown, but he clearly hadn’t taken a swim. It seemed unfair—he looked even better than he had at the party, while she knew from the mirror that she looked like a drowned cocker spaniel.
She looked right into his eyes, determined to show him she wouldn’t get all flustered like she had in Drew’s hallway. “Hey,” she said flatly. “Nick.”
His smile warmed a little, as if she’d amused him. He stepped forward and held out his hands, gesturing to her bundle of clothes. “Here. I’ll throw those in the dryer.”
She faltered, not expecting kindness from him. Uncertainty almost made her clutch the ball of fabric to her chest, as if this was some kind of trap.
Idiot. Just give him the clothes.
She thrust the bundle forward. “Thanks.”
When he jogged down the stairs, she shoved her hands into the pullover pockets again and edged toward the doorway. Chris was sitting backwards on the desk chair, leaning his forearms on the back. He’d changed into a gray tee shirt and jeans that weren’t wet, and now his hair was drying with a slight wave to it.
“Find everything you need?” he asked.
“Yeah.” She paused. “Thanks.”
Gabriel was sprawled on the bed, leaning up against the wall the way he had last night. He glanced up at her, a spark of humor in his eye. “Want to sit on the bed?”
She gave him a dark look. “No.”
Chris sighed and uncurled from the chair. “Here. Sit.” He stepped away to lean against the wall between the window and the aquarium.
She did, drawing her knees into the chair to sit cross-legged. She bit her tongue, unsure if Chris had told his brothers what he’d told her.
Chris shrugged, his gaze on the window. “The jig is up.” Then he glanced at the door, and she read the unease in his eyes. “Not with Michael, though. So keep your voice down.”
Gabriel smiled, and there was an edge of challenge to it. “You want me to set something on fire or what?”
“Subtle,” said Chris.
“Can you do that?” she said, pleased that her voice was even, almost skeptical. She wouldn’t let Gabriel intimidate her, either.
He glanced at his brother. “Chris. Give me your Trig book.”
Chris did no such thing. “Michael will go ballistic if you start a fire up here again.”
“Michael needs to switch to decaf.” Gabriel dug in his pocket and fished out a lighter.
Becca straightened, feeling her eyes grow wide. Was he really going to start a fire right here in the bedroom?
Way to be nonchalant. She forced her voice to sound bored. “A lighter? Isn’t that cheating?”
“Fire needs something to burn, sugar.” Gabriel flipped the lighter between his fingers, somehow lighting it while it spun.
“Frat boy tricks,” she said.
“Don’t encourage him,” said Chris.
Gabriel grinned and did it again, faster, rolling the lighter through his knuckles until the silver was a blur, the red gold of the flame a near constant arc.
She stared despite herself, leaning forward, mesmerized by the motion.
Then he snapped his other hand forward, pinched out the flame, and flicked the lighter into the air to snap it closed.
She lifted her eyes to meet his. Impressive, but nothing supernatural. “Should I applaud or something?”
He turned his closed hand over and uncurled his fingers. “You tell me.”
She froze. Fire sat on his palm. Not like his hand was burning, but a suspended flame, as if his hand had lifted the plume of fire off a candlewick. A blue base climbed to orange and red as it flickered there.
“Let’s see a frat boy do that,” said Gabriel. The flame was big enough that it threw light on his face.
She uncurled from the chair and moved closer to the bed, unable to help herself. She reached out a hand to touch it. Her fingers brushed across the tip of the flame, feeling it nip at her fingertips.
“Careful,” said Chris. “Sometimes it looks for something real to burn.”
She couldn’t tear her eyes away. “What’s it burning now?”
“Energy,” said Gabriel.
“What energy?”
“Mine.”
Did that mean he was ... feeding the fire somehow? She swallowed, almost compelled to touch it again. A breeze whispered through the open window, lifting the ends of her hair. The flame flickered and jumped, biting at her outstretched hand.
She thought of the drums on the beach, the way they’d snapped fire at Tyler and Seth. She pulled her hand back. The fire began to swirl in the breeze, a tiny whirlwind of flame stretching higher in his palm.
Then it lifted clean off his hand, spinning wider and faster until it burned out into nothing. She couldn’t even smell smoke.
“I’d say you’re playing with fire,” said Nick from the doorway, “but it kind of loses effect when you really are.”
“You didn’t have to do that.” Gabriel rolled the closed lighter across his knuckles again. “I had it.”
“You had it this time,” said Chris. He paused, and there was a thread of envy in his voice. “Your control’s gotten better.”
“My control?” Gabriel grinned. “I’m not the one who brought down a tsunami on Sillery Bay.”
“Yeah, well.” Chris glanced at Becca, and he looked a bit sheepish. “That didn’t quite work out like I’d hoped.”
Becca had thought it was downright amazing, but she didn’t say that. “Are you worried about Tyler and Seth coming after you?”
“After that?” said Nick. “They ran.”
He sounded pleased. She’d wondered earlier what kind of parents Tyler would have, allowing him to run around with a gun. But Nick’s tone reminded her of something she’d read once in a textbook, about how guns were invented so man could level the playing field.
“They’re afraid of you,” she said softly. After watching the demonstration on the beach, she almost couldn’t blame them.
“Of course they’re afraid of us,” said Nick, his voice a bit dark. “That’s why they’re breaking the deal.”
“They’ll try to prove that we’re a danger to the community,” said Chris. He folded his arms and looked at Gabriel. “Some of us try a little harder to stay out of trouble at school.”
Gabriel sat up straight. “I haven’t gotten in a fight yet this year!”
Despite everything, that made her smile. “It’s September.”
He waved a hand. “Details.”
“So why do they care about me?” she asked. “I’m not involved in any of this.”
“They’re really after us, not you,” said Chris. “We scared them off tonight. That will buy us some time.”
“You have any classes with Seth?” said Nick.
She shook her head. “He’s a senior.”
“He’s also an idiot.” Then Nick glanced at Gabriel, and he raised an eyebrow. “That’s right—don’t you have, like, two classes with him?”
Chris ignored them, watching her. “Has Seth ever hassled you at school?”
Becca froze, then tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. She had to clear her throat. “Not since the fight in the parking lot.”
Chris frowned. “But before?”
“It’s nothing.” She shook her head quickly. “What are you guys going to do?”
“What are they going to do about what?” Michael said from the hallway. He put his hands on either side of the door and leaned in.
“Nothing,” Nick and Chris said at once.
Gabriel flung the lighter at him, hard, with true aggression. “Why don’t you quit acting like you give a shit?”
Michael caught it and flung it back. Harder. “Why don’t you quit acting like a smartass kid?”
Gabriel moved to throw it back, and Becca heard him flick the lid, then saw the flare as it spun free of his hand. She sucked in a breath.
Nicholas stepped into the line of fire and snatched the lighter out of the air. He snapped it closed. “Come on. Not tonight.”
Michael was already backing out of the doorway. “Whatever.” His voice was tired. “I’m going to bed.”
Silence hung over the room for a moment as he moved down the hallway.
Then he called from somewhere farther in the house. “Send her home by midnight, Chris.”
Becca flinched.
Gabriel rolled his eyes. “Stay as long as you want. He’ll turn on SportsCenter and be asleep in ten minutes.”
“I’m only here until my clothes are dry,” she said quickly.
Chris shifted against the wall. His eyes were flat now, emotionless. “Don’t worry. We won’t keep you any longer than necessary.”
That wasn’t what she’d meant—or was it? Did he think she was insulting him?
Something in the tenor of the room had changed. While her brain was stumbling over something appropriate to say, Chris pushed away from the wall and headed for the door. “Come on. I’ll turn on a movie or something for you downstairs.”
From the sudden shift in his demeanor, she half expected him to leave her alone in their living room, but he sat on the couch—at the opposite end—while one of the Shrek sequels played on cable. The twins had remained upstairs.
She studied Chris, the way the light from the television played off his features.
“You and the twins don’t get along with Michael?” she said.
Chris half shrugged, keeping his eyes on the television. “Gabriel fights with him the most. Mom used to say they’d eventually grow up and be best friends, but it sounds like a load of wishful parenting crap to me.”
“The twins get in a lot of fights at school, too.” She paused. “Actually, that night I helped you—I thought it might have been them causing trouble.”
Chris smiled, but it was grim. “Nick’s not the fighter. He just takes the fall. It’s almost al
ways Gabriel. Part of it’s his element. They’re all difficult to control, but fire—fire is pretty awesomely destructive. It feeds his temper. I think the only reason he hasn’t picked a fight is because the coach told him he’d be benched all year if he caught him fighting again.”
She wondered what it would be like to live with someone whose temper could start fires. Gabriel had flicked that lighter at Michael—what would have happened if Nick hadn’t grabbed it out of the air?
“So Nick’s the peacekeeper,” she said.
Chris snorted. “He always has been. Our parents died when Michael was eighteen. The courts weren’t going to give him custody. It was spring, and he hadn’t even graduated yet. He fought like hell to get it. They still send a social worker around every year to check up on us, but it used to be every frigging month. He’s a freak about making sure we don’t get in too much trouble or draw any attention.”
Becca tried to think back to middle school. She remembered Chris, of course; had written him off as just another surly preteen floating somewhere in the rotation of classes. Her father had left then, and she’d been so wrapped up in her own family drama that she hadn’t had time for anyone else’s. She’d spent her middle school years rescuing hurt animals so she could prove to her father that she wanted to be just like him.
What a joke.
“At least he cares,” she said.
Chris’s eyes narrowed. “Is that what it looks like? Caring?”
She narrowed her eyes back at him. “At least he’s here.”
“Ah.” He settled back against the cushion and gave her a knowing look. “Divorce?”
Startled, she flushed, like it was something to be ashamed of. She brushed hair off her cheek, tucking it behind her ear. “Does it make a difference?”
“Yes,” he said evenly, holding her gaze. “It makes a difference.”
She had to look away, wanting to apologize but unsure whether he deserved it.
Chris was quiet for a long while, but then he sighed. “I’m sorry,” he said. “That was a shitty thing to say.”
His voice was disarming, rough and guarded and just a little bit vulnerable, his eyes wary the way they’d been in her rearview the night she rescued him.
“Me too,” she said. “I didn’t mean—your parents—”
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