by Sherry Soule
A shadowy figure in the corner stirs. I bolt upright in bed, ready to scream bloody murder, then cringe at the aches in my body.
“Good afternoon, Peaches,” he says groggily. His eyes are heavy-lidded, and he looks yummy even just waking up.
“Hayden?” I put a hand to my chest, trying to regain control of my pounding heart. “What are you doing here?”
Jinx pads into the room and hops up onto the bed. I scratch the top of Jinx’s head so that his ears go down and he closes his yellow eyes, purring.
“I came by last night and your mom let me in. Although, the residue should wear off soon and you’ll be less smelly in a few days, I didn’t want to leave you alone on the first night back home after the attack.” Hayden stretches, his shirt riding up, and I glimpse his stomach, the muscles taut and rippling. “Your mom gave me a blanket and said I could stay on the condition that I slept on the floor and stayed clear of the bed.” His lips twitch into a lopsided grin.
“Damn, she must be feeling extra guilty about the dark family secret thing.” I tap my chin with my index finger. “Maybe I should ask for a new car.”
“Or some pepper spray.”
I roll my eyes. “Ha, ha. You’re too funny.”
He yawns behind his fist. “Are you okay now?” Hayden gets to his feet, the blanket sliding to the floor as he moves to the side of the bed.
“Yeah, I’m doing a lot better.”
Hayden leans down carefully, as if I’m a weak kitten, trying not to jar me. His lips brush my forehead, then he straightens. My heart goes berserk and makes my sore ribs throb. We stare into each other’s eyes, as if unwilling to be the first to break contact. Each second our gazes are joined, those high walls separating our lives seem to fall away brick by brick.
“Do you need anything? More pain meds?”
I shake my head, and a sharp throbbing strikes my temple. “Just food.”
“I’m on it.” He walks to the door, then stops and turns back around. “Does pancakes and bacon sound good?”
I bob my head. “Bring on the bacon. I’m starving.”
His mouth presses into a grim line. “Um, Sloane—”
“No.” I lift a hand to silence him. “Don’t apologize or tell me we can’t be friends now because of last night. I’m bruised, sore, and achy. And I want some pancakes.” I toss aside the blankets and try to stand, but he rushes to my side.
“Don’t move.” He helps me back into bed, pulls the comforter over my body, and fluffs the pillows behind me. “You get breakfast in bed today. Then we’re going to hang out and watch movies.”
I slump against the pillows. “What about your parents and school?”
“I’m pretty sure they can get along fine without me for one day,” he says, his voice low and strong. “Orange juice or coffee with your order, ma’am?”
“OJ please.”
He studies me for a tense moment, and his lingering stare makes my skin twitchy. “If you can eat, then you’re handling this much better than I would’ve thought.”
My chin lifts a fraction and I yank at the collar of my black nightgown. “I’ll be doing great when that lunatic is caught.”
Shoulders stiff, he sighs. “He’ll be taken care of. I promise.”
I clear my throat. “Where’s my mom?”
“I think she’s downstairs in her art studio. I’ll be back in a few minutes with the food,” Hayden says before departing.
While he’s downstairs making us breakfast, I cuddle with Jinx and fall back asleep. Hayden wakes me when he returns carrying a tray brimming with food. I sit up and wince at my twinging muscles. He gently places the tray of hotcakes and crisp bacon on my lap. Then he sits at my desk, eating his food. I devour everything and drink a large glass of orange juice.
“Now that you’ve got a full stomach, eat these.” Hayden hands me two large red and gold leaves.
“What are these?” I bring one close to my nose and the scent of rotten eggs invades my nostrils. “They smell extra weird.”
“It’s an aromatic Zeta plant that will speed your healing, compliments of my uncle.” He clears my dishes and sets them aside on the desk. Hayden moves to one of the windows and parts the curtains, allowing sunlight to spill into the dim room. “Movie time?”
I sit up slowly, cradling my sore ribs with one arm. “Yes, please!”
“What’ll it be?” He browses through my collection of DVDs. “Zombies, ghosts, or witches? Oh, hey, Warm Bodies. I haven’t seen that yet.”
“Frightfully good choice.” I chew on the leaves and force myself to swallow each bite. “These herbs taste nasty.”
“They work quickly. So eat up.”
He goes to the TV and switches it on while I gobble the last of the gross tasting herbs. Within minutes, my skin warms with a fever. My body shudders and my bones seem to tingle, then the sensation passes and my strength returns, and even the pain fades. Amazeballs!
Hayden turns with the remote in his hand. He slants his head to the side. “Feeling better?”
“Actually…yeah, I am.” When I move, the sharp ache in my ribs and back is almost nonexistent. “Damn, those alien meds work fast!”
He smiles. “Need anything else?”
I shake my head. “Nope. I’ve got my cat, a great movie to watch, and one of my best friends to keep me company. What more can a battered girl ask for?”
Hayden’s penetrating stare studies me. “I know you’re a mess after the attack, so you don’t have to pretend to be brave with me.”
“Hayden—”
“I’m worried there’s a psycho Meleah out there attacking pretty girls.” He lowers his head, a tumble of hair falling into his eyes and obscuring his face.
“Girls?” I ask with wide eyes. “As in plural?”
He lifts his head, his eyes hard and cold. “I’m going to find the bastard that did this to you and when I do—”
“You’re not a killer. That maniac wasn’t right in the head.”
He doesn’t react, only stares stonily out the window. There’s such an intensity in his expression that a sliver of unease shivers along my spine. Instant tension. Total silence.
Hayden turns his head. “What are you thinking?” he says, breaking the quiet friction soaking the room.
“That you have secrets.” Narrowing my eyes, I squint up at him. “And you know more than you’re telling me about the attack.”
It’s obvious we both have different agendas. Mine: get him to open up. Him: to keep his secrets intact.
He crosses the room and sits on the bed, then brushes a strand of hair from my face with the tip of his finger. He lightly caresses my cheek, his knuckles leaving a trail of warmth on my skin. “I’m only protecting you.” His quiet voice surrounds me. “I wish I could tell you everything, but—”
“How are you feeling this morning, sweetheart?” My mom sticks her head into the room.
“I’m still a little achy and sore, but Nurse Hayden is taking good care of me.”
“I noticed by the mess he left in the kitchen.” She smiles, but her tone is sarcastic.
“Thanks for letting me stay, Mrs. Masterson.” Hayden stands. “Sorry, I meant to go clean—”
“No, no. I can wash the dishes.” My mom waves a hand in the air. “You stay here and look after my baby girl.” She winks at me before going back downstairs.
At her departure, a long awkward silence claims the room. Hayden pulls out the desk chair and slumps onto the cushion. His eyes have dark circles and his hair is mussed, as if he’s run his fingers through it repeatedly. The T-shirt molds to the muscles of his chest and tattered jeans cover his lower half.
“Hayden?” My voice breaks, sounding hoarse and scratchy. “What did you mean? What can’t you tell me?”
His jaw tightens. A moment passes. Then he straightens, the action stiff and uneasy, and he doesn’t look at me. “I care more about you than I do anything on this planet.” An underlying trace of remorse saturates his husky voice. “I’d do any
thing for you, Sloane, and…I just don’t want to talk about it today. I’ll understand if you want me to leave.”
“No, but eventually, we need to discuss whatever it is you’ve got on your mind.”
Rubbing the back of his neck, he nods. “We will, just not now. When you’re feeling better.”
Our gazes connect and neither of us looks away. I don’t want him to go because in a weird way, I definitely feel stronger whenever I’m with him, as though a part of me forever looking for its perfect match has found it in him.
“Please stay. I like it when you’re near me.” I lower my head and heat infuses my cheeks. “Oh, I don’t know what I’m saying.”
“You complete me?” He teases, then rubs a hand over his face. “Yeah, I know exactly what you mean.”
I lift my head and peek at him. Hayden stares at me with a gleam of desire and yearning etched into his expression, yet pain shadows his eyes.
“Sometimes when I’m around you, my heart starts beating really fast and I get nervous,” he says, his voice low and rough. “Like I can’t stop thinking about how beautiful you are or how much I want to hold you, kiss you. It’s crazy.”
“Not crazy,” I say quietly. “We have a connection, but it’s time we stopped fighting it and see where it takes us.”
“Sloane!” My mom calls from downstairs. “Viola’s here.”
Groaning, I pull the comforter up to my neck and give Hayden a beseeching look. “Can you please tell Vi that I’m not up for visitors?”
Hayden nods and disappears down the narrow staircase. I throw back the covers, and an odd tremor rolls through me. I came so close to dying last night, but I don’t have any plans to become besties with the Grim Reaper anytime soon. If the kidnapping by Hayden’s ex had taught me anything, it was the world around me is an intensely hazardous place. I wasn’t the same after that severe trauma, but I’d survived. And after this second attempt on my life, I feel lucky and grateful to be alive. Except I’m not going to keep thinking about it. Although a part of me wants to curl up into a ball and fall apart, I can’t be a helpless victim or live in constant fear. I have to be strong and stay focused on protecting my family from Sector Thirteen and those nasty reapers.
Standing, I take the stairs until I get to the second-floor landing. At the bathroom door, I pause when I catch my name.
“Is Sloane really okay?” Viola’s voice carries up the staircase.
“She’ll be fine,” Hayden says. “I’m going to stay with her all day.”
“You’d better.” Viola’s tone has a hard edge to it. “Because you’re the one who keeps endangering her life, and I’ll bury you alive if anything happens to my best friend,” Viola’s tone rises sharply.
“What?”
“Yeah, Sloane told me all about that stinky alien stuff you guys spray like a skunk. And Zach says it’ll put her in danger until it wears off.”
“Seems my brother has a big mouth. Just tell Zach I’ve got this handled,” Hayden says strongly.
“What are you two doing, anyway?” Viola says.
“What do you mean?”
“You know exactly what I mean.”
“Look, I still want to be around her. She’s…different. Is that so bad?”
“Different?” Viola sounds annoyed. “How’s that?”
“Well, for one, she doesn’t put up with my crap. And two, I miss her friendship. So I’m going to stop trying to ignore whatever it is I still feel for her.”
“But you can’t have it both ways…Sloane’s always going to want more, and if you keep giving her false hope, it’s going to permanently ruin whatever friendship you two have left. You need to be honest with her, Hayden…”
Their voices drop, becoming incoherent. I listen for a few more moments, but I can’t hear what they’re saying. I want to shrug off the nagging dread that this ill-fated romance isn’t going to end well for either of us. I can tell Hayden’s hiding something from me by the annoying way he avoids answering questions about my attack.
At the sound of front door opening on the first floor, I spin around and rush into the bathroom to brush my teeth and hair. Bending barely hurts as I wash my face. When I look in the mirror above the sink, I expect to see my face bruised and battered, but I’m shocked to discover my shiner only has a purplish-blue tinge under the eye. The bump and gash on my forehead are only half the size. Even the bruises around my throat are faint, as though the assault happened weeks ago. Hayden’s interstellar meds seem to rival the regenerative abilities of vampires or werewolves.
Going back to my room, my thoughts suddenly revert to the blackmail threats. I can’t help but wonder if the attack and the threatening messages are somehow connected. And I wish I had someone I could discuss it with, but The Blackmailer’s “tell no one” rule is becoming that much harder to keep. Because if I crack, then my secrets might be broadcasted on YouTube or Facebook, or who knows where else. The warning, Do not tell anyone, or they become public knowledge, are permanently burned into my mind. If only I could confide in Hayden…
Being friends with my ex is becoming more complicated than being together ever was.
Although, I still want a relationship with Hayden, there’s some sixth sense that’s making me feel as though I’m being clobbered by a battering ram made of caution tape, red flags, and warning signs.
FOURTEEN
I skip posting on my weekly column, Fright Night Babble, mainly because I’m still not feeling one hundred percent, and because I’m suffering from a slight case of post-traumatic stress. Since the night of the assault, I’ve had nightmares about the theater attack. Xavier haunts my dreams, his strange gaze scorching with rage as he squeezes my throat. Each time, I wake up in a hot sweat, clutching my neck and breathing hard.
I’ve been totally hiding out from the world while I’m recovering. Other than the occasional movie-watching stint that keeps me distracted, being a shut-in is starting to drive me batty. Hayden hasn’t called or texted since the last time we hung out, and his absence makes me moodier than usual.
Craving a change of scenery, I force myself out of my PJs and put on a pair of raggedy, jean cutoffs and a faded black T-shirt, then slip my feet into my Old Navy flip-flops.
While my mom is locked in her studio and Jonah’s playing online chess with one of his nerdy friends, I go downstairs and open the front door.
Blinking into the glare, I step onto the porch. Contrary to popular belief, I’m not allergic to sunlight or melt if I get water on me. Still, I’m not a fan of the outdoors, either—yet it feels good to stretch my legs and get out of the stuffy house.
I sluggishly descend the steps and drag my feet to the driveway. My head swivels left, then right scanning the neighborhood. My dreary suburban existence is filled with stately Tudors, Victorians, and Spanish-style villas. A delivery truck rumbles along the road, spewing exhaust.
No signs of that weirdo Xavier or scary reapers wanting to rip my throat out.
I move to the Jetta parked in the driveway, my feet crunching on the fallen leaves. Staring at the car, I get this creepy feeling I can’t shake—like bugs crawling on my skin. I spot a splatter of blood on the hood and window, and I’m not sure if its Xavier’s or mine. My car has been violated.
From someone’s backyard, a dog barks. I glance around for the hundredth time.
Just stop it. No one is stalking you!
To get rid of the bad mojo left on my ride after Xavier’s assault, I decide to wash the car. It gives me something to do, a distraction, and a way to regain some control over my life.
The scent of lavender from the neighbor’s flowerbed soaks the warm air combined with the cloudless blue sky, that’s like a soothing balm to my frazzled nerves. Spring is a time for rebirth and new beginnings. But it also means leg-shaving season is here, and I’m so not looking forward to that.
I open the garage door and grab the cleaning supplies. I take a bucket and fill it up with water and dish soap. Next, I grab the garde
n hose to rinse off the Jetta. The task keeps my mind busy instead of dwelling on my problems or my still up-in-the-air relationship with the prince of broodiness, Hayden Lancaster.
Evil alien mojo be gone! I scrub the car with a heated fierceness, then dip the sponge into the soapy water to tackle the roof.
“Need some help?”
I practically jump out of my pale skin. My head whips around like that chick on The Exorcist minus the projectile vomit.
It’s only Saxton Ridge, sporting a blue untucked polo over jeans and sneakers. Behind him, I spot a blue 4x4 truck parked across the street.
I didn’t even hear him approach, and the realization leaves me shaky, tears stinging my eyes. A bout of nausea turns my stomach. I brace myself on the hood of the car until it gradually diminishes.
“Hey, are you okay?” Saxton’s voice sounds laced with concern.
I don’t answer. Only close my eyes and count to thirteen until my heartbeat slows. Now I’m afraid all the time, like when I was a child and feared the dark. Obviously, that’s not a problem anymore. But this edginess seems more intense, as if someone’s going to jump out at me from around every corner.
Once the tension leaves my body, I straighten. “You shouldn’t sneak up on people like that!”
“Sorry.” He shrugs. “My bad.”
“Stalk much?” I place one soapy hand on my hip. “Do I need to get a restraining order?”
Saxton stands on the other side of the Jetta, his hands holding a thick folder. “You wish.”
“No. Not even remotely.” I squint at him. “What are you doing here? How did you know where I lived?” I drop the sponge into the bucket with a splash.
He stares at me intently, his gaze going from my feet to my head. It’s not like he’s checking me out, but more like he’s doing an evaluation. An icky feeling crawls over my skin.
Saxton might be the blackmailer. I mentally place him on my suspect list. It seems as if homeboy might be hiding something. But I’ll need proof before I can confront him about the blackmail. If I can find those black envelopes, then I’ll know for sure.
“I heard about your unfortunate incident at school and asked Mrs. Morris if I could drop off your homework. She was kind enough to get everything from your teachers, then I asked Raymond for your address.” He walks to the porch and sets the bundle down, then ambles back over to me. “You don’t look too bad. Fast healer, huh?”
