“I’m sorry,” I mumble, my hand reaching back for my car fender to lean on. Dare cocks his head, so calm in the face of my panic.
“For what?”
“For falling apart,” I whisper. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
He’s unfazed. “Tell me what happened,” he suggests softly, and his hand is on my back now, rubbing lightly between my shoulder blades, reminding me to breathe.
“I told you... I was driving down the mountain and swerved because of a cat. I… don’t know why I panicked.”
“Maybe because your mom just died in a car crash?” Dare prompts gently, more gently than I would’ve ever guessed he could. “Maybe it scared you?”
“I don’t know,” I admit. “I just kept hearing her scream. She… I was on the phone with her when she died.”
I whisper that like a confession, because I know I’m the reason she’s dead. Dare doesn’t lower his gaze and once again, he doesn’t judge.
“That’s terrible.”
I nod. “Yeah.”
I realize suddenly that the roar I’d heard a minute ago wasn’t my car door, of course. It was Dare’s motorcycle. “Were you going to town?” I ask him half politely, half truly curious, but mostly just to change the subject.
He shakes his head. “No. I was coming back. I returned a library book.”
I’m not sure what I’m more focused on, the fact that he reads, or the fact that he was coming up the hill and I was going down, just like the night mom died.
She was coming up, someone else was going down.
“We could’ve hit,” I realize, a chill running down my spine.
Dare looks confused, his full lips parted. “Pardon?”
I shake my head. “I’m sorry. I was just…I’m happy I steered over to the side, rather than to the middle. Or you might’ve hit me.”
It’s a morbid thought and what the hell is wrong with me?
Dare stares at me, probably worried that he’s with some sort of psychopath, but he hides it nicely. “But I didn’t,” he points out. “We’re both fine.”
Are we?
“You’re shaking,” he says simply now. And with that, he rubs my arms, and somehow, I don’t know how, I fold into him. It feels right, it feels normal, it feels so freaking good, it feels like I’ve stepped into one of my dreams.
He startles for a second, and then lets me stand there, my forehead pressed to his shirt as he rubs my back. His scent is so soothing… so woodsy and masculine and perfect. He smells just like I dreamed he would. I breathe it in, then sniffle and that’s when I realize that I’m crying.
I’m an utter mess today.
He must think I’m a lunatic.
“I’m so sorry,” I apologize finally, stepping away from him. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“You’ve had a lot to deal with,” he says understandingly. “Anyone would be edgy.”
Would anyone be having a panic attack in the middle of the road, crying on a beautiful guy that she’s only just met?
I look at him. “You must think I’m crazy.”
He shakes his head solemnly. “Nope.”
“Because I’m not,” I insist.
His mouth twitches. “Never.”
I have to giggle now, at the ridiculousness of this situation.
I look at him and somehow, he seems so out of place out here among nature, with his slender, refined body and black eyes.
“Did you see the kitten?” I change the subject.
He shakes his head. “I just saw the dust from your tires on the shoulder.”
I’m worried now because I don’t want to be a cat killer on top of everything else. Dare takes one look at my expression and rushes to assure me, probably because he doesn’t want me to cry on him again.
“I’ll go look for it,” he tells me quickly. “Why don’t you go back up to the house so you’re not standing on the side of the road?”
I hesitate. “I should wait for you. I mean, you’re doing it for me, after all.”
He smiles, a wide bright smile. “You can repay me on a different day. For now, you should get out of the road.”
“But the groceries,” I murmur, already heading back to the car.
“We’ll get them later.”
We.
Dazed a bit, I start up my car, do a three-point turn and head back up to my home. I’m still dazed as I cross the yard and sink into a chair on the porch to wait.
Twenty minutes later, Dare’s bike idles back up the drive.
He’s empty-handed.
“I couldn’t find anything,” he calls out as he climbs off the bike and idles towards me. “I think maybe you saw a raccoon or something.”
I hesitate, trying to picture the animal I’d seen.
“It seemed too small to be a raccoon,” I offer.
“Maybe it was a baby,” he suggests.
Or maybe I’ve gone nuts and it wasn’t anything at all. But of course, I don’t say that.
“Thank you for looking,” I finally say, my gaze dropping to his feet. His boots are covered in dew and tiny bits of leaves. He really did trek out into the mountain to look.
“Want to go get your groceries now?”
I nod reluctantly, for some reason dreading the idea of driving down the mountain again.
Dare looks at me. “Want me to drive you?”
My head snaps up. “You want to come?”
He grins. “I need some shampoo. I’ll be happy to drive if you want.”
“Weren’t you wanting to read or something?”
He rolls his eyes. “I read at night when I’m trying to go to sleep. I’m perfectly free at the moment. In fact, I’ll be free tonight, too.”
The mere thought of Dare in his bed, sprawled out, naked, his muscles gleaming in the moonlight, it spreads heat to my cheeks and I yank my eyes back up to his, focusing on reality, not on Dare in his bed.
He grins. Dare me.
“Perhaps we should focus on the now,” he suggests lightly, as if he knows that he was just undressed in my mind. I internally combust, then nod.
“Yeah. I’d better get some groceries.”
I toss him my keys and we drive down the mountain.
We.
Dare and me.
It’s an exhilarating thought, and one that for the moment, distracts me from sadness.
That’s a miracle in itself.
10
DECEM
Finn
You’reAMiserableMiseraleMiserableExcuse, the voices hiss and I clench my teeth and draw around them, drawing faces and then scratching them out every time a voice says something. Before long, the page is covered in scribble.
Calla’s gone and I don’t know where she is, and for the first time in weeks, I’m alone.
I don’t like it.
I don’t like it.
A motor roars through the yard and I go to the window, looking down. The new guy stands on the edge of the grass. Calla stares up at him, her hand so close to the guy’s chest.
GetAwayFromHer.
GetAway.
I watch, enthralled, horrified as my sister smiles.
It’s like she knows him. Like she belongs there, smiling with him.
I’m alone and she’s there.
It’s wrong.
It’s wrong.
I grit my teeth again, because it’s not wrong. My sister is an adult and she can do what she wishes and obviously it’s normal for her to smile at a guy.
But not him, the voices protest, so many of them that I can’t tell them apart. There’s something about him, something wrong, something he’s hiding.
He’s hiding.
YouCan’tTellHerSheWon’tBelieveYou. For the first time, I agree with them. Calla would never believe me if I voiced this reservation, because I don’t have any proof.
All I have is a feeling.
And we all know I’m crazy.
11
UNDECIM
Calla<
br />
I sort through the million different kinds of pasta sauce, picking one, before I find Dare in the shampoo aisle.
I’m halfway to him when my eye falls on Dove, the kind of shampoo my mother used. I can almost smell her hair as she hugged me, and my throat clams up and I pointedly look away, because that’s what I have to do when something reminds me. I have to ignore it and put it away for later. Because I simply can’t deal with it now.
“Are you ready?” I ask Dare. He nods, then eyes my heaping cart.
“Good thing we brought your car and not my bike,” he observes. I have to laugh, but I don’t want to explain how my father is sliding, how we’re out of every imaginable thing in my house. So I don’t.
Instead, we check out and load our stuff into the trunk and get on our way.
But once we’re on the road, Dare turns to me.
“I could use a drink. Could you?”
I’m giddy that he thinks I’m old enough, but I shake my head. “I’m not twenty-one,” I tell him sheepishly, but honestly, why am I embarrassed? My age is not my fault.
Dare grins, unaffected. “I meant a soda, young one.”
“Oh. Well, I know a coffee house. And they have sodas.”
“Let it be so, then,” he announces theatrically, like he’s at the helm of the Starship Enterprise.
“You’re not a Trekkie, are you?” I ask, scared that I might finally be finding a fault in this seemingly perfect guy as I turn the car down a narrow city street. He glances sidelong at me.
“What’s that?”
“You’re from England, not Mars, right?” I demand. “A trekkie. Someone who watches marathons of star trek and goes to star trek conventions dressed as an Ewok. You’re not that. Hopefully.”
“I take offense to that,” he says seriously. “First, an Ewok is from Star Wars, not Star Trek. Any good trekkie would know that.”
He pauses and I’m appalled because oh-my-gosh there’s no way.
“And also that you’d think so little of me. I’m not a trekkie. I’m a die-hard Whovian. I don’t think I can be both.”
Dr. Who, England, of course. I smile limply and pull into a parking spot.
“I just admitted a guilty pleasure,” he tells me, with his hand on the handle. “It’s your turn. What’s one of yours?”
Honestly, I haven’t thought about any pleasures in six weeks.
“Um.” Daydreaming about you. “I like the Arctic Monkeys.”
He barks out a laugh as I name the British band, and gets out of the car, coming around to open my door while I’m still fiddling with my seat belt. I look up at him, mesmerized by his manners.
“I’ll try and look past that,” he says solemnly as I brush past him, inhaling his cologne on my way.
He opens the coffee house door for me, too, and we wait in the trendy line for our turn. He looks at me.
“And this is what I’m afraid the hospital café will turn into,” he says quietly, like he’s sharing a secret. I nod, completely serious.
“Yeah. I can see that there’s a need to worry.”
I picture the sterile hospital environment, shrouded with the screams from the Psych Ward and giggle. “Tons of need to worry.”
Dare raises his eyebrows. “I’m glad we agree.”
We get our sodas, but instead of heading to the car, Dare heads for a table. “Do you mind if we sit for a minute? I’m sure our food will be fine for a few minutes in the car.”
“Ok.”
I sit across from him and play with my straw, and we stare at each other. After a minute, he smiles and I decide that his smile might be my new favorite thing.
And then I promptly feel guilty for having a favorite anything.
My mother is dead and I killed her. I’m not allowed to enjoy things anymore.
I stare at him as flatly as I can, ignoring the way little fingers lap at my stomach, urging it to flip over and over as Dare looks at me, as his silver ring glints in the sunlight.
What is it about that one motion, that one tiny thing, that always sticks in my head? It’s so stupid. Such a silly thing to focus on.
“As me a question,” Dare finally says, breaking the silence. “I know you want to.”
“I don’t,” I answer evenly.
“You lie.”
I sigh. “Maybe.”
He grins wickedly enough to send a nervous thrill through me. “So ask me.”
“Um, let’s see. How long are you staying here?” I ask conversationally, like I’m not dying to know the answer.
He shrugs. “I’m not sure yet.”
I stare at him. “That’s not an answer.”
“It has to be, because that’s the truth.”
“But sometimes the truth is deceptive,” I fling back at him, and this sobers him right up.
“What do you mean by that?” he asks, somewhat defensively. Hmm. Interesting reaction.
“I just meant that sometimes, the truth is so crazy that it doesn’t seem true. Like you saying you don’t know how long you’ll be here. You have to know how long you’ll be here.”
He stares at me, amused now. “But I don’t.”
“You’re frustrating,” I tell him. He grins. “Guesstimate, then.”
“Fine,” he says, sounding satisfied. “If you’re worried about me leaving, I’ll guesstimate. I guess… I’ll be here as long as it takes.”
“As long as what takes?” I ask.
He shrugs.
I want to throat punch him.
“You’re seriously frustrating,” I answer. He laughs.
“I’ve heard that before,” he admits.
“I bet,” I grumble.
He’s laughing and the sound of it vibrates my ribs, filling my belly with warmth. It’s a warmth that I don’t deserve to feel. I try to shove it down, try to shove it away, but the guilt keeps coming back, present in everything I do.
No matter what.
I shouldn’t be sitting here enjoying myself, that’s for sure.
I shouldn’t be fantasizing about this sexy man, dreaming about him, wishing I could be with him. I don’t deserve it. I squeeze my eyes tightly shut, and when I open them, I notice something on Dare’s boot, mixed with the grass from the mountainside.
Blood.
“Um. What’s that?” I ask stiltedly, because I already know.
He follows my pointing finger, then meets my gaze.
“It’s blood. I didn’t realize it was there.”
“What’s it from?” My words are calm, much calmer than my racing heart.
“From a raccoon,” Dare sighs.
My eyes meet his. “I hit it, didn’t I?”
He nods slowly.
“I killed it?”
He nods again. “It’s dead.”
“Why didn’t you tell me before?” My voice is shaky now, and I fight to control it.
His dark gaze doesn’t waver. “Because there’s nothing we can do about it. It’s dead, and I’m sure it was instantaneous. It didn’t suffer and I didn’t want you to feel bad about it. I’m sorry. I should’ve just told you.”
Oh my God. I’m a menace to society. I know it was just a raccoon, but it had a life, and then it came into contact with me, and now it’s dead.
“We should go,” I say quietly, pushing away from the table and heading for the door without waiting for him to respond. He does follow me, though, and when we reach the car, he turns to look at me in confusion.
“Did I do something?”
“Of course not,” I tell him tiredly. “Nothing at all. I should just be getting back. I’m sure my brother is wondering where I am.”
I haven’t left him alone this long in forever.
I drive this time, because I’ve got to be normal. I’ve got to put what happened this morning out of my head. You fall off a horse, you get back on. Your mom dies in a crash, you have to drive again.
When we’re sitting in front of the funeral home, I kill the ignition, and Dare hops out, grabb
ing eight bags of groceries while I carry four.
“You don’t have to cart these in,” I tell him as we tumble in through the back door. He doesn’t reply, he just heads straight to the kitchen, as though it’s his house, as though he’s been there before.
Curiously, I follow him, watching him begin to unload the items, putting the milk in the fridge and going straight to where the sugar belongs, sliding it into place.
“How do you know where everything goes?” I ask stupidly, watching him put the bread away. “You don’t seem the type to know your way around any kitchen, much less mine.” He pauses, lifting his eyebrow.
“It says Bread Box,” he points.
I flush.
“And the rest is common sense,” he adds, opening the cabinet above the stove and putting away the salt.
Still. He moves around with such familiarity.
I’m… imagining things, I decide. Of course I am.
When everything is done, Dare leans back against the counter. “Today was fun,” he tells me, his eyes gleaming, his body stretched out.
I nod. “Thank you for taking me to town.”
He smiles.
“Anytime.”
He starts for the door, then pauses and turns. “I mean that,” he adds. “I’d like to do that again. Go have a soda with you, I mean.”
He’s so beautiful as he stands bathed in the sunlight in my doorway. I gulp hard, trying to swallow the guilty lump in my throat. With everything that I am, or ever will be, I want to say yes.
But I can’t.
“I…uh….” I don’t deserve to. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to. My brother needs me.”
I turn around, because my eyes are watery and hot, and I’m ridiculous and I don’t want Dare to see me cry again.
Dare’s voice comes from right behind me, six inches away.
“Calla, look at me.”
I stare pointedly at the walnut cabinets, trying not to let the hot tears spill, because as much as I’m trying to hold them in, the tears keep welling up.
One escapes, slipping down my cheek.
Dare pulls me around, then drops his hand, staring me in the eye. He’s so intent, so serious. He wipes my tear away with a thumb.
“You deserve to have a life, too,” he tells me, his voice even. “You can take care of Finn and still take care of you.”
Nocte Page 7
