Geoff had gotten drunk, and I’d stopped paying much attention to him, enjoying the bartender’s easy flirtation. When I finally looked for my brother I’d found him showing off to a couple of equally drunken bar-hoppers with low-cut shirts and kohl-lined eyes. He’d always been great at element manipulation, and even drunk off his ass he’d barely had to snap his fingers to have sparks snapping at the air.
He just did little tricks, and maybe they were things that could’ve been played off as stunts, but it was enough to have the girls gasping in appreciation and my blood singing in my veins. I’d chased him out of the bar, praying his idiocy was missed, but later that night I got my answer when I awoke choking on smoke. I could taste the greasy smell of burning fat and meat before I made it downstairs, the damp shirt I’d thrown over my mouth not enough to block it all.
His charred body had been left on a tarp in the living room, and all of the windows had been shut to keep in the sickening stench. Shaking and crying, barely old enough to even get into a bar let alone deal with this, I’d had to roll him up in it and drag him outside to bury.
I dug a hole in the garden and rolled him into it, gagging but no longer having anything to bring up. When I had the hole filled I sat there with my shovel, trembling in shock, as dawn streaked the sky. His body was gone, joining our father’s, but the smell took weeks to leave. I left as soon as I could find an apartment.
That was how our ruling parties dealt with infractions to our laws. The head of the family would receive the guilty party’s body and, warning delivered, would have to take care of their own. In a world based on familial bonds and responsibility, I had become the last in mine, something Gramp had warned us against time and again, always firm on the dangers of it. “Always watch your backs,” he’d say. “Lone mages aren’t trusted, and they’ll watch you two. If it’s down to one you find someone, anyone.”
I’d been desperate, and the emptiness in my life had left an easy opening for Morgan to exploit. With him I’d been desperate to not be alone, but now I really wasn’t sure if I was willing to give up my solitude. Morgan had been a mistake. Here, now, was another possibility for mistake sitting across from me and smiling a welcome I’d likely be a fool to accept.
Realizing I’d let myself forget my surroundings, I straightened and looked back towards my companion. Lane was resting his chin on his closed fist, watching me with a bemused interest, and I wondered how long I’d been drifting in somber thought.
“You must have some kind of question,” he offered, not taking his eyes off me.
One, I mused—what you expect of me. I’ve stepped into these traps before. It was a question I didn’t have a way to voice, but I wanted answers all the same. It was tempting to reach over and touch him while we spoke. It would be so easy to brush my fingers against his, or reach over to check his watch. I could pull it off, give a coy smile or a teasing grin. It wasn’t forbidden, few things were when they were between those who shared power. Harmless or harmful, all were fair game, even murder. The single rule in altercations between mages was that it remained outside the attention of those without magic. Ours were two overlapping worlds that could never tangibly touch.
I clenched my fingers around my cup and his emotions remained his own.
“I have a question, then,” he spoke up at last. “Do you like fiddleheads?”
"Do I like what?"
He chortled as I stared at him. “It's a plant, well, a fern. People eat ‘em, and they grow along the river.”
“That sounds … chancy,” I muttered. “I’ve never heard of them.”
“Well, any time in the next handful of weeks you’ll either wish you still hadn’t or be shocked you’ve never tried them before.”
I headed to the washroom not long after that, keeping my head down the entire way to avoid catching any attention. While washing my hands, a marked-up flyer caught my eye at the corner of the mirror. Cast aside the trappings of luxury killing your spirit—soar with the natural flow of lifeblood. The words “get blown” were scrawled across one side, making it even harder to take the message seriously.
I wondered about it, remembering the one I’d thrown into the back of my car the other day. Then the washroom door opened, and I hurriedly left, forgetting about the strange group.
An obnoxious braying came from Lane’s pocket when I returned to the table. He rolled his eyes, sitting back and digging out his phone. “Sorry, that’s my brother. One second.” He turned away, lips twisted in an annoyed frown. “What is it, brat? I told you I had plans tonight.”
Whatever he received for an answer had him straightening up, eyes widening. “What? Are you—” He relaxed at whatever answer he received for his unvoiced question, but the stress never left his face. “I’ll be right there.”
He let him go, and the desperate look on his face when he turned around froze my stomach. “I have to go,” he told me, grabbing for his wallet with one had while he took his coat with the other. “I’m sorry, I’ll drop you off. It’s my brother—”
“It’s fine,” I told him quickly, beating him to the punch and dropping enough money on the table to cover both meals and a tip. “Family always comes first. I’ll come.”
The words were out of my mouth before I could take them back, but the look of relief on his handsome face made it impossible to regret what I’d said. He’d been kind to me, offering me information he really didn’t have to share, and offering his company when it took no effort to see I was in this town alone.
Curse me for probably getting involved. I couldn’t keep my promise to myself for even a month.
****
Whatever I’d expected to be walking into wasn’t what I found. First off, his brother, face swelling and covered in cuts, was a complete dick. At first, I accounted it to what had happened, but by Lane’s expression I got the feeling it was a bit more of a character defect. The other man seemed to like me all right, which I supposed was something.
“You’re cute,” had been the first thing out of his mouth when he saw me. Great. Every adult male wants to hear that.
“Thanks?”
He smirked. “See why big-bro likes you.” He winced, the words hurting, but didn’t seem about to let any pain stop his mouth. “Big eyes, big curls, little baby-doll face. If you didn’t have a dick I’d like you, too.”
I was staring at him and struggling to formulate some kind of response when Lane came to my rescue. “Leave him alone, brat,” the elder barked, but the concern in his eyes belied the sharp tone. He was kicking off his sneakers and at his brother’s side before I even managed to start on my own shoes. “Who did this? What did you do now?”
It was surprising how similar they looked next to each other. I recognized his brother now as the man whose fries Lane had been stealing the other day. How I hadn’t noticed their similarities then I have no idea. My own brother and I had been polar opposites, he big and broad where I was shorter and bird-boned, just like Gram.
“How the fuck should I know?” The younger Hunter snapped, then winced when Lane bopped him over the head. “God, fine. It was Bennett and Troy. I couldn’t exactly do anything back, could I? As for why, fu-frig if I know.” He glowered. “You’re worse than Da, you know that? I’m a grown man. I should be able to cuss when I want.”
“Yeah, well, I should be able to go on a date without worrying about my stupid little brother getting himself killed.”
Feeling awkward in this family moment, I looked around the house and waited. It was a nice place, its lines old like mine, but the furnishings far more with the times. The walls were painted, and the furniture was new leather. It’d be nice in the summer, I bet, cool. I considered sitting but decided against it, as I hadn’t actually been invited in yet.
Truthfully, I wasn’t entirely sure either of them remembered that I was there. They were completely wrapped up in their argument, Lane’s fury fueled by his concern. Lane’s brother seemed more annoyed than mad, not that he wasn’t squawking
loudly enough to beat his brother’s bellows.
I was thankful that Lane’s brother hadn’t needed my help. Gramp had been firm on my always hiding myself. Gram had agreed, naturally, but even my brother had sided with our patriarch. Still, I hated turning my back when people needed me. Every time I did it killed me a little more inside. I could feel my soul shriveling.
“Corey, you can’t just go around fighting all the time!”
Corey, then. I looked at the pictures on top of an old piano in the corner, seeing two kids with gap-toothed grins that had to be the two squabbling men before me. They’d looked even more alike then, Lane’s sun-bleached hair as light as his brother’s. There couldn’t be many years between them. Two, maybe three tops.
“It wasn’t my fault! Bennett said something about the cops letting me walk and that they wouldn’t.”
“Cops?” Lane exclaimed. I stiffened, the very word enough to send me into a panic. They’d just been at my door the night before, and here I was standing in the same room with a man who was apparently under some sort of scrutiny.
“Fuck if I—Jeeze, Lane, stop it! I don’t know, that’s just what they said!”
“And you were too busy punching them to actually ask any questions?”
“They fu-freaking started it!”
My heart was fluttering in my throat as Lane delivered another light smack over his brother’s head. Even knowing that there was little force behind them did little to ease the spike of my anxiety. I wished to be anywhere else, but I’d offered and so here I was.
Corey had very little information to appease his brother with, and their argument stretched while I just hovered nervously, trying to remain polite while hiding in the background.
When Lane finally let his brother breathe Corey started poking at me again, asking about where I was from and what I’d done there.
“I used to work at a restaurant in Calgary,” I answered, striving to sound calmer than I felt. “I just wanted a change of scenery.”
And a good escape.
“A change of scenery, all right,” Corey laughed. “How are you dealing with the boredom?”
Feeling thankful every minute, in truth. I swallowed my nerves and offered a weak smile. “I like the peace,” I told him honestly.
I found myself sitting at the table soon after that, listening to Corey throw out embarrassing facts about his brother while Lane fended him off with personal counter-strikes.
Lane, it turned out, was a caffeine addict, food thief, and not to be trusted around muffins. That sharing on Corey’s part had devolved into another argument, although this time I’d enjoyed listening to the two bicker.
Corey, Lane stressed, was a flirt, born in trouble, and couldn’t go a week without causing some stir. By the time the two of them finally settled down, all three of us had mugs of coffee and I couldn’t seem to keep an actual smile off my face.
It was impossible not to find Lane endearing. I knew I should make my excuses and get out of there, hint I needed that drive home, but the longer I sat the longer I wanted to sit. Lane was handsome, yes, but handsome didn’t mean much to me. His wicked smile as he fended off his brother’s verbal taunts, and the concern he kept letting slip each time Corey moved some way that made his injuries hurt? Those signs of the man he really was mattered, and each one made it harder not to keep falling for him.
****
Lane dropped me off later that evening with another thanks for coming. I could tell he wanted to be invited in, but couldn’t make myself go that far. He was wonderful, and while I hated for it to be over, I really wasn’t up for deepening anything so soon. He leaned in and I flinched, but all he did was land a quick kiss—chaste—on my lips and back off. I’d caught a brief flash of emotions but they were too tangled and quick to decipher: wistful, content, and a little sad. They made no sense, but people rarely did.
“I should get back,” Lane told me. “I had a good night. Well, until my brother called.” He sighed. “Sorry, again. Next time should be better.”
“I’m sorry that happened,” I offered, not sure what else to say. I knew that I should cut in now and tell him there wouldn’t be another time, but the thought of ending things before they could really start made my chest ache. As much as I’d hated going to the bar, I’d enjoyed sitting around his table, drinking in their laughter and even sharing in it by times.
Lane chuckled humorlessly.
“And I’m sorry about my brother. He isn’t usually much better, I won’t lie, but right now he’s having it tough. Someone close to him died yesterday.”
The hit-and-run victim? I nodded, keeping my question to myself. Keep your mouth shut, I reminded myself firmly, and don’t get involved.
“I enjoyed meeting him,” I assured Lane, and meant it. “Please tell him I’m sorry for his loss.” Like those words ever truly helped.
I wondered if that had been the source behind Corey’s warning for me to stay inside over here at night, and his statement that there were crazies out.
Lane left, and I went to bed.
Had I made a mistake, leaving things open as I did? I knew I was being a fool, but even under all that fear, I’d felt a happiness that night that hadn’t been a part of my life in years. I didn’t know Lane or Corey, and I knew that first impressions were dangerous things, but sitting there, watching them first argue and then tease, there had been a stretch of time where my nervous fear faded and I’d relaxed my guard.
Olive landed heavily on my stomach, purring and kneading until I laughed and scratched her back. I closed my eyes, chasing away all thoughts of handsome, green-eyed men and their troublesome brothers.
Sleep, I told myself.
And I did.
Chapter Five
The call came in a few days later that my furniture would finally be arriving. I spent that morning pacing, keeping one ear on my cell—fully charged—and my eyes on the windows. Lane had texted to say he was off and see if I’d wanted to go out. When I’d told him my furniture was arriving he invited himself and Corey over.
Da’ll let him out of the shop for a few hours, he’d written, likely foreseeing my objection and countering it. I wondered at his comment. His father hadn’t even met me.
My statement that he really didn’t need to, but that I wanted to thank his father and brother for their offers, was met with about what I expected. Silence, then, We’ll be there in five.
I wondered why I’d given him my number in the first place, then remembered those big green eyes begging me. I sighed.
The truck got there about half an hour after the two men arrived, and by then I was wishing I could hide upstairs to get away from Corey. Lane was enjoying it, but I just wanted a moment’s respite. Olive, the lucky girl, had hidden upstairs the moment she heard the door open.
“I’ve never been past the veranda before,” had been the first words out of Corey’s mouth. “When we used to go trick-or-treating, Old Myers just met us at the veranda door and shoved the candies into our bags before we could slip by him.”
I shot Lane a glance, and the other man shrugged, laughing. “True. The old man didn’t like kids.”
“Where do you guys fuck, anyway?” Corey wandered off into the house, looking around and giving a long whistle. “Not even a couch. Man, that floor can’t be comfortable, but I know you’ve never been by our place, well, not since that first night.” He waggled his eyebrows and a wave of heat rushed my face.
“C’mon, Corey, let up,” Lane sighed. Probably to hide the fact that we hadn’t done anything even remotely sexual. One date. Seriously. One date. Still.
He was handsome, sweet, and had things been different I never would have held myself back as I was. Every minute I spent with him was an agony of growing want versus common sense.
Corey shrugged, going back to his exploration. He’d found the box of Gramp’s dishes and was poking through it, showing no care at all. “These look old. Seriously, you’ll eat off these things? I’d think they’d
crack in the water. Can they even go in the microwave?”
“They’re just decoration now,” I told him, glancing towards the box and ignoring Lane’s amusement. “Gram used them when we were little. I remember eating stew off them, but then Gramp put them up after she died and said they were too old.”
One of his very few, very rare expressions of affection. If we so much as sneezed near them he’d threatened us with a spanking. I’d always been careful, but for some reason Geoff had, as usual, felt the need to push Gramp’s limits. It was probably the same urge that had led to his death.
The truck finally came, and Lane managed to get Corey to stop snooping long enough to help move the furniture out of the veranda as the men from the truck carried it there and dumped it.
“Not the most helpful company,” Lane muttered, wiping sweat from his eyes after we dumped the dresser in the spare room. He followed me back to the veranda where the first of two bedframes was being dumped. “How were you going to get all this put away on your own?”
I had no idea. It would all have probably been left in the yard and ended up ruined with the next rain. I’d thought the company was going to help put the furniture where it belonged, but I guess I should have known better. I got what I paid for, and that was a speedy pack-up.
They had me check the truck, and when I gave the all-clear they cleared out, probably worried I’d ask for some type of further assistance. We put the bed and one of the dressers upstairs and left the large couch on the veranda. Despite my assurances that it was fine the two of them helped lug the remaining boxes into the living room.
My shirt was soaked through with sweat, and their own long discarded, by the time we finished. Corey and Lane were well-muscled, and I found my eyes drawn time and again to the lines of the older Hunter’s chest. His work at the hardware store certainly showed, and my fingers itched to trace the hardened grooves of his definition.
Upon the River Shore Page 5
