by CJ Daly
have done anyway. Sugar in the gas tank, the best I could come up with. I
comforted myself with the knowledge that it would’ve only bought a couple
of days at the most. Did he really even recommend that Andrew not be
admitted? Or was it just another lie my lie-detector didn’t detect because my
heart was running roughshod?
Over the next couple of days every time the phone rang, Andrew or Daddy
would jump up to answer it only to frown and grumble into the phone. Mikey and
I were delighted in equal proportion to Daddy and Andrew’s disappointment.
When almost a whole week went by and we hadn’t heard anything back from
them, I began to get my hopes up that the feeling I had that Andrew wouldn’t
be seeing the inside of “The Academy” again was accurate.
The following Monday found me back in school and on my regular
schedule, except for P.E. I was allowed to sit out for the duration of the
• 414 •
semester, in case I got hit me in the head with a ball. Probably for the best—I didn’t think I’d have the heart to play soccer. Ever again.
I tried to resume my life as normally as possible, but my lifelessness was
commented on by more than one person. It was hard pretending okay when
the whole world was drained of color. Overnight, it was back to the same
muted sepia tone from before Pete’s arrival. Soon, I feared, it would digress
further into nothing but black and white. And then even further . . . into gray.
Late afternoon, nine days after Pete left, I was picking up the mail when
impatiently expectant hands snatched the tidy package right out from under
me, before I even had a chance to realize there was something to snatch.
“Aw man!” Dejection radiated from the backseat. “It’s for you.” Andrew
immediately tossed it back over.
“Hey!—easy. I’m sorry there’s no news, Drews, but you still can’t throw
things at my head right now.” I was lying—as far as I was concerned no news
was good news.
“No-news-Drews! No-news-Drews!” Mikey began gleefully chanting.
“Shut-up!” Andrew blasted at Mikey. Then to me: “Sorry . . . it’s only a
stupid box.”
I eyed the unmarked box. I certainly hadn’t ordered anything. Hmmm.
I picked it up, and a zinging jolt radiated up my spine. A second later my
foot stomped gas petal, spewing gravel behind us as we careened back to our
house. I abandoned the boys in the smoking hatchback while I sprinted to the
kitchen to wrench open the knife drawer. Then proceeded to butcher through
the cardboard in my haste to pry it open for the prize inside.
I felt like a girl about to pull out a little black velvet box. Instead, I found
myself holding a plastic case with a pair of tortoise-shell glasses inside. Hands
trembling, I put them on. Sure enough—they were prescription free. So Pete
hadn’t been fooled after all. I wondered what he made of me walking around
wearing glasses every day when I could see just fine. I was about to find out.
There was a folded note inside.
Kate,
Here are the glasses I owe you. Sorry they are so late coming, but I didn’t have a chance to get them to you before because I left rather unexpectedly and had too many other loose ends to tie up. Wear them in good health. I agree with you . . .
your mother was an exceptionally smart lady.
-Pete
• 415 •
Right the next day, we got another bit of gold delivered to us in our tin metal mailbox (although I considered this one to be fool’s gold). It
was Andrew’s long-awaited-for acceptance letter to the International Elite
Academy, delivered with zero fanfare. I read it over twice through my clear
frames. Weirdly, I didn’t get worked up over it. I chalked it up to just being
numb—I wasn’t feeling much of anything these days.
And that was the last we heard from Pete Davenport or his academy for
quite some time.
• 416 •
37
KISS OF DEATH
October blew away, along with the flurry of snowflakes that dusted
the ground in ghostly white. November emerged cold and desolate
as the horizon of my future. Teeth brushed and barely showered, I
was heading off to bed when a faint knock at the door stalled my feet. Huh? I hadn’t heard Daddy’s Bronco or any other vehicle for that matter. Blue started
barking and wagging his tail at the same time. Some guard dog. I debated
about going to fetch Daddy’s shotgun, but Blue began whining and scratching
at the door, looking up expectantly like I should know what his canine senses
had already picked up.
And then — Shezam! — like a bolt of lightning, it hit me. My heart
stopped beating and everything. I flew to the door.
“You always open the door late at night when you’re home alone?”
“Pete!” I gasped.
He looked, for him, like hell—disheveled and like he hadn’t slept in two
nights. But it was more than that, like he was weighed down by the weight of
the world. Like the rest of us mere mortals. It was disconcerting to see him
this way—the way a child feels the first time he sees a parent break down in
front of him. Like your rock just cracked beneath your feet. I’d never seen
Pete anything less than commanding and in charge. He honestly looked on
the verge of collapse.
I was momentarily rooted to the spot . . . until he reached out to me,
stumbling over the crowbar habitually placed at our doorstep at night. And
then I snapped out of it to catch him as he half fell into me for a hard hug. I
was too alarmed to even appreciate it.
“Pete! What is it? What’s wrong?”
He shrugged off his navy coat and let it drop before slinging a heavy
• 417 •
arm over my shoulder. We trudged together over to the couch, where he sank heavily into the sunken cushions. He made a face at my face, closing his eyes
against me as though I were too much to bear.
“Pete!” I shook his shoulder.
He lolled his head back, his eyes popping open to stare at me. An
encyclopedia’s amount of emotions flitted across his face before landing on
his old stand-by—humor.
“I have some good news and some bad news. Which one do you want
first?” He spoke so softly I had to bend over to catch it.
“The good news!” I cried, straightening up. I was desperate for some good
news, especially when he looked like this.
He reached up, in slow-mo, to pull me back down. “The Academy is no
longer as interested in Andrew,” he whispered so softly I wasn’t even sure of
what I’d heard.
“What’s the bad news?” And why are we whispering?
“The Academy is no longer as interested in Andrew.”
I caught a whiff of alcohol on his breath. Is he drunk? That would certainly explain the odd behavior. I, for one, thought this was good news all around so
didn’t understand why he looked like someone just stole a kidney. I was about
to form this question when he pulled me closer. Did. Not. Mind.
“Kate . . .” he began.
“What is it, Pete?” My eyes flicked back and forth across his face before
homing in on his eyes; they appeared flat and black as his shirt.
“Will you do something for me
?”
“Yeah, sure. Anything!” I cried. “Whatd’ya want me to do?”
A coil of something terrible rolled around his eyes. He laughed harshly.
Ran a hand through his hair, which was shorter and stood on end after he
did that now. Like the hairs on my arms. I’d already noticed his haircut of
course: it was neat and uniform and diametrically opposed to his present state.
Eyes half-closed, he smiled sloppily up at me. “Kiss me,” he said, changing
tactics mid-play.
“What?” Isn’t that the exact thing he’d been trying to get me not to do since we’d met?
Pete gave a devil-may-care grin, yet his eyes didn’t sparkle like his teeth.
“Kiss me. I don’t care if there are a million reasons why it’s wrong. Just—”
My lips fused to his, fervently kissing him as though the force of my kiss
could eradicate the demons tormenting him. I caught him by surprise, but
it only took a second for him to catch up. He gripped the back of my head,
• 418 •
holding me to him— as if I would leave— then used his other arm to pull me into his lap.
His lips lit me up; it felt like I was sparkling with electricity. He’d never
allowed himself to kiss me with such wild abandon. I was alarmed by his
passion—alarmed and thrilled! I also allowed my passion to flow through my
veins, unchecked, a torrent of lovesick emotions. We were intertwined and
kissing as though the end of the world was outside our doors. I was lost in his
arms, in our kiss. Lost in time and space. On a whole different planet. Every
fiber of my being was pulled toward him. We were a tangle of limbs—one
of his hands gripped my waist, the other digging into my hair, one of mine
splayed across his back, my other clasped around his neck. Hooking one leg
sinuously around me, he flipped me over. And the unbearably delicious weight
of him released a pleasure sigh from my chest.
He wrenched his lips from mine, staring into my eyes with eyes clouded
with desire. He whispered something idly down at me, “Mmmm . . . best
part of the job” was what I thought he said before molding his lips back to
mine. And then I couldn’t process anything further, reveling in the feel and
thrill of him. It was all encompassing, the sensations washing over me—the
roaring in my ears, the thundering in my chest, the swirling in my stomach.
He unfastened his lips to go exploring. I started a protest then quickly
changed my tune as his warm mouth cupped my neck, blazing a trail into
unchartered territory. Approval hummed from my throat. His clever hand
wandered over to my stomach, where lazy fingertips trailed beneath my shirt
till I was quivering beneath him. He stopped nuzzling my neck to stare at my
flushed face and passion-drugged eyes. I could barely focus, was completely
gone . . . as drunk as he was. High on pheromones. Over the edge of reason.
A sweet smile of satisfaction on his lips, he teased mine back open to kiss me
within an inch of my life.
Oh. My. God! I dug insistent fingers into his back, pleading. For what? . . .
I wasn’t sure. I was writhing and panting. Wanting. As he gripped me to him in a delicious grind, my mind reeled with possibilities, new erotic sensations,
and conflicting emotions. The intensity was suddenly too much for me.
“Pete—” I cried, a little unsure edge to my voice.
A glance to my face, and he shifted off me. I immediately clamored for
him back, but he simply brushed his lips back and forth across mine, teasing
now. I squirmed beneath him, impatiently urging him on in a vain attempt
at . . . something. Something I always thought I wanted to wait for marriage
for, and was suddenly having a hard time remembering why.
“Kate,” he whispered my name, which was a good thing because I could
• 419 •
barely remember what it was. He grasped my face between his hands, kissing me so deeply I was thrumming with desire. “Mmmm . . . Kate,” he moaned
as if he couldn’t get enough of me.
When I heard my name escape his lips again in passion, a feeling of pure
bliss bubbled up inside of me. “Pete . . .” I broke off the kiss to let the words
I’d been holding in for weeks spill out.
He growled at me from deep within his throat before continuing south
for his onslaught of pleasure.
“Pete.” I lifted his head, needing eye contact for this. He reluctantly
wrenched his mouth from the valley between my breasts. I just realized two
buttons were undone . . . and couldn’t recall how that was done.
“What?” he breathed, a kiss of sweet whisky on his breath. I mentally
thanked the fire-whisky gods for precipitating his loss of control tonight. This right now . . . this was heaven on earth.
“I . . .” Instantly felt shy and exposed as an open diary but I was determined
to let him know where I stood.
He filled the pause by kissing the hollow of my throat, trailing his lips
past the point of my cross. And I almost couldn’t stop him from continuing
his slow torture on my love-starved body. But some kind of insistent voice
persisted. I needed to know he felt the same way. If we were in love (which
I firmly believed we were), then surely, surely this couldn’t be wrong. Right?
Needing reassurance, I palmed his southbound face back up to mine.
He growled his protest but obliged, peeking at me from beneath lazy
lashes. He looked befuddled and love-drunk; a sloppy smile adorably split his
face that caused my heart do a summersault. Skimming his nose down the
side of mine, he said, “What’s on your mind, Kate? . . . ‘sides drivin’ me crazy.”
He stared at me, indulging me in my moment to slow down in the midst
of this madness we had created together. And his patience made my heart
burst at the seams with the force of my feelings. Looking deeply into his eyes,
I swallowed then just put it out there.
“Pete . . . I love you.”
I felt his reaction before it registered on his face. It was a slight stiffening
of his body. Followed by a slipping of the sloppy smile. Then the soft, dewy
eyes staring into mine closed.
Oh God. The emotion misting my eyes suddenly turned into a lid full of tears as realization crashed over me. Like a tidal wave of melted ice. He doesn’t feel the same way.
Realization, that realization had registered on me, registered on him.
“Kate. God. I’m sorry. I—”
• 420 •
I didn’t wait for him to finish before I was shoving him off me. “It’s fine.”
My voice was brittle as Popsicle sticks left in the sun. “It’s good to know
where you stand.” I hastily did that very thing now, yanking my shirt back
down. Could not believe what I was about to let happen. What I had already
let happen, with a known liar and con artist. An enemy. I was shaking. My
fingers could barely redo the buttons.
Of course he doesn’t love you! You little fool! I mentally cursed.
Pete’s curse was out loud. “Kate—” He grabbed my arm, but I jerked
away from him.
“Tell me somethin’, Pete . . .” It was hard to speak; my throat felt swollen
and hurt as if I’d just swallowed something I was deathly allergic to. “Why?”
I croaked. “I mean if you were o
nly after a piece of ass”—he flinched at my
words—“you could’ve had any number of girls at your disposal.”
My brain had finally unfogged enough to process what he’d said minutes
ago: “Best part of the job . ” I was nothin’ but a J-O-B. My stomach twisted.
“But no. You wooed me,” I spat his words back at him. “Courted me. Why? You knew no matter how I felt about you,”—an angry flush at the admission—“I’d
never stop fightin’ for Andrew. So what was the point of hurtin’ me?”
Pete looked weary again, defeated even. The pull I always felt for him
started again. I longed to smooth that miserable furrow from his brow even as
my heart was breaking into a thousand pieces. Shoulders hunched he leaned
forward, hanging his guilty head between his legs. His eyes were open, staring
as though mesmerized by the pattern of brown rectangles on the floor. After
a full minute of dead quiet, his head jerked back up.
“Kate, do you really love me?” Pride didn’t let me answer, so I merely
shrugged, my eyes glistening with the sting of unrequited love. His face
melted. “Do something for me.”
I stared dumbly at him, sniffling quietly. He has some nerve.
He abruptly stood, placing a finger to his lips in the universal sign of be
quiet. “Come with me.” He beckoned. “It’s a beautiful night . . . I want to make love to you beneath the stars.”
What? The delivery of this soap opera line lacked its usual panache, and
a chill, not a thrill, ran up my spine. And I was so shell-shocked I didn’t
even protest when he jerked me to him. His eyes were intense, and I was
mesmerized as he drew my face forward as though for a kiss. But I stalled out
on him, so he leaned over and put his mouth to my ear.
“I need to speak to you outside,” he whispered. “It’s urgent.”
Subsequently, I was led into the kitchen where he left me leaning against
the counter to go dig in the utensil drawer. Trance-like, I stared at him as
• 421 •
he pulled out our sharpest knife from its exact location, next to the serving spoon. What’s he gonna do with our paring knife? Stab me for not cooperating?
Maybe that’s why he’s acting so weird—they’re making him kill me cause they
know I’m gonna raise hell when they come for my brother. And the only way to