He never changed my oil, either.
I had a small panic attack in the bathroom and spent a long time digesting the facts. Nothing would ever bring Wes back and over the years, I’d accepted his death. But now that sorrow was replaced by anger that his life was cut short unnecessarily. Maybe I wasn’t related to my family by blood, but I loved them fiercely. Being a Shifter? A whole other ball of wax. I didn’t even begin to know how to process it.
I found a chicken potpie in the freezer and heated it up. After devouring the entire meal in less than five minutes, I curled up on the sofa with a bag of Doritos and fell asleep watching Die Hard. I’d found the movie stacked in a large box labeled “Reno.”
The bag crinkled and someone jostled me around.
“Stop,” I mumbled.
“Time for bed,” Austin said, and then I was in his arms.
He set me down on top of a comforter and I nuzzled into the pillow, listening to the sound of a window unit circulating air.
The bed moved in the darkness and my eyes popped open. “Austin?”
“Yeah.”
“You’re not sleeping with me.”
He threw the comforter from his side over my legs.
“It’s my bed, so I’m pretty sure I am. Plus, it’s the only room in the house with a window unit,” he murmured sleepily. “I run hot.”
Then I heard a zipper and the bed moved some more. I stayed very quiet, because honestly, I had no idea how to react. I felt a connection with him that time never erases with someone you know, like when you hear a song on the radio and all those old feelings of a special time in your life come flooding back.
That was Austin—he was my song.
I still remembered the sleepovers and how I’d pretend to doze off beside him while we watched a movie on the couch. It was strategic, of course, so I could slide against his shoulder. Wes always had to play bad guy and drag me off to bed, but Austin never seemed to mind. I loved those moments, because when he laughed, I could feel it.
Austin released one of those long sighs with a satisfactory moan once he settled beneath the sheets. Then I started wondering things like what kind of underwear he wore, or if he slept Tarzan style.
I immediately threw the blanket over to his side.
His warm laugh filled the chilly room. “I’m not cold, Ladybug.”
“Why do you call me that? You’ve been calling me that name since I can remember.”
He exhaled through his nose as if he were going to tell me something he didn’t want to.
“Your freckles.”
“Oh. Those.”
“Yeah, those.” He was quiet for a minute and then his voice changed up, softened a little, but had an edge like maybe he was embarrassed to talk so intimately with me. “One summer when you were about five, your mom bought you one of those moving sprinklers. You practically lived outside and ended up with a sunburn.”
I smiled. “I don’t remember.”
“That’s when you first got ’em. It was just a little spray across your nose and high on your cheeks. I was being mean when I gave you the name, but then it kind of stuck. Not in a mean way.”
I still had them, but they were small and faded, and invisible whenever I wore makeup.
“You shouldn’t cover them up,” he said, as if he could read my mind. His voice was soft like melted chocolate, and I turned on my right side, giving him my back.
“Why did you kiss me that night?” I finally asked. That question had plagued me for years, ever since the night Wes was killed.
The cover snapped off the bed and Austin rolled over behind me. “I planned on leaving town that night; I was trying to talk Wes into going. Hell, I thought he was going. We had a deal, but Wes wanted to be Breed, wanted immortality so much it blinded him from making the right decision.”
“What decision?”
