The orange whippedcream on mine and Remi’s pumpkin spice lattes is turning to sludge. The ice, though… I curl my fingertips around the black plastic cups and feel the coolness of the espresso and milk and smile to myself as I close the driver’s door of my Altima with my hip. It’s chilly outside and I inhale deep, a happy scream bubbling in the back of my throat. Summer is fun, sure, but I come alive in the fall. The scents, the air, the pumpkin spice, the sweaters and skirts and boots.
Caspian is out of my head, and I’m about to spill everything to my best friend.
I glance down at my outfit and shimmy my shoulders in an excited dance. Purple mini skirt, black lace leggings, blackboots, and I’m wearing a white, off-the-shoulder sweater. When I did my makeup this morning, I promised myself it wasn’t for Storm’s sake. It shouldn’t be. He threatened to impale me with coffin nails after he told meheput them on my doorstep which doesn’t make sense. I think he thinks it makes him sound cool. Maybe it kind of does, but I’d never tell him that.
Before I head to the cobblestones leading to his front porch, I look over my shoulder. In the driveway there’s my car, pulled closest to the sidewalk, then Storm’s black WRX, and Remi’s Corolla, both backed in.
Cortland’s truck is missing and I assume he’s working early and probably enjoying it, based on the temperature, considering he works outside most days.
I lift my chin and sashay down the sidewalk, then onto the white front porch of the house, smiling at the tumbling yellow and orange and red leaves scattered along the floorboards. There’s a mat at the door, a hook fromI Know What You Did Last Summerand it makes me feel giddy. Halloween is in a little more than two weeks and I’m trying to convince Remi to do something spooky with me in the mountains.
I can’t open the screen door with both drinks in my hand and my coffin-shaped purple and black purse dangling precariously from one shoulder, so I lift my boot to lightly kick the bottom of the door. I should have texted Remi before I got us caffeine at The Veil, but I figured she might be sleeping and Lyle, too, and someone else in this house would be awake so I wouldn’t disturb her until she got enough sleep. She’s still doing school part-time thanks to the help of the nice older woman who comes by to watch Lyle when Storm can’t or Cortland is working, and she’s raising afreshbaby. Lyle was born in August. He’ll be three months soon.
I remember Cortland pacing in the hall at the birthing center, running his hands over and over through his hair. But Remi wasincredible and I heard Lyle’s first cries through the door of her room at the center and flung my arms around Storm. I think that was really the only time we touched before he came over last week.
He didn’t hug me back, but I could see in his eyes he was happy, too.
Before I can kick the bottom of the door with appropriate force to be heard but not enough to wake a sleeping baby, the main one is jerked open, and Storm Leary stands there, his eyes locked on mine.
My pulse flies and I lower my foot to better balance myself as I take him in.
He doesn’t have a shirt on, and I notice he has a graveyard tattoo that takes up most of his ribcage and down to the V that leads into the gray sweats he’s wearing.
I force my eyes back up, past his abs, to the gold chain around his throat and the tattooed sword there, turned up, like it’s going into his neck.
My cheeks heat as I find his face.
But something is wrong.
His black hair is messy like he just woke up, and it’s eight so maybe he did, but there are deep shadows beneath his eyes, like bruises, and he’s entirely expressionless. One hand grips the door, the muscles of his arms flexed and taut, and…
Oh fuck.
When my gaze drops down his body again, I realize I was so busy staring at the cemetery on one side of his torso, I missed the vivid red gash on the other. It’s along his obliques, deep enough it’s crusted over with a scab and pink around the wound, like it’s tender and…fresh. It’s maybe six inches long and my first thought is it looks like someone wanted to hurt him.
I snap my head up and speak with the screen door between us.
“Who did that?”
He tilts his head and his brows pull together. “What makes you thinksomeonedid it?”
“It wasn’t an accident.” I glance at the wound again and my heart races harder, worry twisting in my gut. “What happened?” Then I gesture with my full hands to the door between us. “Open the damn door, Storm.”
Surprising me, he doesn’t argue and he pushes it open, leaning over the entrance to let me squeeze through. I brush by him and he smells so damn good and his skin is flawless and he’s so much taller than me and my hair brushes his arm as I walk by and…
I’m inside the house.Get it together, Sloane.
It’s dark inside, and I notice a pile of blankets and a pillow from a bed thrown around on the leather couch before Storm closes and locks the door at my back, drenching us in dimness again.
I listen to the sounds of the house as he stands behind me, so close I can practically feel his torso along the exposed part of my shoulder. He could grab my hair if he wanted, force my chin up, and kiss me upside down and…
Stop it.
I exhale.
It’s silent in here. There’s only the pulse of my own heart pounding in my ears.
I glance at the staircase to my left, and it’s dark there too. Remi and Lyle must be sleeping.
