Spark

by Brigid Kemmerer

  Gabriel told him about the night he’d started the fire in the woods, how he’d lost control. He told him about Hannah, how she’d come to the house tonight, fishing for information.

  Hunter didn’t say anything when he was done, just polished off the rest of his sandwich and shoved the wrapper into the bag.

  “I couldn’t control it tonight,” said Gabriel. “There was too much. I lost it. That guy could have died.”

  “That guy would have died.” Hunter started the ignition. “If we hadn’t been there, he still would have fallen through the ceiling, and he still would have broken his leg, but he would have been dead before anyone could get to him—not to mention the rest of them. You want to stop?”

  Gabriel hesitated. He did—and he didn’t. It was addictive, drowning in fire every night.

  And it was helping his control. He was getting stronger; he could feel it. But he eventually would kill someone if he couldn’t manage his element better than this. He was going to get caught.

  He looked out the window. “I don’t know,” he ground out.

  Hunter fell silent again, pulling his jeep onto the main road. But after a while, he glanced over. “Maybe we’re going about this all wrong.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “You’re a sports guy. You don’t just go out and play a game—you practice, right?”

  “This isn’t a game, Hunter.”

  “Still. Practice makes perfect.”

  Perfect. It made Gabriel think of Layne. He pulled his phone out of the center console.

  No messages.

  He sighed. “So what are you saying? We should go set a house on fire for practice?”

  “No, not a house. We’d start smaller than that.” Hunter glanced away from the road. “My grandparents have an old barn at the back of their property. It’s full of old hay bales, the lawnmower, stuff like that.”

  Gabriel stared out at the road. He and Nick used to go down to the beach to set things on fire. Gabriel would always try to drive the fire as high as he could, to incite the flames to burn as much as possible.

  He’d never tried to draw flames back, to convince them to settle.

  Hunter hit him in the arm. “Come on. Do I really need to convince you to play with fire?”

  Gabriel smiled. “No. You don’t.” He paused, noticing they were pulling into the Target parking lot. “Where are we going?”

  “You sure can’t go home looking like that. I’ll go in and get you another pair of jeans. You have any cash?”

  Gabriel pulled out his wallet and found a twenty.

  Hunter shoved it into his pocket and jumped out of the jeep. He left it running. “Don’t steal the car,” he called.

  Gabriel smiled.

  He missed his twin—almost to the point it hurt.

  But it wasn’t so bad having a friend either.

  Michael was waiting on the front porch when Hunter pulled his jeep up the driveway.

  Gabriel swore under his breath. He’d killed time at Hunter’s house, splattering zombies on Xbox again after grabbing a shower. It was after eleven now, and he’d hoped his older brother would be in bed.

  “Problem?” said Hunter.

  “Stick around. I might need a getaway car.”

  “Want backup instead?”

  Tempting. Gabriel hesitated.

  Michael stood up from the porch chair and came to the top step. The light by the door had been replaced, making his hair shine and keeping his face in darkness. “Get out of the car, Gabriel.”

  Hunter hadn’t even put the jeep in park. “Your call.”

  Gabriel heaved a sigh and grabbed the door handle. “Go home. I’m sure as hell not bringing you down with me.”

  But when Hunter was backing down the driveway, Gabriel felt very alone facing his brother from the sidewalk.

  He set his shoulders and tried to play it easy. “Why’d you wait up? Think Hunter was going to get fresh with me?”

  “Where were you?”

  Gabriel shrugged. “Grabbed a burger. Hung out.”

  Michael was looking at him a little too intensely. “And what did you do last night?”

  For a second, Gabriel wondered what his brother would think if he told him the truth.

  He wondered how much Michael had guessed already.

  “Cut the crap, Michael. What do you want?”

  “I want to know if you’re starting these fires.”

  The words hit Gabriel like a fist to the face.

  That’s what his brother thought? That Gabriel was out deliberately setting fires, purposely killing people?

  He almost couldn’t breathe for a second, the feeling of betrayal hit so hard. Just like last night, when Nick had stolen his air. Only Nick hadn’t been accusing him of murder.

  That moment of brotherly camaraderie earlier in the evening was completely gone. He’d been so stupid to think Michael could ever be a friend. Gabriel clenched his jaw and moved to walk past him up the steps. “Fuck you.”

  His brother caught his arm. “Are you doing this to get back at Becca’s father? Do you want the Guides coming here? Tell me.”

  Not just a murderer, but someone who would turn on his family. Gabriel jerked free and shoved him away in one motion.

  Michael caught him and spun him around before he could make it through the door. “You were pretty upset when you ran out of here last night. Where did you go?”

  Gabriel tried to yank his arm free again, but Michael was working a death grip.

  “Let go of me.”

  “Damn it, I can’t help you if you won’t talk to me.”

  “Help me? Help me?” Gabriel hit him with his free hand, getting in a solid punch before Michael wrestled him against the siding of the house to pin him there.

  “Yeah,” Michael said, and his voice was tired. “Help you.”

  Gabriel glared at him, struggling, but his brother had six years and a good twenty pounds on him, plus leverage to boot. Gabriel ground words out. “I’m not doing anything.”

  “You don’t sound like you’re not doing anything.”

  Life would be so much easier if Michael was an idiot.

  Michael narrowed his eyes. “Why are you hanging out with Hunter all of a sudden?”

  “What difference does it make?” Gabriel heaved against his brother’s hands, throwing his weight into it.

  Michael slammed him back into the house. His head cracked against the siding. Hard.

  The porch light sizzled and flared for a brief moment. Gabriel heard his brother’s breath catch.

  The sound filled Gabriel with shame and pride all at the same time, a sickening euphoric feeling that gripped his chest and churned his stomach, but let him meet his brother’s eyes.

  He gave the electricity a tiny push, making it flare again. “Don’t screw with me, Michael.”

  Michael didn’t move. They stood frozen for an eternal second, until the front door flew open.

  Nick, his eyes a little wide, his face a little pale. “Michael. Let him go.”

  “Go back in the house,” said Michael. But his hands were already loosening.

  Gabriel wrenched free, scraping along the siding until he had some distance from his brothers.

  But not enough distance that he couldn’t feel their judgment.

  All of a sudden, he didn’t want to stay here. He didn’t want to have to walk past them, to go upstairs and do normal things like brush his teeth and wash his face, knowing that his brothers thought he was out of control. Not just out of control, but a murderer.

  He couldn’t look at his twin, didn’t want to find accusation or condemnation or, hell, even pity on his face.

  He wanted out of here.

  But he had nowhere else to go.

  Gabriel took a step forward, throwing the door wide again. He half expected one of them to stop him, to catch his arm or call his name or something. He was ready to argue, to fight, but silence followed him to the top of the stairs.

 
He’d never felt so isolated. Christ, by the time he shut his bedroom door and locked it, his throat felt tight.

  God, he missed Nick.

  Knock, he thought. Knock. I’ll apologize. I’ll explain. Knock.

  Nothing. Nothing.

  He wanted to burn this whole house to the ground.

  Gabriel sat on the floor under his window and pressed his forehead against his knees.

  If Layne called now, he’d be such a mess that he’d tell her everything.

  He fished the phone out of his pocket, staring at it. Praying for exactly that.

  But just like everyone else around him, the phone remained silent.

  All night long.

  CHAPTER 18

  Layne cantered her horse along the path in the woods, the breeze in her face stealing tendrils of hair from under her helmet. The sun had barely risen, streamers of red and yellow filtering through the trees to light the trail.

  She wasn’t supposed to be riding out here alone, especially when no one was at the farm. Especially bareback. Especially when she’d left her phone sitting on the tack trunk, and if she had a bad fall, she’d have no way to call for help.

  Reckless. She didn’t care.

  Looking at her phone reminded her of Gabriel’s note, his handwriting in her notebook.

  She’d stared at it last night.

  She’d even dialed, but never found the courage to actually call.

  The trail started downhill, a gentle slope, but at a canter, Layne had to shift her weight and focus. This was why she’d come out here. Stupid circles in a stupid ring would have done nothing to take her mind off Gabriel.

  What had Kara said? He is insanely hot.

  He was. And he knew it, too. He probably saw Layne as a conquest. He was the kind of guy who’d keep a list of all the girls in school and check each one off when he was done with her. God, she watched him check out Taylor every day.

  I’m not perfect either.

  Oh, that had sent her heart tripping in her chest for a long while.

  Until she remembered that he probably had a whole cache of one-liners.

  The cool air made her horse fresh, and he skittered sideways when a bird flew across the trail. She gave him a quick pat on the neck, checking the rein to remind him that she was up here, in control.

  Ha. In control.

  This was just about the only place she ever felt in control. Of anything.

  But at least the horse was fooled. He settled, relaxing into a rolling stride that she could sit all day. The trail was open ahead, the sunlight painting dapples across the grass. Peaceful. She closed her eyes and inhaled.

  And then she was in the air, no horse beneath her.

  And then she was hitting the ground.

  Her fingers still had a firm grip of the reins, one of those things they teach you early. Presumably so the horse wouldn’t get away.

  But not only was he getting away, he was also dragging her.

  It hurt.

  Let go. Let go. Let go. Her fingers wouldn’t work.

  Then they did. Layne crumpled into a heap on the path. She wished her helmet could protect her whole body. She hadn’t even hit her head, so a fat lot of good that did. Her hip was making a good case that it would be protesting this venture tomorrow.

  The horse must have spooked. The fall had been one of those hard ones where the animal is suddenly gone from underneath you, leaving nothing to catch you but dirt. Stupid, to close her eyes like that. God, what kind of idiot closes her eyes while cantering on the trail?

  The same kind of idiot who takes a full ten seconds to realize you should let go of the reins.

  Thank god no one was at the farm, though she didn’t have much time. If her horse made it back without her . . . well, there’d be hell to pay. They’d call her father.

  Like he needed one more disappointment in his life.

  Layne sat up on the trail, dusting off her breeches, assessing damages. Nothing hurt too badly. She looked back to see what could have frightened the animal—though sometimes it didn’t take much.

  But there was someone sitting in the middle of the trail. Sitting up, dusting himself off, doing the same things she was doing.

  Holy crap, she’d run into a man.

  She’d left her glasses on her tack trunk next to her phone, so she wasn’t able to make out features, but the filtered sunlight let her identify shorts, a sweatshirt. Athletic shoes.

  For a second, she considered the implications of being alone in the woods with a man, but she’d just plowed into him with her horse, and a little courtesy probably wasn’t out of line.

  Layne stood up and started walking toward him. Her knees weren’t a big fan of this activity, and her head wasn’t feeling much better. She unsnapped her helmet and clipped the strap through a belt loop, shaking her hair free so it wouldn’t be matted with sweat across her forehead.

  “You all right?” she called. “God, I’m sorry. I wasn’t paying attention—” She broke off the apology, hearing her father’s voice in her head. If you’re ever in an accident, don’t apologize. It immediately implies guilt . . . .

  But how could she not apologize?

  He was staring at her now, and she was relieved to see that he wasn’t a man man, but a teenager, with dark hair and features that were slowly coming into focus as she got closer.

  Features that shifted into something like surprise. “Layne?”

  She stopped short on the path. “Gabriel?” Then she hesitated. “Or Nick? I’m sorry—”

  “It’s me.” His voice was rough. “Gabriel.”

  And just then, all her rationalizing went straight out the window. He looked . . . overwrought. Rumpled sweatshirt, disheveled hair. That shadow across his jaw had turned into true stubble overnight.

  Regret twisted her gut. She should have called. He’d apologized and left his number, and then she’d as good as smacked him in the face.

  No, she’d trampled him with her horse.

  Get over yourself, Layne. He’s probably hungover.

  She straightened, folding her arms. “Are you hurt?”

  He must have heard her voice turn flat, because his expression hardened. “I’m all right. You?”

  “I’m great.”

  And then he was standing, looming over her, an abrupt shift from vulnerable and wounded to vaguely threatening. “What are you doing out here?”

  She always had to battle with her emotions when he looked like that. One part of her wanted to back away to get a little more air. The other part wanted to step into him, just to see what it felt like to share his warmth.

  “Riding,” she said. “What are you doing out here?”

  “Running,” he said, like it should have been obvious—and really, it kind of was. His eyes flicked down her form, and she wished riding breeches weren’t quite so formfitting. “I guess I should be glad you weren’t driving a car.”

  “Shut up.” Then she realized what he’d said. “Wait. You live around here?”

  He lifted one shoulder and looked around—though they were surrounded by trees, so she had no idea what he was looking for. “Nah. I’ve been running for a while.” He pulled an iPod out of the pocket of his hoodie and glanced at it. “Four miles, maybe.”

  Layne blinked. “You ran . . . four . . . miles?”

  “Yeah. I didn’t realize my morning run could get fucked up, too, but maybe that’s just my week.”

  His voice was sharp enough for her to feel an edge against her skin. But somehow it didn’t seem directed at her. He’d reacted the way an animal would lash out if it was in pain. Layne frowned, afraid to dig at an open wound—but kind of afraid not to.

  She opened her mouth to ask, but her words died at his expression. Eyes hard, jaw set. His hands were in his pockets, but it didn’t make him look relaxed. It made him look like he was trying not to hit something.

  Layne let the air out of her lungs. She smoothed her jacket against her hips. “I need to walk back . . . catch m
y horse—”

  “How far?”

  “What?” Her eyebrows went up. “Oh, he probably ran back to the barn. Half a mile, I guess. The trail’s a loop. I just don’t want someone to find him and call my dad. If they knew I was out here alone . . .”

  Her voice trailed off again. Gabriel was simply looking at her with that inscrutable expression, so Layne turned and started walking, calling over her shoulder. “Hey, I’m really sorry about running into you. I guess I’ll see you around school.”

  He didn’t say anything. Sneakers ground against dirt behind her, and she knew he was taking off, running for home or wherever.

  Then he drew up beside her, falling into step.

  Her breath caught. “What are you doing?”

  “You think I’m going to leave you alone in the middle of the woods? What the hell kind of guy do you think I am?”

  She glanced up at him. A streak of dirt ran across his face, and it took everything she had not to reach up and rub it off. She wondered what his cheek would feel like.

  She swallowed. “I have no idea.”

  Gabriel snorted. “I don’t think that’s true.”

  She hunched her shoulders, feeling the muscles pull. Having a conversation with him was like navigating a minefield. She bit the inside of her lip and concentrated on keeping her mouth shut.

  But after a while, he said, “I should have heard you.”

  His voice was cautious. She didn’t look at him, worried this was just another mine waiting to explode.

  “I had the music too loud,” he said. “I don’t usually run like that—it’s a good way to get hit by a car. I didn’t even look when I came out onto the main trail. I just . . .” He hesitated.

  Layne held her breath. Her dad once told her the best way to get the truth out of a witness was to be patient enough to wait for them to tell you. Everyone likes to talk, he’d said. The trick is letting them talk long enough.

  Gabriel glanced over, making a frustrated noise. “You ever just have to do something to get all the thoughts out of your head?”

  Layne nodded. That, she understood. “So you ran four miles?”

  He shrugged and stared out at the trees around them. “I had to get out of the house.”

  The words rolled around in her head for a moment, and she could practically see a construction worker throwing a flag in her path. Proceed with caution.