Spark

  But that edge in his voice warned her to tread carefully. If she asked, he might not tell her, and this tentative trust would be shot to hell. They’d be back at square one.

  She didn’t want to turn back. Not now.

  “I’ve never told anyone everything.” She took a deep breath. “I’ve never told anyone any of it.”

  Everything felt fragile again. She stared at him in the darkness, wanting to take that final leap, unsure whether he’d catch her.

  And then, just like when she was bolting blindly for the water, he did.

  “I’ll keep your secrets,” he said softly.

  She looked back at the water. “The fire was a retaliation against my father. He’s a good attorney, but he doesn’t win everything. Some guy went to jail, and his friends were mad. I don’t know all the details, because I was five, and my dad doesn’t like to talk about it. Because Simon is deaf, he can’t hear smoke detectors. There was fire everywhere—they’d thrown glass jars of gasoline into the house. When it all started, my mother went looking for Simon. She didn’t know my father had already gotten him out. And she was so busy searching his room that she didn’t even think to check mine. The firemen pulled me out, but it was too late. I’d climbed into my closet, and the wall burned through the back—”

  Her voice broke, and she told herself to knock it off. It’s not like she hadn’t lived with this for years. “I remember waking up in the hospital, and my mom was crying. She kept asking me, ‘Why didn’t you get out, Layne? Why didn’t you get out?’ For years, I felt so guilty, like I’d done something wrong. I did everything I could to please her, like wearing the perfect little clothes she’d buy me, or with the horseback riding, going to every perfect little show she wanted. It wasn’t until I was twelve, when everyone was wearing those stupid shirts with the shoulder cut out, you know? I wanted to wear one. I begged for one, and she finally snapped, ‘But, Layne, people will see your scars. What will they think?’

  “I felt like such an idiot. All those boots and long-sleeved dresses. Horseback riding, for god’s sake! One of the only sports you have to do fully clothed! I’d been so desperate to please her that I never realized she was trying to hide her mistake. But by then I’d been hiding the scars for so many years that I had to keep them a secret. What eighth grader wants to walk into school and declare she has scars all over her body? But people noticed anyway. I mean, when you wear long sleeves in May, people start thinking you’re weird. But I stopped wearing her fancy clothes. Every time she bought me something, I knew it was a cover-up for the scars.”

  Gabriel was quiet for a moment. “How the hell do you live with her?”

  “I don’t.” Layne paused, unsure whether to keep going. This next part was fresh, and the hardest. “She walked out the week after school started. Moved in with some guy she’d met at the country club. She told our father she was sick of trying to make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear. Get it? She was sick of trying to make a perfect family out of a bunch of freaks.”

  “So now you’re stuck with your father.”

  She swung her head around, hearing the derision in his voice. “My dad’s not usually like . . . like he was with you. He’s going through a lot. My mom was a bitch to him, too, but I don’t think he ever thought she’d cheat on him. She always blamed him for the fire. She wanted him to quit his job—and he’d counter that she loved spending the money. She was the one who put Simon in a private school, saying it was better for him, but I finally figured out that he was just one more imperfection she was trying to hide . . .”

  Gabriel reached out and ran a finger along her cheekbone, and she didn’t realize until then that she was crying. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t know.”

  “No one does.” She sniffed. “Until now, and Taylor’s going to put that stupid video all over the Internet.”

  “It’s Friday night. People will forget all about it by Monday.” He paused, running a finger across her cheek again. “And I’ll be surprised if people even believe it’s you.”

  She looked up at him. “You will? Why?”

  He picked up a curl of hair from her shoulder. “Because you haven’t just been keeping the scars hidden; you’ve been keeping sexy Layne hidden.”

  “I am not sexy.”

  “You’re lucky I didn’t jump you when we were sitting on the tailgate.”

  “Shut up.”

  His hand found her knee, and he leaned in to kiss her neck. “Really, you’re lucky I’m not jumping you right now.”

  His hand slid along the outside of her thigh, not too high, just inside the hemline of her skirt. The touch stole every thought from her head. “And you’re not . . . you’re not freaked out . . . by the . . . um . . .”

  “No. I think you’re beautiful. And I’m no stranger to fucked-up families.”

  And then he was kissing her again. The addictive pull of his mouth almost had her crawling into his lap. Her hands bunched in his shirt, pulling him closer. His fingers didn’t venture higher, but teased along the edge of her skirt, brushing against her so lightly that she almost couldn’t stand it. She’d never thought anyone would touch her this way—she’d never wanted anyone to touch her this way. But now that he was being so careful, the building heat in her body made her want to rip all her clothes off.

  Layne always rolled her eyes in health class when they talked about hormones getting out of control. But right now, she could barely remember her name. She totally got how someone could forget something like a silly little condom.

  Suddenly Gabriel was laughing. “How someone could forget what?”

  She almost fell off the bench. “I said that out loud?”

  “Yeah.” He leaned closer, his breath against her jaw. “Just what were you thinking about?”

  “Health class,” she squeaked.

  His cell phone chimed. Thank god.

  Gabriel sat back to fish it out of his pocket. It threw light on his face, but she couldn’t figure out his expression.

  “What’s wrong?” she said.

  He shook his head. “Nothing.” He held up the phone so she could read the text. “Nick wants to make sure you’re all right.”

  She read the screen.

  All OK w the girl?

  She took it out of his hands, oddly touched. “But he doesn’t even know me.”

  “Nick’s like that. Always does the right thing.”

  She glanced up from the phone, hearing the tension in his voice. “You still owe me a secret.”

  “One is enough for tonight.” He took the phone back and tapped out a quick text. The phone chimed almost immediately, and he sighed and shoved it into his pocket before she could see what his brother had said.

  She tried to figure out his expression. “You all right?”

  His voice was closed off now. “I should probably take you home, before your dad sends out a search party.”

  So that was that. She bit at her lip, wondering how to fix this.

  He stood. “It’s late.”

  Oh. Loud and clear. She nodded. “Okay.”

  But when they were walking, he reached down and took her hand. “You doing anything tomorrow?”

  His fingers were sending bolts of electricity up her arm, and she shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

  He leaned down and brushed a kiss against her temple. “Maybe if you actually use that number I wrote in your notebook, we could figure something out.”

  Gabriel sat in the car, staring up at his house for the second night in a row. The porch lights were on, but the lower level lights weren’t. The front step: empty. Both front windows on the second level were dark, but one was Chris’s and one was his, so that didn’t mean much.

  He’d been tempted to drive to Hunter’s, but that would probably give Michael an excuse to report him for auto theft or something.

  And then there was the subtle accusation in Nick’s second text message.

  Gabriel pulled the phone out of his pocket and looked at
it again, like he couldn’t remember three words.

  You coming home?

  Simple enough, but full of subtext. Did Nick expect him to be out all night? Was this a challenge? A warning that Nick would be waiting to hash things out?

  And then there was Layne.

  Christ, Gabriel could have sat in that parking lot with her all night. He’d never been with a girl so perfectly . . . imperfect. She got it. She got him. He’d been ready to tell her. About the fires, about everything. He’d warmed up to it, telling her about his parents’ deaths.

  But then she’d told him about her scars. What was he supposed to say to that?

  Funny thing: I actually started the fire that killed my parents.

  Gabriel punched the steering wheel.

  His cell phone chimed. Nick again.

  You can come in. Mike is out.

  What? Seriously? It was almost midnight. Curiosity was enough to shove Gabriel out of the car.

  But when he made it to the second floor, he looked at Nick’s door sitting a few inches open. Alt rock music was on low, sneaking into the hallway. No feminine laughter. No Quinn.

  Nick was waiting for him.

  Gabriel hesitated. He wished those text messages had come with some kind of sign, whether Nick was pissed or exasperated or just completely done with him. Hell, a freaking emoticon would have been helpful.

  His own room sat pitch-dark at the opposite end of the hallway. A black hole. Gabriel eased around the creaky spot in the floor and slid past his twin’s room. Once in his own, he flung his duffel bag onto the ground and shut the door, closing the dark around himself. He sighed and kicked his shoes into the well of blackness under the bed. Maybe Nick hadn’t heard him. Maybe he thought he was still out in the car.

  “You are so predictable.”

  Gabriel swore and fumbled for the light switch.

  Nick was straddling his desk chair backward, his arms folded on the backrest.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” Gabriel snapped. “Why are you sitting here in the dark?”

  His twin shrugged. “Because I knew you’d walk right past my room.”

  This would be easier if Nick wanted to start throwing punches.

  Gabriel sighed. “Look. It’s late—”

  “Did you get the girl home all right?”

  “Layne. Her name is Layne. And yes.” Though he’d had to park three houses down to watch her walk up the sidewalk. He hesitated. “Thanks for letting me take the car.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Silence clung to the air. Nick could read a lot from a silence, Gabriel knew. The air would whisper to him as strongly as fire did to Gabriel. That didn’t make gaps in strained conversation any easier to fill.

  He fought not to fidget. “Where’s Michael?”

  “He was meeting someone for coffee.” Nick shook his watch straight on his wrist. “That was at seven.”

  Gabriel picked up on the note in his voice. “Someone?”

  “He said it was an old friend from school.”

  “A girl?”

  “He didn’t say.”

  Gabriel had a pretty good idea, anyway.

  Then Nick offered, “He spent a long time getting ready. Said, and I quote, ‘Don’t wait up.’”

  “That sneaky bastard.” Gabriel dropped onto the corner of his bed, bemused. “He’s going out with Hannah.”

  Nick raised an eyebrow. “Who’s Hannah?”

  Gabriel snapped his eyes up. That comment hammered home just how disconnected he’d been from Nick over the last few days.

  If his twin didn’t know about Hannah, that meant Michael had kept his promise about the night Gabriel accidentally set the woods on fire.

  But Gabriel couldn’t explain Hannah without revealing it himself.

  Could he tell Nick about the fires?

  No. Nick wouldn’t approve. He wouldn’t understand.

  He’d tell Michael. They’d make him stop.

  “Hannah is just a girl.” Gabriel couldn’t meet his brother’s eyes. He focused on the joints of the chair. “She used to go to school with Michael.”

  Nick sighed, obviously not convinced. “All right, forget about Hannah. Forget about Layne, even. Keep your secrets, since you obviously can’t talk to me anymore.”

  The last bit wasn’t said with spite or contempt—which Gabriel had been expecting. Just furious resignation, which was a hundred times worse.

  “Look. Nicky—”

  “I’m surprised you came home. Chris said you had a bag full of clothes.” Nick’s gaze went to the duffel bag Gabriel had dropped by the door.

  “That’s not about you.” The words almost hurt to say.

  “What’s it about, then?”

  Every question was another tick toward an explosion, like a bomb counting down. It didn’t help that Nick was sitting there, completely implacable. “It’s about Michael.”

  “You mean, because he thinks you’re starting fires?”

  Gabriel flinched. But what could he say?

  “It might help,” said Nick, “if you would deny it.”

  “I shouldn’t have to deny it.” The lights flickered.

  But that’s all. The power waited for direction. Gabriel held his breath.

  Nick glanced up, and some of the anger leaked out of his voice. “You want to talk about it?”

  Gabriel tried to dial back the power. Chill out.

  It flickered again, almost a refusal—but then settled, easing back into a normal rhythm. Gabriel let a breath out. “No.”

  “Fine.” Nick’s voice sharpened right back up. “You want to talk about why you couldn’t give me a heads up that we’d been accused of cheating?”

  Oh. Damn.

  “They said something to you?”

  “Of course!” Nick straightened in the chair. Wind whipped through the screen to ruffle his hair. “Damn it, Gabriel, you might not give a crap if you graduate, but I sure do.”

  Of course he cared. What did Nick think, that he was too stupid to bother? It took three tries to speak, and even then, it came out strangled. “When they asked you . . . what did you say?”

  “I said I’d stop! What the hell do you think I said? You know, she asked if I was taking your tests in other classes. She said cheating was grounds for expulsion. She said this could go on my transcript—”

  “Oh, who cares.” Gabriel snorted. “You think the people who hire us to plant perennials are going to check your high school transcript?”

  “No, but colleges might.”

  College? Shock almost shoved Gabriel off the bed. Nick had never said one word about doing anything more after high school than helping Michael with the family business. “You want to go to college?”

  Now Nick looked sheepish. “Well. I knew you weren’t interested—”

  “Where the hell are you going to get money for college?”

  “I don’t know. There’s aid, and . . . look, I haven’t even applied yet. It’s just something I’m thinking about.”

  When Nick thought about something, it wasn’t a whim. Nick would have schools in mind. He might be thinking about moving away.

  Away.

  Gabriel had spent two days barely saying a word to his twin, and it felt like water torture. He couldn’t imagine weeks passing. Months.

  When they were little, they’d shared a room, a bed on each wall. For years, Gabriel had thought a twin bed meant only twins slept in them. If they dressed in the same pajamas—which had been almost every night—Mom would say they looked like a pair of bookends. Half the time, Gabriel would wake up in the morning to find Nick had climbed into bed with him sometime in the night.

  Nick had grown out of that sometime in elementary school.

  Only to start back up again when their parents died.

  He didn’t do that anymore, of course. But now he was just one room down the hall.

  Not down the road.

  Or in another state.

  Gabriel glared at him.
His voice was tight, and probably sounded angry. “Why didn’t you say something?”

  More wind streaked through the room, a good ten degrees colder than the last gust. “Yeah? When should I have said something? When you were insulting Quinn? Or maybe when you tried to burn the house down—”

  “I did not try to burn the house down.” Gabriel was off the bed now, his hands curled into fists. Electricity pulsed in the walls, ready to flare.

  The air turned cold enough to bite bare skin, thin and hard to breathe. “That’s right,” said Nick. “You don’t have to try, do you? You’re pretty good at destroying things all by your—”

  “Enough.”

  Gabriel jumped. Michael stood in the doorway, a hand braced on each side of the frame. His breath fogged in the air.

  “Nick”—he sighed—“would you give us a minute?”

  Nick disentangled himself from the chair, but he did it slowly, and the room didn’t get any warmer until he’d pushed past Michael to step into the hallway.

  He didn’t glance back once. Not like Gabriel was looking.

  Michael remained in the doorway. Gabriel didn’t want to look at him, either.

  “You’re home,” said Michael.

  “Yeah.” Gabriel picked at a thread on the cuff of his jeans. “Not out destroying any lives tonight.”

  “Very funny.”

  “How was your date?”

  “It wasn’t a date.” Michael paused. “I was trying to make sure they’re not still investigating you.”

  For some reason, that was infuriating. “So you’re just stringing her along to find out what she knows? Christ, Michael, that’s kind of a dickhead move—”

  “You want to tell me what’s really going on?”

  “There’s nothing going on.” At least this was a brother he could fight with. Gabriel stood. Got close. “I’m home. Go spend your worry on someone else.”

  Michael didn’t move.

  Gabriel shoved him. “Go.”

  He watched Michael draw himself up, ready to hit back. But then his brother just shifted toward the door. “Thanks.”