Alex Finch

by Cate Dean

  “Alex—” He touched my cheek, then took off my blindfold. “Are you okay, chica?”

  Madame Chloe spoke from across the studio before I could answer.

  “Alexandrea, Ricky—you are excused for the day.”

  My heart skipped, then tried to jump into my throat.

  Ricky’s angry voice echoed around us. “You shouldn’t have forced her to do this estúpido exercise when you knew she was hurt!”

  “Ricky.” I didn’t want anyone to know. Too late now.

  All the other students were staring at my arm. I looked down, and saw blood spreading across my sleeve. Fabulous.

  Madame stood, her cane tapping as she stalked over to us.

  “You, boy, are impudent, overbearing, completely heathen—and more talented than you should be. I dismissed you,” she knelt, and shocked the breath out of me when she touched my hand, her expression almost—kind. Madame Chloe didn’t do kind—at least not to her students. “Because for you, boy, class is over for today. And for you, Alexandrea,” I braced myself for her next words, my gut already knowing what she was about to say. She didn’t disappoint. “This performance season is over, until spring.”

  I closed my eyes, tried to block out Ricky’s furious voice as he argued with her, and the stares I knew were directed at me from the other dancers.

  In one second, I was benched for the rest of the winter season.

  So much for normal.

  6

  The next two weeks became a blur of classes, Misty, and avoiding Sam.

  The English project moved along, with Misty surprising and frustrating me in equal measure. I could handle both pretty well. It was Sam that unnerved me.

  I did my best to keep under his radar—something that had always been easy before. Now he came looking for me, and easy turned into next to impossible. He was one determined, sexy, mouth-watering . . . Sorry.

  I managed to dodge him for those two weeks. Until Friday.

  It was the week before Halloween, and in Emmettsville, that meant wild decoration time. We take Halloween seriously here.

  Fog came off the ocean every day now, leaving the town shrouded until late morning, before it cloaked the town again after sunset. The perfect, spooky setting for a night of costumes and candy begging.

  Even the high school kids, and more than a few adults, trick or treated here—it’s like a town-wide party, with people creating scary mazes through their houses, or a dark cave in the garage. All because the founding Emmett believed in ghosts—or something supernatural.

  Man, I loved Halloween. Normally.

  This year, I planned to hide in my room, and pretend all the monsters roaming the streets were only humans in costumes.

  You didn’t need to hit me over the head for me to come to the conclusion that Jake was not the only monster out there. Something attacked him—and I’ll eat my hoodie if Sam didn’t get those scars on his shoulder from the same something.

  Halloween took over the school as well. Every day this week some rah-rah was hanging another decoration along one of the halls. I wouldn’t have gotten ambushed if I hadn’t stopped after my last class, watching the perky cheerleaders tape up the most vomit-inducing, cutesy Dracula it has ever been my misfortune to lay eyes on.

  Too late I saw Sam turn the corner. He halted as soon as he caught sight of me.

  I seriously thought I’d feel different about Sam when I saw him again, knowing what I know. But he was just—Sam. Kind, funny, incredibly beautiful Sam.

  Too late I remembered I was avoiding him. He grabbed me before I got halfway to the closest door.

  “I need to talk to you.”

  He didn’t give me the chance to say no, hustling me down the stairs—and not stopping until we reached the door to the old boiler room.

  The current school was built on the foundation of an ugly apartment building, and they left the boiler room intact. For storage. That so didn’t happen. Something much worse did, however.

  I was fine with the manhandling—okay, more than fine—but I drew the line at going through that door. Two dozen people died in that room ten years ago, after the supposedly disabled boiler exploded during a Halloween party.

  “I am not going down there.”

  Sam blinked at me—then I saw him make the connection. “It’s safe now. Has been since the explosion. My dad had the boiler removed, along with anything that could heat, cool, or explode.” He smiled down at me. I’m not ashamed to admit my knees turned to rubber. But I managed to stay upright, and I don’t think he noticed. Much “I want to be able to talk freely.”

  “Right,” I said. He raised his eyebrows, obviously waiting for the go ahead. “Fine—you have five minutes.”

  He accepted the terms by nodding, then led me inside and down the short staircase.

  I swallowed, hating the smell of damp concrete, laid over with the cleaning chemicals the school janitors stored here. It only took twenty four dead people to finally turn it into a safe storage room. I would have run if there was any sign of the boiler.

  But Sam didn’t lie—it was gone, leaving behind a big, black-edged square on the floor. I shuddered, all too aware of the reason for that outline.

  Sam put himself between me and the former boiler’s home, stopping next to the only window. Pushing hair off his face, he focused on the wall just past my shoulder. “I wanted to—thank you, for coming back, after Jake—”

  “I didn’t have a choice.” That statement got his attention. He looked at me, grey-blue eyes narrowed. “I knew what he was going to do, and there was no way in hell I’d leave you there, unprotected.” He relaxed. That wouldn’t last long. “But this is it, Sam. I won’t be part of your family secret. I can’t,” I whispered, still tasting the horror of facing Jake twice in two days. “I’m not cut out for that kind of constant adrenaline rush—”

  “Alex—”

  “Time’s up.” I sprinted for the small door.

  “It’s only been two minutes. You gave me five.”

  I halted, cursing under my breath, so close to freedom. “What?”

  Yes, I was rude. I needed to be gone. I had two weeks of—

  Oh, who was I kidding? I thought about what happened every second of those two weeks. I had been thrown into a waking nightmare, and I came out the other side. The high I got from that was addicting. I kept dodging it, dodging Sam, because I wanted more. And that scared me almost as much as Jake.

  Sam moved across the room, and the look he gave me had me backing away from him. He had bad news written all over that gorgeous face.

  “God,” I whispered. “Just tell me, Sam, before I have heart failure.”

  He rubbed the bridge of his nose, finally spoke. “We can’t find Jake.”

  My heart skipped several beats. “What?”

  He let out a sigh. “Dad had a tracking chip on him, like the kind you use on pets, as well as a tracker on his car. We lost both signals.”

  Oh, sweet God above.

  ~ ~ ~

  “Alex!”

  Sam’s voice chased me as I bolted. Call me a coward, but I already told his parents I wouldn’t be part of this. I wanted to forget his family’s personal, real-life nightmare, and go back to my blissful ignorance. I could live without the adrenaline high. Let them find Jake, while I found a deep, dark corner to hide in. Jake was not happy with me.

  Realizing as I fled that I had to face up to my cowardice, or hate myself for running without an explanation, I slowed when I hit the last hallway, and waited for Sam next to the front doors.

  The building was deserted, clearing out fast like it always does on Fridays. Empty hallways made running away much easier. Plus, Sam’s injuries from his bout with Jake were obviously still healing. I never would have outrun him if he’d been at a hundred percent.

  He was gasping when he skidded to a stop, sweat plastering hair to his flushed face. His too-flushed face.

  “Hey.” I caught his arm, and he started to sink to the floor. “Sam�
�crap.” I reached for him and he toppled forward, his weight taking me down with him. Impact knocked the breath out of me. I fought to get it back—not easy with a tall, muscled athlete pinning me to the floor. Yeah, there I was, with Sam Emmett sprawled on top of me—and no witnesses. Life is not fair. “Sam?”

  “Sorry,” he whispered. His voice sounded like someone had been choking him. “Dizzy.”

  I did what would have been unthinkable only two weeks ago. I wrapped my left arm around Sam’s broad shoulders, and held on to him as I carefully pushed off the floor with my right hand. By the time he slid off me and on to his right side, my still healing left arm was shaking from the weight. I ignored it, cradled the back of his head, and helped him ease on to his back.

  My first glimpse of his chalk white face told me he needed more help than I could give. I got my legs under me, pulled my cell out of the front pocket of my jeans. Thankfully, Sam didn’t mangle it when he fell on me. “I’m going to call your mom—”

  “No.” He grabbed my wrist, his fingers shaking. “Misty—she’ll be out on the field—”

  “A cheerleader can’t . . .” My voice faded when I saw his left shoulder. Blood streaked his t-shirt. Right where his scars were. “Sam—you’re bleeding.”

  “Observant, Sherlock.” He let go of me, his eyes closing as he let his arm flop on the floor. “Misty knows—and she has a sister . . . med student—” A harsh cry cut him off. He grabbed his left arm, curling around the bloody shoulder.

  I didn’t bother calling. I ran, shoving the heavy front door open and sprinting through the empty faculty parking lot to the soccer field. Even at this distance, Misty looked perky, her blonde ponytail flying around her head as she cheered her cute butt off.

  “Misty!” My dancer’s lungs carried my voice across the parking lot and to the field. She stopped, looking around, and waved wildly when she spotted me. I still couldn’t get over how enthused she was about us working on the project. She even introduced me to the girls on the squad, much to their squirming embarrassment. I think she did it on purpose. “I need—”

  Shoot—I didn’t want broadcast Sam’s condition, especially in front of a group of girls who were the biggest gossip hounds in school.

  Misty made it easy by bounding over to me, her cheeks flushed. “Did I miss one of our project meetings . . . hey, is that blood?” She grabbed my left wrist, turned my hand over. I looked down and, sure enough, Sam bled on me. “You didn’t—”

  “It’s Sam’s,” I said, my voice low. She blinked at me, then nodded.

  “Where?”

  I freed myself and ran back to the school, hearing her footsteps behind me. No questions, no wasting time. She still surprised me, as I slowly discovered the girl was smarter than she let on. Still an air-brain, but she had potential.

  We reached the hallway, and found Sam unconscious. Misty crouched next to him, pressed two fingers to his throat. “Not good,” she said. Whipping her phone out from I didn’t want to know where, she started tapping. An older version of her appeared on the screen. “Hey, Candace—”

  “Not now, Misty, I’m busy.”

  “I need your help. A friend of mine—”

  “Sorry, no time to pat one of your dumb-dumb cheerleaders on the back because she just . . .” Her voice faded when Misty turned the phone toward Sam. “Where are you?”

  Misty turned the phone back. “School, front hallway.”

  “I can’t leave right now. Is he mobile?”

  “We can manage.”

  “Meet me at the clinic.”

  “Got it. Thanks, Candi.” She ended the call, and tucked her phone into a narrow pocket I hadn’t noticed before, next to the seam in her skin tight workout pants. “Help me get him to my car. His pulse is thready, and when Candace reacts like she did, it’s not good.”

  I helped her prop Sam up. He groaned, opening his eyes. “What . . . Misty. Hey.”

  “Hey, Sam. Candace is waiting on us.”

  He closed his eyes. “Okay. Not sure I can stand on my own.”

  “That’s why we’re here. Do what you can to help—I’m strong, but I’m no She-Hulk.”

  I stared at her. “No—what?”

  “She-Hulk—Marvel comics, green super heroine?” She smiled, tightening her grip around Sam. “Little brother with a serious comic book addiction. Ready?”

  I nodded, and we both lifted, pulling Sam to his knees. He used those impressive leg muscles to push himself up. Misty and I each took an arm, bracing him with every slow step.

  The cement stairs leading down to the parking lot became a dangerous obstacle. There may have been only five, but they could cause some serious damage if Sam took a header down them.

  Misty fidgeted and complained, but I forced Sam to take his time, be sure of his footing with every stair. We finally reached the bottom, and Misty took charge.

  “Hold on to him. I’ll get the car.”

  I tightened my grip on Sam, feeling damp cotton under my hand. Swallowing, I tilted my head just enough to see his back. Fresh blood blossomed over the left side, spreading, slowly but steadily.

  “Crap,” I said. Sam let out a breathless laugh. “It’s not funny. You could be bleeding to death here.”

  “And you’re so—calm and cool about it.”

  “Me?” I was as jumpy as a cat in a room full of tacks. Stop laughing—my favorite Aunt Agnes taught me that. Yes, the same one who bought me the fuchsia bathrobe. She’s a nutcase and I love her like crazy. “You don’t read people well. I’m scared out of my mind.”

  “It’ll be all right.” He lowered his head, sweat dripping off his chin. He looked anything but all right. “My scars can—reopen, around the anniversary of my—accident.”

  “Yeah, that’s normal.” Accident. Right. And wasn’t the anniversary two weeks ago? He was attacked the same time as Jake—right?

  He glanced over at me. “I like you, Alex Finch.”

  My heart did a tap dance against my ribs, my tongue sticking to the roof of my mouth. I must have looked like a complete moron, staring at him, my mouth open. Before I could get the synapses in my brain to start firing again, Misty screeched to a halt in front of us and jumped out of her car.

  “Let’s get him in the back seat. He can lay on his good side, keep the blood flow away from his shoulder.” She opened the back door of her BMW—yeah, you heard right—and moved around to the other side to help Sam slide in. “Get his legs up—good. Now let’s book.”

  I got in on the passenger side, fastened my seat belt. Misty slid behind the wheel, all business now. I watched her buckle in and shove the car into gear.

  “Okay,” I said. “Who are you, and what did you do with Misty?” Laughing, she shot out of the parking lot, narrowly missing at least three cars as she squealed across lanes. I hung on to the oh-my-God bar over the door, afraid to close my eyes. I prefer to see my demise coming at me, even if I can’t do anything about it. “God—we want to get to the clinic, Misty. Just not in a body bag.”

  “You’re pretty cool. For a nerd.” She smiled at me, her eyes a little—wild.

  “Yeah? You’re pretty smart. For a dumb cheerleader.”

  She took a left without using the brake, slamming me against the door. I decided to let her focus on getting us to the clinic alive and, please God, in one piece.

  ~ ~ ~

  Candace waited for us on the sidewalk. Even in shapeless blue scrubs, she was gorgeous. I wanted to hate her on sight, but when she opened the back door and helped Sam out of the car with such obvious care and concern, I looked past the gorgeous, and got myself out to do what I could.

  “Just focus on moving your feet, Sam,” Candace said, her voice low and soothing. “Let me do the work.” She glanced over at me. “You’re Alex. Misty told me about you.” No more info—good or bad, did I suck, was I a pain in her— “What happened?”

  “It’s—”

  “A recent injury,” Sam whispered. He lifted his head long enough to glance at
me, fear flaring across the pain in his grey-blue eyes. “Shouldn’t be up yet.”

  “There’s an understatement,” Candace said. She didn’t even break a sweat as she guided Sam inside. By the time we reached the small but immaculate lobby, she was practically carrying him. He looked ghastly, and I was terrified that he would do more than just collapse. A normal person does not have scars that bleed. “Misty, get that first door on the left open for me, and find Dr. Madsen—”

  “No doctor.” Candace raised her eyebrows at Sam’s protest. “Please.”

  “Fine. For now. But if I say you need someone with more training, you don’t get to say no again.”

  She didn’t wait for him to answer, helping him on to the exam table before grabbing a pair of scissors off the counter. Sam cleared his throat, and Candace halted, the open scissors poised over his shirt.

  “Can I get—some water first?”

  Candace let out a sigh, put the scissors on the exam table. “Next time, just tell me you want some privacy. Who stays?” If I hadn’t been working with Misty the last two weeks, I’d swear Candace got all the brains. Now I realized that smarts—and ridiculous gorgeousness—ran in the family.

  Sam cleared his throat. “Alex.”

  Misty tugged on my sleeve. “I can help.”

  “That’s up to Sam.”

  “Misty, I appreciate—damn.” Sam grabbed his left arm.

  “Out.” Candace pried Misty off my sleeve and pushed her toward the door. “The sooner they share their secrets, the faster I can get to that injury. Five minutes,” she said, glancing over her shoulder at Sam. “And be grateful I’m giving you that long.” The door shut behind her, cutting off Misty’s objections.

  Sam took my hand. “I need you to bandage my shoulder. Please, Alex,” he said, tightening his grip in anticipation of me pulling away. “I won’t be able to explain a ten year old scar bleeding like it’s fresh.”

  “Fine.” I tugged my hand free. “We don’t have much time. You’re just lucky I have plenty of experience mopping up my own injuries.” I searched the drawers in the cabinet against the wall, gathered antiseptic wash, gauze pads and tape. “Can you get your shirt off?”