I watch Lucas, every inch of my body coursing with heat as sweat cools my neck. This reminds me of that day hiding in the attic at the summer camp. There’s something about watching people. We might be afraid of what we’ll see, but it’s also the only way to find out what they’re so desperate to protect you from.
Lucas approaches the mirror, and a breath lodges in my throat as he stares inside. I freeze as he stops inches from me, and I look up, only one step from his mouth.
He fixes his hair. Brushing wet locks back off his forehead, he breathes hard before lifting up his shirt and wiping down his face. My mouth falls open, gaping at his stomach, his chest...
I touch my fingertips to the glass, inching my body closer as if I’ll feel his skin.
“Lucas…” I whisper.
He backs away, and so do I. My family stood here and watched each other and me just like I’m watching him now. All the times I thought I was alone, I might not have been. It’s not right.
But maybe now I understand why Hawke and Dylan kept this a secret. There’s power in this. To being right under people’s noses.
They were worried I’d stop it.
I unlock my phone and call.
Lucas’s phone rings a short distance away, and he glances at the screen, answering immediately.
“Quinn?” His voice sounds panicked, and I watch his eyebrows pinch together in worry. “You okay?”
What am I doing? Why did I call him?
But I know why. I needed to see what he looks like when he’s alone and thinking of me.
I can’t come out until he leaves. I don’t think I want Madoc, Jared, or Jax to know about this hideout yet, and he would tell them.
“Yeah,” I reply, keeping my voice low in case he can hear me through the mirror. “I’m okay.”
“Where are you?”
“I’m safe.”
He digs in his brow, his jaw flexing. “Where are you?”
His tone is harder, suspicious.
Does he think I’m with someone I’m not supposed to be?
I smile to myself. “I don’t want to tell you.”
“You don’t want to tell me?”
His chin rises, his shoulders squaring. “Tell me where you are,” he orders. “I’m coming to pick you up.”
I know what will happen if he picks me up. He’ll take me home. I’ll sleep. Then, I’ll get up in the morning for another day, and he’ll leave town.
I’m not ready to go home yet.
“No need,” I say in a light voice. “I’m having fun.”
He paces, turning around, and I see the ridges of his back muscles through his soaked shirt. The picture of the girl in the journal sits in my head. She looked like the remains of a love that was too passionate. Too consuming.
It doesn’t sound at all healthy, and I want it.
“Games were cute when you were a kid,” Lucas chides.
But I simply say, “I don’t play the same games I did as a kid.”
