He pulled on his own shirt and hissed, “Of course it does!”
I shook my head. “No. No, it doesn’t. You messed up. It doesn’t matter what your reasons were, you killed us. You could have told me the truth. You made the choice not to. You picked your path and now you have to live with it.” Tears filled my eyes, threatening to overflow. “I do still feel something for you. I don’t know if it’ll ever go away and I’m sorry for that, but I also feel something for Kale. Something strong. I don’t know what it is yet, but I have to find out.”
He looked like he wanted to argue but kept quiet. “I should go. It’d probably be catastrophic if your father found me here.”
I nodded. “Probably.”
He raised his hand and pointed at my desk. A pen flew into the air, hovering for a moment, before diving at the pad of paper sitting on my nightstand. After several seconds of scribbling, the pen fell lifeless to the floor. “That’s my cell number. Call me in the morning and we’ll meet up to talk about the Denazen thing. I meant it. I want to help get your mother”—he swallowed and made a bitter face—“and Kale out of there.”
I nodded and followed him to the window. Swinging his legs over the edge, he eased himself down to the branch closest to the house. After dropping to the ground, he paused to look back at me. “I’m not gonna let this go, Dez. I know I screwed up, but I’m gonna fix it. Kale or no Kale, you belong with me.”
Then he was gone. Swallowed by the shadows.
21
The next morning I woke with my sheets tangled like spaghetti around my legs. My shoulders ached, my neck was sore, and I had a knot the size of a grapefruit in my back. Restless sleep. I’d awoken almost every hour, on the hour, having the same freaky nightmare as the night before, but with a couple of variations. Sometimes Kale kissed me with Alex looking on. Sometimes Alex intervened, shoving Kale into the crowd. Those were hard to watch because Alex always ended up dead. Sometimes, they both did.
I’d overslept—it was nearly ten—but I wasn’t worried. Dad had told me to stay home today since all the mimicking I’d done had worn me down. My head still buzzed and my stomach felt off, but all in all, it wasn’t as bad as I thought it’d be. Dressed and showered, I made my way downstairs, thrilled I’d be avoiding what was becoming an unwelcomed and twisted morning ritual. Coffee with Dad. He’d have left for sure by now.
As expected, when I entered the kitchen he wasn’t in his usual spot—but he was still home.
Not good.
Dad was across the room pacing, his cell phone tucked tight under his chin as he jotted down notes on a piece of paper. Whatever that call was, it was important. I knew the look on his face. It was the look he wore when things weren’t going well with his clients.
I poured myself a bowl of cereal while trying to eavesdrop on the conversation. This proved impossible because Dad’s end was nearly nonexistent. He mumbled simple, scant replies to the person on the other end, like yes, sure, no, and absolutely. Nothing that might give me any clue as to who was on the other end or what the subject matter was. He usually left the house by eight without fail, so something big had to be going on. At that moment, super dog hearing would have been more useful than mimicking.
Fifteen minutes later, he joined me at the table, cell phone out of sight.
“Surprised to see you still here,” I said through a mouthful of Rice Krispies. For once, the thought of coffee kind of turned my stomach. “Taking the day off?” It was a joke. Dad never took a day off.
“I’ve been on the phone with Mark most of the morning.”
“Really?” I put the spoon down.
“When did you last speak to Brandt?”
The unusual-for-June humidity vanished, replaced by a creeping, icy cold. I swallowed a lump of cereal in my mouth that suddenly tasted like cardboard and did my best not to choke. “I tried calling him all day yesterday. He’s pissed about something, so he’s been blowing me off.”
“He’s gone.”
“Gone?”
Dad hesitated and turned away. If he couldn’t—wouldn’t look me in the eye—then this was bad.
“What does gone mean?” I pressed.
“Dead.”
I dropped my spoon. It splashed down, sending droplets of milk and cereal raining over the edge of the bowl. The icy air turned thin. There wasn’t enough oxygen to fill my lungs. Or maybe there was plenty of air. It was possible I’d stopped breathing. My fingers clutched the edge of the table for support because the floor was suddenly moving like the tilt-a-whirl at the local fair. Sick. I was going to puke.
Dad continued to speak, oblivious to my distress. “The police think it might be connected to a story Mark’s working on. They found his body in the driveway behind Cairn’s car this morning.”
I opened my mouth to say something—at least I think I did—but nothing happened. For the second time in twenty-four hours, I’d forgotten how to speak.
Frowning, Dad rose from the table. His lips were moving. Something about Brandt’s clothing and his blood. I couldn’t hear him though. Not really. I was vaguely aware as he grabbed his keys and locked the door behind him on the way to the garage. My mind only half registered the roar of the engine and the mechanical thumping of the garage door as it opened, then closed. Not twenty seconds later, I sprang from my seat, into my black hoodie, and out the door.
For awhile, I ran blindly through the woods. It was humid and rainy, and my hair stuck to my face as I went. Autopilot kicked in, but it didn’t take long to realize where I was heading.
Brandt’s.
Brandt had lived next door my whole life. Granted, next door was separated by four acres of dense woods and a shallow stream, but still, he was never far away. I could see the flashing blue and red lights before I even broke the edge of the woods. People—police, neighbors, passing cars—were clumping in front of the house. Uncle Mark was silent. Watching the door while aunt Cairn stared blankly at the street, where two men were loading a large, long black thing into the back of the ambulance. I imagined the black bag containing trash, sand, even rocks—anything but my cousin.
With the most soul-crushing scream I’d ever heard, Uncle Mark lunged forward and threw himself at the gurney. “I need to see him. My boy. This is my fault!”
I couldn’t watch another minute.
I tore back through the woods and after awhile found myself on the strip. I had a million acquaintances I could call. Friends of mine. Friends of Brandt’s. But only one would understand what was going on. Only one wouldn’t have me committed if I told him what I thought really happened to my cousin.
I rounded the corner and took off in the general direction of Roudey’s.
Pushing open the back door, I slipped inside. I was drenched, and with each step, my sneakers squeaked and spit. My face was wet—it might have been tears or it might have been the rain—and I knew my eyes were red and puffy. There was no question I’d been crying when I came into the main room. All the ambient chatter died away.
Tommy, eagle-eyed as usual, saw me first. He rushed to my side. “Dez, baby, you okay?”
I never got the chance to answer. Alex pushed Tommy aside and dragged me into the back room before I could blink. “What happened? What’s wrong?” He peeled back the soggy layer of hair from my face. “Are you hurt?”
I opened my mouth to talk, but the only things that came out were long, drawn-out sobs. He had his keys in hand and ushered us out the door before I knew what was happening, which was fine. My brain had officially stopped working.
§
An hour later I finally calmed down enough to speak. And think. I told Alex everything, including the fact I believed my dad had something to do with Brandt’s death. Alex wasn’t surprised.
“He was digging,” I whispered. My throat was sore and my eyes were raw and the fading hea
dache from all the mimicking was back in force. “To find shit on Denazen. I told him to stop, but really, I was the reason he started. I asked him to do it and I should have known better. Should have known he’d take it too far. I got him killed.”
I remembered what Dad said the police thought. A connection to a story Uncle Mark was working on. Jesus. He was really going to let his own brother think himself responsible for the death of his son? I didn’t know why it surprised me. It was another notch in the belt of heartless that was Dad.
Alex was in my face in an instant. “You had nothing to do with it. Do you understand me? This was all Cross.”
I stared at him. “Brandt was his nephew. His brother’s son. How could he—”
“That’s the kind of people Denazen are. Family means nothing to them. We have to do this now.”
“Do what?”
“Bring me in. There’s no way you’re going back in there by yourself.”
“We haven’t even talked about how we’re going to get you in. And even if we do manage it, who says you’re going to even see me, let alone be allowed to get anywhere near me. It’s pointless to rush.”
“We’ll figure something out,” he said, leaning back.
“This is hopeless. It’s all so—I’m numb.”
One minute I was sitting next to him on the couch, the next his arms were around me and I was in his lap kissing him. It was seamless. Not happening one second, then happening another. I knew I should pull away, but didn’t. Greedy hands were everywhere, unable to get enough. Feeling. I had some feeling now. I slid my hands under the front of his thin T-shirt, fingers skimming the skin. He was more defined than I remembered. Harder.
I pulled the shirt up, but it caught on his neck. I struggled with it for a moment before he intervened, knocking my hands aside. With a low growl, he tore it off and threw it across the room. Broad shoulders. Hungry hazel eyes. Yes. That’s right. It was all coming back. They changed from brown to hazel depending on his mood. Pale skin, flawless except for the rough, discolored patch on his right shoulder—the lone reminder of a dirt bike accident when he was fourteen. This was the Alex I remembered. Sharper and more vivid than the one from last night.
Every nerve ending in my body alive and urging me on, I pushed for a thrill of sensation that would deaden the pain. It worked, so I chased it further. I’d chase it all the way if that’s what I needed to do to stay whole. Because I wasn’t anymore. I’d lost Brandt. I’d lost Kale. I’d lost Mom.
Leaning into him, I tangled my fingers through his blond hair and pulled him closer. The scent of cigarettes mixed with mint Tic-Tacs—surrounded me. Something in the back of my mind chastised me for letting him take advantage of my pain, but my body didn’t care. I needed this. Needed to feel. I’d shot him down last night—somewhere in the back of my mind I remembered this, but I’d officially shut down. Now wasn’t the time to think. It was the time to act.
His fingers lingered on the button of my jeans, waiting for me to protest.
My body wouldn’t let me.
My soul, however, was screaming stop! Flashing neon signs and warning bells—it was pulling up on the emergency brake—repeatedly—but that brake was temporarily out of order.
Expertly, he flicked the button open and drew down the zipper.
Kale. I wanted to think of Kale.
Alex slid his hands under the material of my jeans, gripping my bare hips with an almost painful force. I shivered at his touch. Kale’s fingers were warm, soft. Alex’s were calloused and hard. Like ice. It was a jolt to the system.
Kale. At that moment, I’d do anything to keep my mind off him. Like Brandt, he was beyond my reach. I was beginning to think he might be beyond my reach forever, and that hurt more than I could stand.
I’d kidded myself into thinking I could do this. Kale and Denazen. I’d sworn off relationships when I ended things with Alex—and with good reason. You could have a good time, no strings attached. Without the strings, nothing could come back and choke you later when it didn’t work out. What if I couldn’t get Kale away from Denazen? Chances were good that if I failed, it would be due to exposure. They’d have Kale, and they’d have me. They’d still have Mom.
Alex’s hands were now at the hem of my shirt, tugging upward. I almost stopped him.
Someone like me had no hope of going head to head with someone like my dad. Sure, I’d done it a million times—when I’d thought he was nothing more than a simple, arrogant lawyer. But after seeing what Denazen could do—what Dad would do—my second guesses had turned to the sick gum of denial stuck to the bottom of a desk. Sure, you could peel it off and force it into your mouth, but what good did that do? The flavor was lost.
Kale was lost.
My shirt now on the couch next to his, Alex nibbled a trail from the underside of my chin, down to my shoulder.
My mom was lost.
Alex hooked his fingers through one of the belt loops of my damp jeans, peeling them down. I rose onto my knees, letting him slide them farther. When they’d gone as far as they could, I leaned to the side and kicked them off.
Brandt was lost.
Taking my bra strap between his teeth, he tugged it down.
I’d lost hope.
Warm lips traced a path from my neck to my shoulder.
I’d lost myself.
No.
I wasn’t a quitter! I reigned as Queen of the Stubborn. If it was a lost cause, then all the better. I loved proving people wrong—especially myself. I thrived on it.
Finally, reality began to ooze back, and I pulled away. Sure, kissing Alex felt good. Best of all, it felt. But it wasn’t what I wanted. Not deep down. When I’d told him no last night, I’d been torn. He’d been right—I still had very real feelings for him—but it wasn’t enough. Maybe it was because of what happened between us, and maybe it wasn’t.
Kale was unlike anyone I’d ever met before. He made me feel happy. Alive. His simplistic way of looking at things, along with fierce enthusiasm for life, was something I couldn’t see myself living without. Regardless of the damage Denazen had done to him, and the past Alex and I had, I knew who I wanted.
What I wanted.
I wanted the strings.
“I’m sorry,” I said as I pushed him away. I didn’t need to explain further. I could see it in his eyes. He understood. He wasn’t happy, but he didn’t yell.
He backed away, grabbing his shirt, and climbed to his feet. Something was off about his smile. Something that scared me. “We’ll see.”
§
The phone rang fourteen times before he picked it up. An all-time record as far as I knew. Dad was a strict third ring person.
“Marshall Cross.”
“Dad, it’s me.”
A pause. He’d probably looked at the caller ID. “Deznee? Where are you?”
“I’m in town. I need you to meet me at The Blueberry Bean.”
“I’m working at the moment. It will have to wait.”
“It can’t wait—and it is work. I’ll meet you there in twenty minutes.” I hung up. I could almost smell the steam that had to be billowing from Dad’s ears. It made me smile. Warm fuzzies all the way.
“We set?” Alex asked, holding his hand out for the phone. I gave it back, and he stuffed it into his back pocket.
“I think so. You ready? It won’t take him long to get there.”
“I just gotta hit the john.” He held out the keys. “Go start the car, I’ll meet you down there.”
§
As promised, twenty minutes later I sat under one of the large umbrella tables outside The Blueberry Bean, our local haven for coffee addicts. The rain still fell, but the umbrella would be large enough that we didn’t get wet—not that it mattered. My clothes were still damp from this morning.
&nb
sp; I glanced casually down at my wrist—there was no watch. “What took you so long?”
“I’m not amused by this, Deznee.” Dad approached, cup in hand and filled with what I’d bet was black coffee with a double shot of espresso. Dark sunglasses and a deep brown trench despite the warmth in the air made him look like something from a secret agent movie. Another time, I would have mocked him. His buttons were so easily pushed when it came to wardrobe. I never understood it.
“Well, that’s good, Dad. I didn’t mean for it to be amusing.” I smiled and leaned back, trying to pull off nonchalant. After the day I’d had so far, it took conscious effort. “So I took some initiative today.”
He pulled out the seat across from me and sat down. “Oh?”
I crooked my finger at Alex, standing right inside the coffee shop. I’d been a little surprised when Alex still insisted on helping me after last night, and then again this afternoon. The old Alex had been selfish. When things didn’t go his way, he packed up his toys and went home.
He stepped around the corner and out the front door. Without a word, he pulled out the chair between mine and Dad’s and flipped it backwards. Straddling it, he said, “Hello again, Mr. Cross.”
Face impassive, Dad said, “Mr. Mojourn. What an unpleasant surprise.”
Alex smiled and leaned forward against the back of the chair. “Likewise, sir.”
While we’d been dating, Dad and Alex had never been what you’d consider close. In fact, Dad had threatened to cut specific parts from Alex’s anatomy and mount them on the living room wall on several occasions.
“Anyway,” I said to Dad. “Alex is a Six and he’s looking for work.”
Alex flicked a long finger at the saltshaker from across the table. It rocked forward, and teetered on the edge for a moment before tumbling over the side.
I could tell Dad wasn’t the least bit impressed. Maybe Kale was right. Alex’s gift was a dime a dozen. “I’m fully aware of Mr. Mojourn’s status. A telekinetic. How rare,” Dad said, voice dripping with sarcasm.