Nightfall

by Douglas, Penelope

  He rose slowly, never taking his eyes off mine. “Or maybe you have a thing for doomed romances.”

  I stepped back as he stepped forward. “Just leave,” I told him again.

  But he kept coming. “You’re so pretty,” he whispered.

  I shook my head, curling my fingers into fists.

  “But I’m getting really tired of you looking at me like that,” he said, his expression suddenly serious. “Like I can’t be trusted.”

  Well, could he? And even if I could trust him to have good intentions with me, I wasn’t ready for this. I didn’t want him involved in my life. I was doing him a favor.

  I loved the theater, and I’d treasure the memory forever.

  But Damon was right. Yesterday was fun. We were done.

  “You need to leave,” I said again.

  His eyes sharpened on me. “And I’m getting really fucking tired of you saying that.” His jaw flexed. “What’s the problem? Yesterday was amazing. Why do you always have to think so much until you’ve twisted something that was good into something bad?”

  “I don’t owe you anything,” I bit out, “and I didn’t invite you in, so just leave! Get out.”

  He stopped, the glare in his eyes almost as heart-stopping as his smile. “You know, I was nicer to you than I had to be.” He squared his shoulders. “You know how many girls I can get like that?”

  He snapped his fingers, and the funny, laidback, sweet protector from the last several days was gone.

  Believe me, I was well aware that he could get any piece of ass he wanted and had already. I wasn’t the first to touch or kiss him.

  “Well, I should just thank my lucky stars that all my relentless, hard work following you around like a pathetic puppy just to get your attention actually paid off!” I yelled, calling him out fucking good.

  He chased me! Not the other way around.

  He took a step toward me but then someone called my name, and he stopped, both of us glowering at each other.

  My blood boiled, and I could see his neck glowing with a light layer of sweat already.

  Everything was hot. It was dark, we were close, and my bed was right there.

  My clit throbbed once, and I stopped breathing.

  “Emmy,” a small voice called again.

  I blinked, releasing the breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding.

  “Emmy?” my grandmother called again.

  Will’s rigid stance relaxed a little, and his eyes softened.

  I dropped my gaze and shook my head, managing no more than a whisper. “Please, just leave.”

  I left the room, turned right, and headed to my grandmother’s bedroom, the late evening breeze making her white curtains billow.

  She tried to push herself up in bed, her bulky pink robe wrapped around her.

  “Hey, hey,” I said, rushing up and lifting the cord to the oxygen mask so she wouldn’t snag it. “I got it. I’m here.”

  She sat up farther, leaning back on her pillows as I helped her take off her mask.

  I put it up, listening to her breathe and making sure she was alright for now.

  “Are you okay?” I asked.

  “I just needed water.”

  I picked up her cup and refilled the water, handing it to her as I held the straw in place.

  “You forgot to light my candle,” she said as she took a sip and peered up at me.

  I stared at her, my brow still tense from a moment ago. Everyone was out to try my patience today, it seemed.

  “Don’t give me that look,” she warned. “Go light it. It’s my last, no doubt.”

  I pursed my lips, knowing there was no way to argue with that. She may not be here next EverNight.

  Fine.

  I turned and walked to the mantel, grabbing the matches we kept for the fireplace she no longer used and took one of her midnight patchouli-scented candles to the windowsill. I set it down and lit it, making sure the flame was visible through the glass.

  Such a stupid tradition.

  Although, there was something more alluring about it now, since Will told me more of the story. Every October 28, since 1955, a year after the Cold Point murder, the residents of Thunder Bay lit candles in their bedroom windows for Reverie Cross on the anniversary of her death.

  While the basketball team made their annual pilgrimages to Edward’s grave, everyone else honored his victim, convincing themselves that if they didn’t, not even death would withhold her vengeance. If your candle was still lit by morning, you were in her favor.

  If not, something bad would befall you before the next EverNight.

  It made about as much sense as throwing salt over your shoulder to ward off bad luck.

  I watched the reflection of the candle flickering in the window and then reached over, closing her other window. If she wanted the candle to stay lit, then she’d have to do one night without her beloved wind.

  I cast one quick glance out the window, wondering if Will had left.

  Walking over to her side, I took the cup and set it down, smoothing her hair away from her face. Eighty-two years old, and she looked five hundred.

  Except for the eyes. In her eyes, she still looked sixteen and secretly planning to steal the old man’s car for a joy ride with her friends.

  “Do you have a boy here?” she asked.

  I stilled. “No, Grand-Mère.”

  “Menteuse,” she retorted, calling me a liar in French. “Qui c’est?”

  “Who’s who?”

  She jerked her chin behind me, and I whipped around to see Will standing in the doorway.

  Dammit. I told him to leave.

  But he just walked in, smiling gently. “Allô,” he said. “Je m’appelle Guillaume.”

  I gaped at him, hearing French spew out of his mouth like it was nothing. Guillaume was the French variant of William.

  Seriously?

  Frankly, I’d been surprised he even spoke English. Figured him for someone who communicated solely in emojis.

  But my grandmother smiled. “Parlez-vous français?”

  “Un peu,” he said, measuring about half an inch with his fingers. “Très, très peu.”

  She laughed, and that same smile that made him look like he was built for hugs spread across his face.

  He looked down at her, and I rolled my eyes.

  Un peu, my ass.

  My grandmother had been born here, but her parents came from Rouen in France. They fled in the thirties under the growing threat from Germany, and even though she’d grown up speaking English at school here, her parents made sure to preserve her heritage.

  In turn, she raised my mother to speak French, as well. I didn’t speak it as well as I’d like, but I understood it.

  More French poured out of Will’s mouth as he talked with her, and I listened.

  “I hope we didn’t wake you.” He looked thoughtful. “Your granddaughter was giving me the verbal beating I deserved. I apologize.”

  My heart pitter-pattered a little, but then my grandma laughed.

  “Perhaps deserved,” she said. “And perhaps she has my short temper.”

  I leveled her a look.

  Settling back down into her bed, she took her mask off the hook, holding it. “It was a long time before I met someone who could take me,” she explained. “That’s the thing about broken people, Guillaume. If we ever give you our heart, then you know that you deserve it.”

  Tears welled in me, but only for a moment.

  “He was patient with me,” she told him, a far-off look in her eyes.

  My grandfather.

  Long since passed, but they were well and truly in love. At least she was happy for a while.

  “Now go,” she told us, starting to put on her mask. “I’m tired.”

  Like hell she was. We could watch a movie or something.

  “Grand-Mère…”

  But she shouted, “Go! Be young!”

  I wanted to laugh, telling her that I was forty-three at this
point and just over it, but it would make her happy if she knew I was happy, so…

  She put her mask on, and we left the room, me leading the way back to mine.

  Once inside, I closed the door and watched Will set a candle on my windowsill. It was the one that sat on my grandmother’s dresser. He must’ve swiped it.

  He pulled out a lighter from his jeans and lit it, positioning it center as the small glow came to life, burning against the black night.

  He turned, the light of the flame flickering in his eyes as he looked over at me.

  “No movies tonight then?” he asked, walking around my room.

  I shook my head, not meeting his eyes.

  “And I think,” he continued, moving toward me, “even if you could leave, you wouldn’t anyway.”

  Taking a step, I moved away from him, both of us circling each other.

  Again, I shook my head.

  “Because you’re suspicious of everything good,” he told me.

  I remained silent, continuing to move away as he moved in.

  “And it won’t end when you go to college or leave this town, Em. Nothing will change. You still won’t have good things.”

  I tried to swallow through the lump in my throat, but I couldn’t.

  “Because you’ll still be you,” he said.

  I breathed in and out a few times, and then the words spilled out before I could stop them. “I want to let this happen,” I told him, finally looking up and meeting his eyes. “Part of me really does, Will. You know why?”

  He stared, and I barely noticed that we’d both stopped moving.

  “Because as soon as it was over, I know I’d never have to hear from you again.”

  I didn’t blink as I held his eyes, his beautiful greens sharpening and his spine straightening.

  Yes, fucking you would be the one way to get rid of you. It was almost tempting.

  But then I watched his lips tighten as his eyes glistened.

  He fell silent, looking taken aback, and I faltered, watching my words work their way through his head, slicing a bloody path that I immediately regretted.

  He dropped his eyes, stuck the lighter into his pocket, and let out a resolved breath. “Why are you so mean?”

  But he didn’t really want an answer. Turning away, he left my bedroom and headed down the stairs, and in that moment, my insides crumbled, because I knew I’d gone too far.

  I didn’t want this.

  I didn’t want him to go, because I’d never hear from him again. I’d go to school tomorrow, pass him in the halls, but this time, he wouldn’t look back at me.

  I’d gone too far.

  Racing after him, I jogged down the stairs, leapt over the last few steps, and pushed the front door closed again just as he was opening it.

  “I’m sorry,” I blurted out, gripping his T-shirt at his waist and dipping my forehead into his back. “I’m not…” My voice shook. “I’m just…not a happy person, Will. And you’re right, I never will be.”

  Tears lodged in my throat, and I blinked long and hard to keep the tears away. I didn’t want to cry in front of him again.

  He stood there, still, only the beat of his heart pulsing through his body.

  “I’m not right for you,” I told him.

  And not because he was rich and popular and I wasn’t, but because he made my life better. I looked forward to him.

  What did I give him?

  “Noted,” he replied coolly. “Now let me go.”

  I squeezed my eyes shut at his cutting tone.

  He wouldn’t be back.

  And something started to come over me, like a curtain falling—or lifting—and for once in my life, I refused to stop myself. I was so cold.

  And he was so warm. It was like an invisible rope pulling me to the edge that it was beyond me to control.

  “You wanted your tie back,” I whispered.

  His back moved with each breath. “Keep it,” he told me. “Or throw it away.”

  He reached for the door handle.

  “You want something of mine instead?” I blurted out.

  He stopped, gripping the handle but not turning it.

  My heartbeat raged, and I knew I was going too far again. I’d regret this. I’d hate him later. He’d hate me. My brother could drop by on his rounds to check on me…

  But…I didn’t give a shit.

  I wanted to be here now.

  Pushing my cardigan over my shoulders, I pulled it off my arms and held it out in front of him.

  “This, perhaps?” I asked softly. But then I let it slide off my hand to the floor. “No, it won’t fit you, I guess.”

  He stared down at my discarded sweater, and I could barely breathe, but he wasn’t leaving, and I kept going.

  Taking the hem of my tank top, I pulled it over my head, the air hitting my bare breasts, every inch of my body alive with awareness. “Or this?” I murmured, holding my white top in front of him.

  His chest rose and fell harder, and it was like he was frozen, unable to move.

  I leaned in, pressing myself into his back, and dropped the shirt, whispering up into his ear, “That’s too small, too. I told you, Will Grayson. We…don’t…fit.”

  He exhaled hard, looking over his shoulder. “There’s a part of you that’s my size, I’ll bet,” he teased.

  I bit my bottom lip to keep my excitement in check. I slipped my hands inside his shirt and circled his waist, running my fingers over his stomach and up his abs.

  Heat pooled between my legs, and I nearly groaned, feeling his soft, tight skin, the muscles and curves of his body and things I wanted my mouth on now, not my hands.

  There was nothing about Will Grayson that wasn’t perfect. God…

  “I want to take off your shirt,” I told him.

  He planted his hand on the door to steady himself, and I could see the sweat on his temple.

  He looked exhausted. I almost smiled.

  After a moment, he straightened, and I took that as my cue. Lifting up his T-shirt, I pulled it over his head, dropped it to the floor, and came in, circling my arms around his waist and pressing my skin to his as I took a chunk of his back between my teeth.

  He gasped, slamming his hand into the door again, and I grinned.

  I dragged my teeth across his back and then licked his skin before kissing him. He moaned, and I held him, closing my eyes and feeling his body quiver. His smell—warm and heady—seeped into my brain.

  I wanted him to know he deserved better. I wanted him to know that if I were someone else, I’d be his and I’d love him so good.

  Running my hands up his chest, I traced the ridges of his collarbone, down the dip between his pecs, and trailed kisses on his back.

  Reaching over, I pulled a silk paisley scarf off the coat hanger and brought it up to wrap around his eyes.

  He inched away, trying to turn around, but I stopped him.

  “What’s this for?” he demanded.

  Every bruise on my body throbbed, and it took a moment to answer. “Rules,” was all I said.

  He didn’t understand, but he didn’t argue, either. I tied the scarf around his eyes so he could face me and not see everything.

  His breathing quickened as he lost sight of the world around him, and I turned him around, looking up at his face.

  “Can you see anything?” I asked.

  “No.”

  Inching up on my tiptoes, I pressed myself into him, guiding his arms around my body and then wrapping mine around his neck. “And now?”

  The corner of his lips lifted into a smile, his hands immediately roaming and taking hold of me. He ran his fingers all over my back, the pressure growing as he learned the terrain, and then he slid his hand up my stomach, taking one of my breasts in his palm as he leaned down and took my mouth with his.

  I sucked in a breath, whimpering at the heat and nerves firing over every inch of my body. Lifting me off my feet, he moved over my mouth, slipping his tongue between my lips,
and I groaned, feeling it down to my toes.

  A sound pierced the air, but I barely noticed as I wrapped my legs around his waist, lost in his body.

  His lips trailed to my neck, sucking, and I tightened my arms around him, trying to get closer and closer as I felt my eyes roll into the back of my head.

  “Will…”

  He squeezed my ass in both hands as I found his mouth again, almost too hungry to register the far-off sound when it happened again.

  He bit my lips and slipped my glasses off my head, setting them on the table.

  The sound—a ringing—perked my ears, and I finally blinked my eyes open.

  My phone. I pulled away from his mouth, turning my head over my shoulder toward the kitchen, hearing the special ringtone I had designated for Martin.

  Shit.

  I tried to push Will away. “I have to answer it.”

  “Don’t.”

  He pulled me in tighter, kissing me softly as he rubbed his thumb around my nipple again and again.

  “Please.” I moaned, not wanting to let him go. “It’s my brother.”

  “And I’m your man now.” He took off the blindfold, looking up into my eyes. “And I’m asking you for tonight.”

  He started to carry me up the stairs to my bedroom, but the phone rang again.

  That was three times he’d called.

  I squirmed out of Will’s hold, running back down the stairs. “If I don’t answer, he could come home to check on me. He could find you here.”

  He grabbed my arm, pulling me back. “Then let him.” He glared down at me. “I don’t give a shit. He won’t keep me away from you, so the sooner he knows the score, the better.”

  My naked body, except for my bottoms, seemed to scream, and even though it was dark, and he wouldn’t see much, he might still notice the bruises. I had to cover up.

  “Let me go,” I gritted out, anxious.

  But he didn’t. Pulling me in, he lifted me into his arms again and looked up into my eyes. “Look at me,” he said.

  I did, the softness in his voice making me forget my brother and my body for a moment.

  “I…” He trailed off, struggling for words. “I…like you.”

  It sounded like “I love you,” and my chin trembled.

  “I’ve liked you forever,” he said. “If you talk to him, the spell will break and the night will be over because you’re not the same in the sun. You’ll have all kinds of reasons again tomorrow about why I can’t have you. Stay with me tonight. Don’t talk to him. Don’t let anything between us tonight.”