He pulls back and cups my face. “There’s a party coming up. Paxton Calloway’s anniversary thing. I want you there. As my date. Officially.”
My mouth pops open. “What about your dad?”
“Fuck my dad. I’m tired of hiding you.”
The words wrap around me, and I let myself sink into them, because even if everything else is crumbling, and even if I’m only staying because my father needs me to play the game—this is what I came here for. For Art. And it feels like right now, for the first time, he’s choosing me.
It’s just too little too late.
“Okay,” I whisper.
He kisses me, and I swallow down the trepidation and kiss him back.
When we pull up to the cabin, Cavall is at the window, tail going wild. Art walks me to the door.
“Text me tomorrow?”
“You’re not coming in?”
His eyes drop. “Unless you’d feel safer if I did.”
I shrug, glancing at the tree line behind him.
“You’re safe here, Gin. I’d trust Lance and Cavall with my life.”
One more kiss, and then he’s gone, his taillights disappearing down the dark road.
I hurry inside because being out here alone gives me the creeps, and Cavall barrels into me, his whole body wiggling, the pink duck wedged between us. I drop to my knees and he licks my cheek.
“Hey, buddy. Miss me?”
His tail thumps.
The back door opens a few minutes later, and Lance walks in, freshly showered, hair still damp, head to toe in black. He stops when he sees me, his hand pressing against his chest. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
“Art brought me back. I thought he told you.”
He frowns and shakes his head. “He didn’t tell me.”
“Oh.”
“You good?” he asks.
“He told me about my dad. Same stuff we already deduced. Dangerous people, keeping an eye on me.” I scratch Cavall’s ears. “He said he didn’t know until after I moved here.”
“You believe him?”
“I want to.”
“Me too.” He holds my gaze for a moment longer. “You eat?”
“Not really.”
“I’ll make something.”
He heads to the kitchen and I follow him. He moves with purpose; grabbing a pan, pulling things from the fridge, and I think about what he said to Percy tonight. About being barely eighteen. About teaching survival, not fighting.
I think about Art calling that kid bait.
