by Sherry Soule
I clear my throat. “How did you get my cell number?”
He lazily smiles. “From your phone.”
Duh.
I place both hands on my hips. “When you stole it to delete the dog-rescuing footage?”
He is quiet, and looks like he usually does, insanely hot and overly serious, a peculiar combination, which has fascinated me since he first time I saw him at school. But there’s a tense pull to his lips. Other than that, he remains tongue-tied. The silence stretches into awkward minutes.
I tap my foot. Hel-lo. I’m talking here. Are you mute?
Huffing, I change the subject. “What’s so urgent that it couldn’t wait until Monday?”
“I wanted to...”
My mom’s Toyota Prius rounds the corner with my little brother sitting in the front seat. I inwardly groan and clutch Hayden’s hand, jerking him around the side of the house. He looks at me curiously with a trace of a smile on his beautiful lips. The Prius parks and they scrabble out, followed by the slam of two car doors.
“Mom, you don’t understand. I need that new PlayStation game! I’m the only kid at school who doesn’t have it,” Jonah whines.
“Honey, you don’t even play half the games you got for your birthday.”
The front door opens and closes on their voices.
He arches an eyebrow at me. “Not ready for me to meet the fam?”
“Come on.” I ignore his snark. “Let’s walk to Scott’s Good Eats and get some food.”
“I’ve never been.”
My eyes widen. “You’re kidding, right? They only serve the best jumbo cheeseburgers and garlic fries on the island!”
Hayden throws up his hands. “Sold.” He looks at the ground, then back at me. “You look great, by the way. Like your shoes.”
“Thanks.” I can’t stop the goofy smile that spreads across my face.
We walk along tree-lined streets past beautiful Victorians. The evening sky is clear enough that the stars tremble against the darkness like distant fireflies. The weather is mild and a salty ocean breeze tickles our skin.
I glance at his profile. “So, whaddya want to see me about?”
Hayden’s remarkable gaze meets mine, whisking the breath from my lungs.
“Is there any way I can get you to bury that story on me?” he asks. “How about I pay for your dinner?”
But I don’t want to forget the article. I need answers. It’s not like I’m just that “Girl Reporter” who has to land the big story, but more like my curiosity is maxed out. And the way he keeps trying to talk me out of writing it—makes the whole thing all the more intriguing.
“I’ll think about it,” I say, echoing back his words to me from a few days ago. “But in the meantime, you can still buy me a burger.”
We cross the street and stroll toward the downtown area near the South Shore Plaza. An uneasy niggling works its way up my spine, like spiders crawling on my back. I jerk around to look behind us, but the street is empty. No one following us.
“What is it?”
“Nothing,” I say, tugging at my collar.
Just stay calm and stop being so dang paranoid. But my mind is a jumble of questions and thoughts. And I need to proceed cautiously.
“Hayden?”
“Hmmm.”
“While I was shopping earlier, my friends and I ran into this boy named Brendan. He mentioned that he used to be in a band with you and Zach.”
“Yeah, I remember him. Haven’t talked to that guy in ages.”
“Um, this is going to sound kind of weird, but he said your grandfather used to talk about the war a lot—World War One.”
He stops walking and his hands squeeze up into tight fists. “Sloane, you need to stop investigating my family. Please.”
If he thinks I’ll quit working on my article, then he’s dumber than a box of rocks.
“Not gonna happen, Lancaster.”
“Sloane, come on. What’s the headline going to read, ‘Old guy talks about ancient history’?” He waves his hands in the air. “Go alert the media.”
“Not funny. So tell me the truth then.”
He sighs heavily and keeps walking, but doesn’t respond. It’s no secret we both have an agenda. Mine: to get him to spill his secrets. Him: to keep them concealed. I wonder who’ll win this round tonight.
Hayden and I stroll past the Unlucky 13 bar until we get to Scott’s Good Eats, a restaurant no bigger than a two-car garage. Hayden opens the door for me and I walk past him inside. The aroma of spices and fried food make my mouth hyper-salivate. It’s not very crowded tonight and we take seats near the front window. The décor is basic with round tables covered by checkerboard tablecloths and wooden chairs. A plump waitress hands us two menus.
Hayden grips the menu and scans the contents. He glances over the rim at me. “Two sodas okay with you?”
I nod. “Yup. But make mine diet.”
“You heard the lady,” he says to the waitress. “One Diet Pepsi and one regular, please.” Once she’s gone, he turns those amazing eyes on me. “Are you dieting?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I snap.
“Nothing. You ordered a diet soda, so I wondered why.”
“Well, for your information, I’m not. I just like the taste.”
“Good because you don’t need to. I can’t stand girls with the body of a twelve-year-old boy. I like me some curves.” He winks at me, then changes the subject. “Why didn’t you want me to meet your family?”
I peer at him over the top of my plastic menu. “Too many questions. And I don’t usually bring strange boys home to meet them. Emphasis on strange.”
His gaze burns into mine, smoldering and intense. He clears his throat. “I’ve never introduced my parents to a girl I liked, either.”
Hold the mayo. My stomach does a pole vault. What the heck does that remark mean?
The waitress arrives with our sodas, and I immediately take a sip from the straw.
“Ready to order?” the waitress asks.
Hayden looks over at me. “Sloane? Do you know what you want?”
“A cheeseburger with everything on it,” I say. “Extra mustard, please.”
Hayden glances at the waitress. “Make that two, and we’d like to split some garlic fries.”
The waitress nods and flounces back to the kitchen area. For a few minutes, we gaze out the window at the people walking by and the passing cars.
“How long have you been into horror stuff?” he asks finally, leaning back.
I twirl my straw and use it to stir the ice in my glass, so I don’t have to meet his eyes. “I guess my love for the genre started at the age of nine, back in the days when my family went on our regular Friday night rent-a-movie store runs.” I smile at the memory. “One particular evening, I remember venturing into the scary movie section and I think my face must’ve lit up. Blood and gore and scares galore!” I laugh. “Those movies just sounded like a whole lot of twisted fun. I paced the row of stocked shelves checking out the freaky DVD covers until my mom dragged me—kicking and screaming—back to the family aisle. And I’ve been hooked ever since.”
His expression warms. “You’re a fascinating girl.”
I flash him a smile. “You have no idea.”
He reaches out and his large hand holds my smaller one for a brief instant. My heart starts bouncing around my ribcage like a ping-pong ball. I lean back. Safety in distance.
“Besides a love of scary movies, hanging in graveyards, and eating cheeseburgers, what do you like to do?” he asks.
“I don’t know…stuff like reading graphic novels or shopping with my friends. And sometimes I like to stay up late and watch zombie flicks while munching on popcorn. The usual.”
“A lot of people are into vampires right now. So why are zombies your favorite?”
Ah, a topic I love chatting about!
“They just are. I mean, sure, vampires are way cooler, but zombies are so much creepier. Bloodsuc
kers have nothing on flesh eaters when it comes to giving me a good scare. I think it’s because vamps are mythical creatures, and in an apocalyptic scenario, zombies actually seem more realistic and even scientifically possible.”
“You have an apocalypse emergency plan ready?”
“Oh, yeah. Learned all I need to know by watching The Walking Dead.” I smirk. “I always kind of figured if there was an actual virus outbreak it would be like a form of rabies. Makes more sense, you know? I have a pack full of stuff in our garage, several bottles of water, some non-perishable food, first aid supplies, duct tape, Army knife, and a blanket. Even mapped out an evacuation route from my house to the woods.”
He shifts and turns toward me. “I’m impressed. You can definitely join my survival team.”
“Ha! You can join mine. The control-freak in me has to be the leader. If you’re cool with that, then we can join forces.”
His lips twitch into a slight smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “So, which Walking Dead character would you be?”
“Michonne—duh! That chick is just all kinds of badass samurai.”
He shakes his head, that small smile still gracing his lips. “Do you even know anything about handling swords?”
“Nope. But I’m a quick study.” I twirl my straw. “What about you?”
“Ah, Carl is freakin’ hardcore. But I guess, Daryl, because he’s more of a rebel and survivalist. And that crossbow? Awesome.” He strokes his chin thoughtfully. “Maybe we can strike some type of deal.”
A deal? Is he starting to open up to me? Or being manipulative to get me to kill the story?
“Like what?” I ask cautiously.
The waitress returns with our food before he responds.
Hayden takes a tentative bite, and then grins around a mouthful of burger. “It is freakin’ good.”
“Told you,” I say and dig into my food with relish.
We stuff our faces until our bellies are full. Hayden pays the check, and once again holds the door open for me. His mother raised at least one of her sons with outstanding manners. We bustle past a large family heading inside the restaurant.
“So, about that deal...” He runs his hand through his hair, and looks serious again. “I have a proposition for you,” he says slowly. “How about we get to know each other a little better, and for now you promise to leave my family out of your editorial.”
My heartbeat speeds up to full-throttle. Behind-the-scenes access to Hayden and all of his juicy secrets? Yes, please!
Or is this another stalling tactic until he can find a way to get me to drop the article?
I cross my arms over my massive chest. Not easy. “Why?”
“For some unexplainable reason, you intrigue me. Your quirky confidence and that crazy purple hair are so cute.”
Cute? You’ve got to be kidding me. Cute is for kittens. I’d prefer sexy goddess, but still...it’s kind of a nice compliment.
We start walking down the street, our shoulders brushing.
“That’ll work. On one condition,” I say.
“Name it.”
“No more evading questions.”
“I can do my best.”
“Goody.”
He pats his stomach. “Man, I’m stuffed.”
Something he said at the graveyard occurs to me, and I ask, “I thought you normally had to have dinner with your parents every night. Did you bail on them?”
“No.”
“Then how did you manage to eat all that food?”
“Everyone in my family has a high metabolism,” he says smoothly and winks his green eye at me. “I’m always hungry…”
If only that were true for me. I average between a size twelve to fourteen and love to eat. Not sure it would be worth it to give up burgers just to be thinner like Viola. Sigh.
“Must be nice,” I say. And yeah, I’m a tad jealous.
He glances at me. “I had a nice time tonight.”
“Good. Maybe we can do it again sometime.” Another opportunity to dig.
Hayden stops abruptly. “Really?”
Oh, crap. That totally sounds like I’m hitting him up for a second date. My cheeks blaze with warmth and I’m sure I look like a tomato.
“It’s just...” His voice is soft. “I want to be clear, we can’t be anything more than friends, Sloane…you’ll only end up collateral damage.”
I frown. “Collateral damage? Seriously? What the hell does that even mean?”
“Sloane, relax.” Hayden takes a shallow breath. “Dammit, I’m saying this all wrong.”
“Ya think?”
“It’s to protect you.”
I arch an eyebrow. “From?”
“I can’t...” He groans and his long bangs flop onto his forehead, nearly obscuring his anxious stare. “I want you to be safe and I can be really impulsive. It’s just that when I catch the way you look at me sometimes, I get the feeling you’d like more.”
Oh. My. God.
Am I that obvious?
An even hotter flush steals across my face and sweeps down my neck. I am beyond mortified. This is bad. So bad. I need to take my fragile, wounded ego and go hide. For, oh…like a decade.
For a moment, my vision goes black and red. My body shakes with humiliation. I need to get away from him. Now. I step forward, stiffly, like my beloved zombies, and catch myself on my shoelace, staggering off the curb and onto the pavement.
“Sloane! Look out!”
Hayden shoves me roughly out of the way, and I go stumbling over to the safety of the sidewalk across the road.
The squeal of tires whips my head around. A fender-dented Geo Metro slams into Hayden. His body hits the hood, bounces upward, and strikes the windshield, shattering the glass. Bones crunch and blood splatters the white paint. He flies up and over the roof, landing in a pitiful heap on the pavement behind the small car.
Hayden doesn’t move.
TEN
“Oh, god! Hayden!” I scream and rush to his body.
Blood oozes from a two-inch gash on his forehead and scrapes and cuts sprinkle his skin.
It all happened so fast, one minute I’m staggering on my feet, and the next, he’s shoving me out of the way of that car, and the vehicle plows right into him.
“Hayden?” I fall to my knees beside him. My shoulders slump and tears cloud my vision.
I touch his cheek, but he doesn’t respond. Just lies there motionless, one arm twisted at an odd angle. His bloodstained jeans are torn and the shoe is missing from his right foot.
Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod.
No one deserves to die like this. Especially, cute boys with possible Superman-like powers. He lays motionless with his eyes closed, and blood drips from the gash on his forehead.
“Show me some of those superpowers now,” I whisper and place my fingertips on his neck. His pulse beats faintly against my skin.
The driver throws open the car door and stumbles out. She covers her mouth with one hand, but it’s not enough to block the stench of liquor. “I didn’t see...it was an accident...” She breaks into drunken sobs.
I glare at her. “Stay the hell back, lady!” I cradle Hayden’s head in my lap. “Hold on, Hayden. I promise you’ll be fine.”
A small crowd forms around us. Someone’s leg bumps into my back while talking on their cell with the police. Good. I hope they arrest her drunk-ass and throw away the key.
“Is he all right?” a man asks, leaning over my shoulder.
My hands clench the cotton fabric of my shirt. “I-I don’t know.” I glance at the people surrounding us. “Help me, please. I need a paper towel or something. Anything to stop the blood.”
“Here take my handkerchief.” The man pats my shoulder. “I’ll call 911. Just apply pressure to the wound.”
“Thank you.” Blood trickles from the deep cut on Hayden’s forehead down the side of his face, and I press the hankie against the wound. Within seconds blood soaks the cloth.
Hayden’s
eyes flutter open. “Sloane, are you hurt?”
He’s the one lying on the ground broken and bloody, and he’s asking me if I’m okay? If he weren’t such a mangled mess, I’d hug him. I hold his anxious, burning gaze for a moment, and a swell of gratitude that he’s still alive hits me hard.
I smooth the hair from his forehead. “I’m fine. But you not so much.”
He starts to laugh, then grimaces. “Ouch. How bad is it?”
“Not great.” I look him over. “You’ll definitely need some nursing for a while.”
“It hurts...everywhere.”
“I’m so sorry this happened.” I swallow hard. “You and cars don’t get along, huh?” I tease.
“Doesn’t seem like it,” he rasps.
“Where’s the ambulance? Why isn’t it here yet?” I ask, gazing at the blur of faces.
“Sloane?” Hayden’s voice sounds weak.
“Someone already called 911,” I say. “Do you want me to call your parents?”
“No!” He shakes his head and points to his pants pocket with his uninjured arm. “Call Zach.”
I dig Hayden’s phone out of his pocket, but it’s been smashed in the accident and won’t turn on. “I’ll have to call him on my phone. What’s his number?”
“It’s…it’s…” He winces against the pain and his face clouds with confusion.
“Just hang on until the ambulance gets here.”
His face pales. “No. No, Sloane,” he harshly whispers. “Please, help me...can you run back for your car and come get me?”
“Are you nuts? Hayden, you need to go to the hospital—”
“Please.” His beseeching tone plucks at my heartstrings. “Please, Sloane.”
“I can’t leave you unprotected,” I argue. “What if the paramedics show up before I get back?”
“Then hurry. Go.” He grabs my hand and squeezes, his eyes pleading with mine. “Please. They’ll find out about me.”
I lean close to his ear. “Find out what?”
“You know what.” His eyes meet mine. “I can’t go to the hospital…”
“Because of your superpowers?” I whisper.
He slumps down. “Yes…”
I stare down into his face with resolve. “If you promise to tell me everything, I’ll help you.”
