“I knew one day I’d regret bringing you into my life.” Barbara was out for blood now, but Sam felt invulnerable, protected by an outer shell that hadn’t been there just hours ago. How crazy she had been to expect love from this woman. She was nothing but an empty shell.
“Well, I’m sorry you feel that way.” Calmly, Sam turned off the stove and moved her French toast onto the plate. She squeezed a ton of honey on top, cut a piece with a fork, speared it and stuffed it into her mouth. “Mmm,” she moaned, closing her eyes.
Barbara just stared, disconcerted by Sam’s new self-assurance.
“Don’t worry.” Sam licked the fork distractedly. “I’ll be out of your hair tomorrow for the summer, and out of your life sooner than you think.” Sam didn’t know what made her say that part, but it felt true enough. She took her plate and walked past Barbara who, for the first time, seemed to have lost her ability to throw verbal barbs.
“If I were you,” Sam said, stopping by the foot of the stairs, “I wouldn’t be in such a hurry to end up all alone.”
Half-expecting Barbara to chase her, venom spewing from her mouth, Sam stopped halfway up the stairs when she heard . . . a sob? Was Barbara crying?! For a moment, Sam hesitated. She hadn’t meant to make her cry. Heck, was that even possible? Sam turned, ready to apologize but her guilt was short-lived.
“You had better watch your words from now on, if you expect me to pay for your fancy culinary school.” She looked over her shoulder to see Barbara smiling with spiteful pleasure.
Sam’s fist tightened around her fork. “That’s what makes you such a successful lawyer. You love to hit below the belt. Keep your money. I don’t want it.”
She hurried upstairs, away from all the ugliness, locked her door, finished the rest of her dinner, then sat by the windowsill to think. Surprisingly, she didn’t think of all she’d lost. She knew she’d figure out a way to go to culinary school. Instead, she closed her eyes and pictured Greg. His awkwardness aside, something about him made things click. As she recalled each and every one of his perfect features, her breath caught. How was it possible to remember the flawless shape of his eyebrows or the exact angle of his nose? She couldn’t even remember if Drew Puckett was a blonde or a brunette, and he was the hottest guy in school.
Butterflies unsettled her stomach with exciting emotions, emotions that left her strangely embarrassed and frightened, as if they were an anomaly or something she shouldn’t feel.
Is this how it’s supposed to feel when you like somebody? She had no reference point. She’d never gone this giddy over a guy. Amazing how she’d managed to do that while tutoring and pretending not to notice the way he was looking at her. Was this normal? And if it was, why did it feel so strangely . . . wrong?
Help from an expert was in order. She picked up the phone and dialed.
* * *
“Hey, Sammy,” Brooke greeted her happily.
“Hi, Brooke. How’s it going?”
“Kinda boring the last few days. How ‘bout you?”
“Not boring. That’s for sure.”
“Spill, girl. Got nothin’ but time.”
“Okay. For one, my adoptive parents are getting a divorce.” It was unfair to spring it on her like that, but Sam wanted to get to the real topic of interest as quickly as possible.
“Wait . . . what? Back up, Sammy. Is this a joke?”
“Nope. Barbara and James are getting a divorce, and they aren’t really my parents. They adopted me when I was two.”
Brooke was mute.
“Hello?”
“I’m here,” Brooke said uncertainly. “Are you all right? This is a heck of a lot, even for me to digest. How are you taking it?”
“I’m fine . . . now.”
“How did you find out? Did they just spring that on you along with the divorce news? ‘Cause if they did, they’re worse than I thought.”
“No, no . . . it’s a long story.”
“I told you I’ve got time. You sure you’re fine?”
“I wasn’t, until this afternoon. I . . . met somebody.”
“Ah-hum.” Brooke sounded cautious.
“His name’s Greg.” Sam felt her cheeks heat up like carnival lights just by saying his name.
“You mean you met a guy? One you actually like? Who is this Adonis, this god, and where did you meet him?” Sure enough, as soon as there was the mention of a boy, Brooke seemed to forget all about the adoption/divorce business.
“At school.”
“Huh?” Brooke sounded confused, and Sam chuckled, enjoying throwing her for a loop.
“You don’t like any of the guys at school. The only Greg I know is Greg Romani and he’s too young for you . . . unless . . .” Brooke let the word hang in the air teasingly.
“It’s not that Greg!” Sam protested. “He’s a baby.” She shuddered at the thought. “There’s a new transfer student taking trig over the summer. He called me ‘cause he needed a tutor.”
“Oh, my gosh! This is so cool. Tell me what he looks like. Better yet, send me a picture.”
“I don’t have a picture. I just met him.” That was just the kind of thing Brooke would do, take a picture of someone she had just met.
“Well, take one A.S.A.P. and send it,” Brooke ordered. “How hot is he? Is he Sugar Coma of the Eye?” she sang her favorite expression, but then huffed in frustration.
“What?”
“I just had a thought, how come you meet all these hot guys while I’m up here? A stranger at the mall, a new student, what’s next? Are you just making them up to make me jealous?”
“Oh, they’re real,” Sam said, reassuring herself as much as Brooke that she hadn’t imagined the whole thing.
“So tell me more,” Brooke urged.
“Well, I wanted to ask you . . . when you like a guy . . .” Sam didn’t know how to continue.
“Yesss?”
“Do you ever feel as if . . . you shouldn’t like him?”
“You sure we’re not talking about the Romani kid?”
“I’m being serious, Brooke.” That was the problem with Brooke. Sometimes, it was hard to reel her back to reality.
“Okay. Um, I guess if I knew he was dating somebody, I might feel guilty. This Greg’s got a girlfriend?”
“No, I . . . I don’t think so. He just moved here.”
“Well then what? Does he look like Quasimodo or something?”
“No, he is . . . he’s unlike anyone I’ve ever met . . . except for Ashby.”
“Wait. Ashby? The crazy guy from the mall?”
“Mm-hum.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, it’s just they seem so . . . similar. Like brothers. No. More like the same breed or something,” Sam said with a nervous laugh. It sounded crazy, but it made sense in her head.
Brooke laughed. “What are they? Dogs?” And after a pause in which Sam didn’t laugh, “Look, it’s great that you met somebody, but I don’t know, Sammy. Here you are, talking about a couple of guys you barely know, when some really serious stuff’s going on in your life. Guys are one of my favorite topics of conversation. You know that, but I think you’re using them to avoid talking about what’s really bothering you.”
“I see your point. If we’d talked this morning, the conversation would have gone a lot different. But then I met Greg, and as crazy as that sounds, he changed everything. I feel . . . safe from everything, even from all my parents’ crap. It’s hard to explain.”
“Well, if he’s hot enough, I may let him be my guardian angel and eternal keeper, too,” Brooke laughed, trying to lighten the mood.
Sam’s lungs stopped working momentarily.
Keeper? Keeper?!
If her brain was a marionette and somebody was controlling the strings, then they were pulling a cord every time Sam thought of the word.
“We can take turns,” Brooke joked.
“No, you can’t have him!” Sam snapped back.
Ugh, what the hell
made me say that?! I’m going crazy.
“Ooohhh,” Brooke teased. “If you’re gonna be that way . . . fine then.”
After that, they both giggled and left it at that. They talked lightheartedly for another twenty minutes, but after hanging up, Sam was left with an uneasy feeling. Brooke liked being silly most of the time, with her “life’s too short to take it seriously” philosophy. But her comment about Sam’s avoidance of the real issues kind of hit home. Could she be in denial about the situation with her parents? Was her imagination getting carried away with these two boys in an effort to distract herself? She didn’t think so, but wasn’t that why they called it being in denial?
Sam pressed her palm against her forehead. If she thought about it anymore, she would get a headache. Instead, she found a suitcase and started packing. As she rummaged through her closet, her thoughts lazily wandered back to Greg, his sparkling blue eyes and his midnight, glossy hair. She imagined how silky it would feel to the touch.
Chapter 13 - Greg
Greg woke up in a cold sweat. The feeling of peace he’d had when he lay down to sleep was gone, replaced now by the same anxiety that had driven him cross-country to Indiana. He sat up as if propelled by a spring and tried to look out of the car windows, but they were foggy in the morning mist.
A cold prickle at the base of his neck made him shudder. He opened the door and hopped out. It was daylight already, but just barely. He’d slept for the rest of the afternoon and through the night. He looked around with the distinct feeling that someone was watching him, but the parking lot was deserted except for his car.
No. Nobody was watching him . . . but maybe they were watching her. Jumbled thoughts and emotions ran through him. Greg tried to relax. There had to be a way to interpret his surge of instincts, but he didn’t yet know how. He was learning, just not quickly enough. He’d almost been too late yesterday. Something told him that if his phone call had reached Sam a minute later, he would have lost her. The mere thought made his heart ache. Breathing deeply and purposefully, he concentrated.
Closing his eyes, he relaxed his shoulders and let his hands drop loosely at his sides. After a few more deep breaths, his eyes sprang open, a large, yellow-and-green logo burned into his mind’s eye. He recognized the symbol immediately. A gas station.
Blood pumping, Greg got into the car and switched on the ignition. Soon, he found himself driving aimlessly through town. There were several gas stations nearby, but none with that yellow-and-green logo. He was about to stop and ask when he spotted it.
Greg pulled in and parked in front of the adjoining convenience store. A confident feeling washed over him. This was the right place. He stepped out, his eyes darting around, looking for trouble in every corner. His nose registered the smell of gasoline and burnt motor oil. He heard the slow traffic running down the adjacent road. All of his senses were fine-tuned and on red alert. He didn’t know what he was looking for, but his gut told him he was in the right place. He walked around, trying to act natural. It was still early, and everything was serene.
Inside the convenience store, a middle-aged woman slumped over the counter. When Greg walked in, she straightened and blinked.
“Good morning,” she said, sounding more lucid than she looked. “Up early, huh?”
“’Morning.” Greg walked toward the back, opened a freezer and pulled out a bottle of milk. Breakfast wasn’t a bad idea.
“We’ve got hot, fresh donuts over here, if you’re interested,” the lady at the counter said.
Greg surveyed a set of shelves and found something more to his liking: Pop-Tarts. While his body procured breakfast, his mind rifled through a slew of images that desperately needed sorting. Crackling red lighting, a huge ball of fire, a dark figure. The snatches of information were frustrating, too slippery to be of any use.
“This summer’s just brutal, isn’t it? My geraniums are looking dreadful these days,” the cashier said as she scanned Greg’s items. “It’s four ninety-eight.”
He pulled out a five dollar bill while the cashier continued chattering, undeterred. She looked like a child behind the counter. She couldn’t be more than five feet tall.
“Thank you, Miriam,” Greg said, grabbing his food and change.
The cashier’s face lit up as she self-consciously touched her name tag. She grinned.
“You’re not from around here, are ya?” Miriam asked.
He shook his head and twisted the cap off of his milk bottle.
“A handsome boy like you, I would have noticed.” She winked. Greg felt uncomfortable, but he could tell Miriam was harmless enough.
“My parents are relocating. I’ll be going to school here.” He took a swig of milk. “Hey, Miriam, if I hang out in my car and study, you won’t call the cops on me, will you?” He flashed her a smile.
She frowned, her guard immediately up. So much for trying to rely on his good looks.
“I don’t mean any trouble,” he added quickly, “I just . . . don’t know where else to wait. Uh, my parents are flying in today, and . . .” Greg’s shoulders drooped. He was terrible at this. She probably suspected foul play involving her cash register.
Miriam chuckled, amused at his discomfort. “You can wait as long as you want. I don’t know what you’re up to, but I don’t think it’s anything bad. Deal’s off if I see any funny business. Okay?” she added, raising her eyebrows.
“I’ll just be studying,” Greg said, walking outside before she changed her mind.
Two hours later, Greg was still waiting. He’d gone back inside to buy a pack of gum, and now he sat looking out the rearview mirror, blowing bubbles to kill the boredom. Traffic had picked up, and several people stopped to fill up their tanks or get breakfast. Still, there was no sign of anything suspicious.
Greg was almost out of his mind with boredom when he noticed a blue Toyota Prius pull in. He recognized Sam’s ride from the day before, and immediately got out of his car. Greg rushed in her direction, looking all around for the source of the danger he now sensed looming over her. Sam set the nozzle to fill automatically and stepped to the side. As the gallons ticked by, she looked around distractedly. Slowly, her eyes wandered and met Greg’s approaching figure, surprise registering on her face as she recognized him.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
Stopping only two steps away, Greg towered over her and looked around frantically. Sam stepped toward her door, clearly taken aback. No doubt she would change her mind about tutoring him, his human side pointed out. But he had no time to dwell on these matters because, his Morphid nature kicked into high gear. Across the street, a dark figure caught his eye. His first instinct was to grab Sam and drive her to safety. He snatched the nozzle away from the gas tank. Locked open, the nozzle gushed gasoline across the pavement as he dropped the hose.
Sam was somewhere between terrified and furious. “What in the hell are you doing?!”
Gripping her firmly by the arms, Greg tried to shove her inside the car, but she fought back, eyes wide with panic.
“Get in, get away from here, quick,” he ordered.
“No! Get your hands off me.” She looked more hurt than horrified. She had liked Greg, and had never imagined she’d see a monster in his eyes. He hated to do this, but there wasn’t time to explain.
“Get in, it’s too dangerous,” he repeated, straining to push her in, but it was like trying to put a feral cat in a pet carrier. She held on to the door frame, her panic mounting.
“Are you crazy?” she shouted.
“Do it, unless you want to meet that guy.” He pointed toward the man who was now practically running toward them, murder stamped on his face, a hand extended in their direction as if to reach out and strangle them as he crossed the street.
Sam saw the man and hesitated, her grip on the door frame slackening only slightly. “What are you talking about?”
“Hey! What’s going on?” Miriam yelled, sticking her head out through the doorway. Greg cou
ld only imagine how the situation looked from her angle. She must have shut off the gas pump from inside, because the nozzle was now still, inert within a small lake of fuel.
His eyes flicked toward their would-be attacker, now in the parking lot. It was too late to get away in the car. Opting not to fight Sam, he let her go.
“Run,” he said. “Hide!”
Sam just sat there dumbfounded still braced against her driver’s side door. With a jolt, Greg’s instincts blared a powerful alarm through his brain.
“Duck,” he yelled, pushing Sam down and out of the way. Just as she dropped to her knees, a crackling ball of red energy passed through the driver’s side window, flying only inches over Sam’s head. Amazingly, the glass remained intact.
“What the hell was that?” Sam shrieked, eyes wild with terror.
Continuing downward, the electrified red thing hit the asphalt right where the gasoline had spilled, igniting it on contact.
“Shit!” Greg exclaimed, grabbing Sam by the arm and pulling her away from the car. They’d only taken a few steps toward the convenience store when, behind them, flames from the spilled gasoline came to life with a whoosh.
“Call 911,” Greg yelled at Miriam who stood open-mouthed, staring through the glass door as if she were at the movie theater, engrossed in the latest action flick. Miriam blinked and nodded, hurrying back behind the counter.
“Hide in my car,” Greg ordered Sam, pointing at it. She tripped and fell. Greg was about to help her get up when his body urged him to turn. He whirled without a moment’s hesitation and found their attacker calmly standing just a few yards away. Greg crouched defensively and found himself staring into a dark, cold gaze. Unimpressed, the man smirked, twisting his lips, a deep chuckle reverberating in his throat.
“And you are . . . ?” he asked in a heavy English accent.
Greg said nothing and simply stared back, wary of the man’s next move. The flames by Sam’s car were spreading, serving as a raging, orange backdrop to the threatening figure before him. Greg gestured with his hand behind his back for Sam to retreat. He sensed her cautiously moving back.
“Well? Where are your manners, my dear boy?” the man sneered.
KEEPER Page 10
