The D’Angelo triplets at their finest.
They didn’t know it yet, but they were now dead to me.
Jack glowered at them. “You were bamming me.” It wasn’t a question.
Branwell nodded, still laughing.
“You should have seen your face, man,” Tennyson gasped. “You were so horrified.”
Dante snickered and flicked a wrist toward Jack’s clothing. “You get caught in a wet t-shirt contest?”
Jack stared them down. My brothers continued to laugh, oblivious.
“I hate you all.” Jack turned his back on them.
“I’m glad to see you’re learning.” I smiled at him.
His entire gaze softened. “You gave me such a fright. Are you well?”
“I gaveyoua fright? You disappeared for over twelve hours. I was so worried that maybe you were stuck in the shadow world again. Are you okay?”
He shrugged, looking at a gauzy hand. “I’ve bounced back at least.”
A thousand thoughts pinged around my brain.
How did he feel? Was moving in and out of reality causing him problems?
More importantly, did he mean what he had just said to my brothers about that heavy M-word? Did I even want to know if he meant it? Could I legally marry a ghost?
And why did my weird brain immediately jump tolegalityas the biggest problem here?
My head was messed. But, thank goodness, everyone had let my whole ‘boyfriend’ thing slip by.
Dante interrupted. “Damn, that was hilarious.” He wiped a tear from his eyes. “But seriously. Time for a chat, you guys. What happened last night?”
NINETEEN
Chiara
Isank into the couch and proceeded to recount what had happened, getting input from Jack. My brothers listened in lip-chewing, arm-folded silence.
They didn’t say anything as Jack described my weird sleepwalking episode and cryptic lines about lightning. None of us mentioned the possible connection between my lightning-laced dreams and the trauma of our father’s suicide. Why bring up painful memories unless absolutely necessary?
Jack went on about the scar appearing and then tearing open, Chucky-slime trying to suck him down. Then testing to see if I had a GUT, my unfortunate catastrophe with the German tourist and resulting midnight swim.
“You have a GUT?” Branwell asked me for the tenth time.
“I think I may.”
My brothers exchanged a series of looks between themselves.
“Don’t everyone be excited for me at once.” My tone dripped sarcasm.
“It’s a little unexpected, I’ll be honest,” Dante said.
“But . . . we do know how much you hate being left out.”
Tennyson dodged the Ariel pillow I threw at him.
