Absolution

by Jennifer Laurens

  “Hey.” He glanced at me, mouthed Weston. “Uh-huh. Sure. Yeah. That sounds good. Fine with me. Uh-huh. Okay. See ya.” He closed his phone and slipped it back into the front pocket of his jeans. “Well that was easy,” he said.

  “So, you two agreed on something to do?”

  Luke lifted a shoulder. “He suggested, I agreed. I dunno. He’s a senior, I’m a junior, plus, I figure he’s gone to a lot more of these things than I have.”

  That was for sure. I’d seen him at a handful of proms—each date clinging to him like he was their lifeline. I suppressed a cringe. I would never look like that.

  I didn’t ask Luke what Weston had planned. It was supposed to remain a surprise until that day, and that was exactly what I wanted.

  Mom and Dad texted both Luke and I, telling us that they’d arrived in Boston just fine and Abria had actually enjoyed the airplane ride. The flight had gone without a hitch. Except when Abria stood in her seat and jumped—twelve different times—during the flight, bringing the aggravated stewardess over. And Abria’s attempted escape: crawling down the aisle. Abria cried when the plane descended, grabbing her ears. Mom tried to give her chewing gum, but she swallowed four pieces and nearly choked on the fifth.

  I could easily envision the looks of pity Mom and Dad endured, and I wished I could have been there to glare back. Glare? What’s gotten into you, you haven’t glared at politically incorrect, clueless eyeballers since Matthias came into your life.

  My reflection in my bathroom mirror brought a lonely sigh from my chest. The house was entirely too quiet without Mom, Dad and Abria and as darkness filmed each window in nighttime, emptiness crept into my heart. I wished I had gone to Boston. I’d be so busy chasing Abria; I wouldn’t have time to think about Matthias. Or Weston.

  “Z!” Luke’s voice drolled up from the family room.

  I surveyed myself in my flannel pj bottoms and white tee shirt—ready for bed—and headed downstairs, passing Abria’s quiet, dark bedroom with a pause.

  “Yeah?”

  “How about we watch something adventurous. Bond or something?”

  I blinked back the flush of tears filling my eyes and moved on past Abria’s room, taking the stairs down at a skip. Luke stood staring at our large selection of DVDs, stored in an antique armoire.

  “No chick flicks,” I said, the last thing I needed was a dose of romance.

  “No argument here,” he said.

  The doorbell rang and we looked at each other.

  “Are you expecting anybody?” I asked, heart pattering a little. We hadn’t turned on a lot of lights, too ingrained by our parents to be conservative with resources. That left otherwise cheery halls and balconies dim and eerie. Luke shook his head.

  “I’ll check it out.” He strolled toward the entry, on the way swiping the rolling pin from the kitchen. I tip-toed behind him.

  He peered out the sidelight window and snickered. He tossed me the rolling pin and I caught it in both hands. “Who is it?”

  Luke grinned and swung the door open.

  “Hey.” Weston’s deep, smooth voice filled the room and calmed my anxious heart.

  Luke invited Weston in and shut the door. Luke strolled back to the family room, a smile still on his face. “Bond it will be,” he whispered as he passed knowing full well I probably was ditching him for the night now.

  Weston’s gaze swept me from head to slippers. “Hey.”

  “Hey.”

  He eyed the rolling pin in my hands. “Are you… baking?”

  I laughed. “Uh, no.” I set the wooden utensil on the entryway table.

  “Is it okay that I came by?” Weston stepped closer, his voice just above a whisper. His intense eyes looked bottomless in the low-light of the entry. He was balancing my earlier admittance of love with apprehension.

  “I’m glad you’re here.” I reached out and touched his hand. “Luke and I are just hanging out.”

  Weston glanced over my shoulder toward the family room where the James Bond theme song was in full swing. “It’s cool you two can hang and get along.” Weston stuffed his hands deep in the front pockets of his jeans. “I don’t want to intrude.”

  “You’re not. How is it at home?”

  “I don’t want to be there.”

  I took his hand and his gaze seemed to shift from uncertainty to relief. I turned and led him by the hand to the family room.

  Daniel Craig—Bond, James Bond—got his body beaten so badly, I cringed watching. Luke and Weston sat forward on the couches, like they were ringside at a live fight, laughing at Bond’s snappy comebacks, even as he endured torture.

  Guys were weird.

  When the movie was over, Luke stretched, eyed Weston and me sitting close on the couch, and stood. “Guess I’m going to bed.”

  “Night,” I said.

  “Yup.” Luke strolled past Weston who lifted his fist in typical testosterone greeting and Luke slugged knuckles with him.

  Luke’s heavy footfalls trudged up the stairs, and Weston and I were alone. He slipped an arm around me. “This was cool. Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome. Yeah, it was nice.”

  The burn of desire moved swiftly into the air between us, pressing us together. He watched me, waiting for even the slightest hint on my part that I was ready for a kiss. Or more. He leaned closer, slowly, tuned into my face like his next heartbeat depended on what unspoken expression he might find there.

  I slipped my arms around his neck and kissed him, enjoying that my body sparked with desire. His lips hesitated beneath the pressure of mine, but only for a second. Then his arms wrapped me in a breathtaking embrace.

  Hungry. Neglected. Weston kissed me as though we hadn’t kissed in weeks.

  His whole body covered mine, as if each muscle and sinew had to absorb me.

  I relished the strength in him, the scent of desire, ripening with each move of his mouth over mine. His chest pressed into mine. Our breaths became one in a frenzied rhythm, like rain against the roof, drowning me with him.

  His lips coursed my neck, my collar bone, and up the other side of my jaw until he’d come full circle back to my waiting mouth. Beneath my exploring fingers, his tight body filled with urgency. The pound of his heart slammed against my chest.

  His hands explored: my ribs, waist, stomach. His fingers fluttered at the elastic edge of my flannel pjs. Then slipped beneath.

  “Luke’s here.” I jerked my head left, gasping. “No.”

  Weston’s lips skimmed my face. His hands continued exploring. I tingled, heart flying out of control, want building in my bloodstream.

  I tried to bring my hands between our chests, but his body had adhered to mine. “Weston, no.”

  “I want you,” he whispered between kisses.

  “I want you too.” Indeed, my body was in a luscious frenzy. “But not here.”

  Weston’s hot mouth slid to my ear. “Then your bedroom.” He slipped his arms beneath me and effortlessly pulled me against him, and stood. My arms instinctively latched around his neck, my gaze locked with his.

  He walked slowly, easily, as if I was no more than a delicate bundle in his arms. But the heat in his gaze spoke of serious desire and I knew what he wanted. Even though my feelings for him were clearer, stronger, I wasn’t ready to make love with him.

  His muscles shifted and worked as he took the stairs up.

  The bedroom was just feet away, the bed, the moment drawing closer.

  Pulse skipping, I squirmed to release myself, but his arms tightened.

  He crossed the threshold into my bedroom and kicked the door shut and again I tried to wriggle out of his arms but he didn’t let me go. Pitch blackness surrounded us, save for the slanted moonlight which came in soft, white slices from the nearly-closed shutters at the window.

  Weston’s breath started to pick up speed. Face shadowed with concentration, he focused on my mouth. His warm lips slipped over mine.

  His kiss, the urgent sound of his hungry
breathing intoxicated me, and for a second I forgot that I meant to keep this under control.

  I barely felt him moving until he finally laid me on the softness of my bedspread. One of his strong arms remained around my back as he lifted and positioned me on the mattress. His other arm supported his body, crouched over mine.

  I should have stopped him downstairs. I shouldn’t have let him carry me up here. The door is shut. Luke will never see us now. Not that I wanted him to, I wanted the possibility as a reason not to do this.

  “Weston,” I managed between kisses. “I can’t make love to you.”

  Weston’s fervent kisses slowed. Still poised over me, he eased back, the slatted light from the moon casting white and black cuts over his face and body. “I thought you wanted this too.”

  “I thought I did. You wanted honesty, so I’m being honest. I can’t do this with you.”

  He eyed me a long moment. “For now or forever?”

  I swallowed the knot in my throat. “Now.”

  Weston let out a sigh and collapsed to my side. Around us, black tension swirled in the silence.

  I reached over to turn on the lamp at my bedside, but his body suddenly rolled over mine, his hand cuffing my wrist. “No.”

  Panic fluttered in my chest. “Why not?”

  “I don’t want—I can’t look at you right now.” He fell back, staring up at the ceiling. His hands gripped his head, as if a skull-wracking ache tormented him. Beneath the snug black t-shirt, his chest lifted and fell in rapid motion, like a wounded animal at the side of the road—fear, fury and frustration submerging him.

  I remained quiet, hoping time would ease his complicated feelings but his breathing continued to accelerate, the sound stirring me into a bundle of anxiety.

  “You realize what this means,” he finally ground out.

  “What do you think it means?”

  He jerked his head my direction, the depths of his eyes frightened me.

  Beyond him, in the murky corner of my bedroom, shadows moved. I bolted up, straining to see. Flashes of onyx eyes, gnashing teeth in a huddled mass started filling the room. My heart leapt to my throat.

  Weston sprang up beside me, blocking my intense study of the growing mass. He grabbed my cheeks, forcing my face in front of his. “It means that you can’t live without Matthias.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  ____________________

  “That’s not it,” my voice scratched out. My gaze flicking from his twisted face to the hordes of evil spirits inching toward us.

  His fingers gripped my head like he might crush my skull. I grasped his wrists, tried to break his grip but his hands remained fixed like iron. “Why can’t you let go of him?” The question tore from his lips.

  “I am letting go of him.” Weston’s grip on my skull intensified. My heart screamed with fear. Behind him, the black eyes and hissing teeth of the crowd of spirits flashed and shifted like smoky vapor, spreading in choking clouds around us. I dug my nails into his flesh, tried to break free. The anguish on his face shifted to anger.

  The shadows behind him moved closer. And not just evil spirits; Brady.

  Albert. My mouth fell open. Weston, seeing my horror, loosened his hold and shot a look over his shoulder.

  “Brady’s here,” I gasped.

  He saw nothing, of course, which brought fury into his outraged eyes.

  “You told me you loved me. You’ve been lying all this time, Zoe. All of it’s been lies. The whole story about Brady. Everything.” He squeezed my head. I tried to pry his fingers from my skull, but he tossed me back to the mattress.

  “I haven’t lied,” the words burst from my lips. “I promised you the truth.”

  Albert and Brady slid around the sides of the bed. The spirits with them filled in, so that Weston and I were surrounded by a thick wall of malevolence.

  I silently screamed for Matthias.

  “He’s not coming,” Albert hissed, leaning over Weston’s shoulder. “Little minx. You’ve gotten him in trouble.” He nodded. Brady grinned, licked his lips.

  Trouble? No.

  “He’s in hell, Zoe. Your involvement got him in trouble, and the only way he could make it right was to give himself to me.”

  “You’re lying!” Adrenaline infused me, and like wildfire I twisted, bucked and freed myself of Weston who fell back on his haunches, his eyes huge. I shot upright, tears springing from my eyes. “He’s with my parents.

  With Abria.”

  Weston jerked back, looked around. Seeing nothing, he stared at me.

  Brady was behind Weston, as if waiting for the ripe moment to possess.

  Weston’s face drained of color. Did he feel what I felt? The pressure of hell was so great, I could barely remain conscious—deluged with thoughts of Matthias in hell—let alone worry about what Weston was thinking. I shook my head.

  “Matthias is protecting them.”

  “No, Zoe.” Albert shook his head. “Matthias is being punished.”

  Albert floated behind Weston and stood nearer to me, looking down into my eyes with a blinkless control that threatened to steal my soul with my next heartbeat.

  “Punished,” Brady echoed.

  No. No. No. Tears slid down my cheeks.

  “You’re crying for him?” Weston shrieked in disbelief. He squatted on the bed poised to attack and my heart hammered. Brady jumped on the mattress next to him.

  “Weston.” Fear closed my throat, threatening my voice, “Brady’s—”

  “More lies,” Weston spat.

  “Zoe?” Luke’s voice from came from somewhere behind the closed door.

  The room and its occupants closed in on me. Matthias—punished.

  Gone. Suffering. Because of me. The thought submerged me in hopeless desperation. Matthias wasn’t here to protect me. Could Albert be right? But then, I’d chosen to put myself in harm’s way. I couldn’t deal with Albert’s ruthless attack one minute longer. I wanted to disappear. Cease existing.

  I leapt from the bed, bursting through the crowd of black spirits, causing them to shrivel back. Heart pounding, I lunged for the door, flung it open. A scream rang out. Mine? My consciousness floated in a place out of my reach—that place we escape to for survival.

  I flew down the stairs, passing a saucer-eyed Luke in the entry.

  “Z?”

  I opened the front door and fled around the corner of the house, the icy night air nipping through my sheer pjs. Faint light from the moon cast ghostly shadows on trees and shrubs. I dove through them. Streaming tears froze on my cheeks. Dodging bushes and pines, I kept running, deeper and deeper into the shadowy forest.

  My lungs burned with the frigid air. My mind raced with images of Matthias suffering. Paying for being with me. Punished for loving me. I couldn’t bear the unfairness. Heaven was cruel. God was unjust.

  Anger drove me on. I kept running. Harder. Faster. The trees grew thicker. More dense, becoming sinister spindles towering over me. Spines tore the fabric of my t- shirt. Through the padding of my booted slippers, the soles of my feet hit rocks, sending jagged pain up my calves.

  Unable to suck in air fast enough, I slowed. Gasping. I stopped, fell to the forest floor, and wept uncontrollably.

  My sobs filled the silent air. I rolled onto my stomach, fallen pine needles sticking to my tear-ravaged face.

  I’m so sorry, so sorry Matthias.

  “You can’t outrun me, Zoe.” Albert. I opened my eyes. Could barely catch my breath. I sat up and futilely backed away on my hands, needles slivering into my cold palms but the distance between Albert and me was closing in.

  “Give yourself to me.”

  I shook my head. Closed my eyes.

  “You can be with him. Show him you love him, and give yourself to me.”

  “No.”

  “He’s there, waiting for you.”

  “No.” Even if Heaven was cruel and God wasn’t just, I couldn’t give my soul to Albert.

  “Then his sacrific
e was for nothing,” Albert said. I opened my eyes.

  Trembled. He stood over me, his hands behind his back.

  I couldn’t believe Matthias wanted me to give up my soul to Albert to be with him. As if he read my thoughts, Albert said, “Give yourself to me and you can be with him.”

  I desperately wanted to believe him. Being with Matthias—even in hell, sounded better than spending the rest of my life and forever without him.