Spark

  Layne had to clear her throat to find her voice. “It’s my dad.” God, how had he known where they were? She shook herself and looked at her watch.

  Still early! How . . . what . . .

  “Layne!” Her father was already out of the vehicle, standing there in the driveway, the door standing open. His tone could slice through steel. “Both of you. Get in the car. Right now.”

  Her backpack was still in the kitchen, but she didn’t dare say she had to go inside to get it. “Dad.” Her voice broke, and she tried again. “Dad, we were just playing—”

  “Trust me. I know exactly what’s getting played here.” Layne had never seen him look so livid.

  Yes she had—the night her mom left.

  It hurt to breathe. Her voice wouldn’t rise above a whisper. “Dad—”

  “Leave her alone,” said Gabriel, right at her shoulder. His voice was even. Steady. “We were just playing ball.”

  Simon signed the same thing, his gestures full of fury. We were just playing ball. You were working.

  Her father looked like he was forcing himself to stay behind the car door. He gestured, his words punctuated by fury. “Get. In. The. Car.”

  Layne swallowed. “Okay.”

  “Hey.” Gabriel caught her wrist, his eyes still fixed on her father, his voice still unrelenting. “They didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “Gabriel,” said Michael.

  “Nothing wrong?” Her father did close the door now, stepping across the pavement. Layne had to fight to keep from backing up. “I believe we might have a different perspective of right and wrong. For instance, driving a fifteen-year-old girl across town without her parents’ permission. To say nothing of her fourteen-year-old brother.”

  “Yeah?” said Gabriel, stepping forward, almost putting her behind him. Thunder cracked in the sky again, closer. “What’s so right about being—”

  “Gabriel.” Michael had his brother’s arm now, and it must have been a death grip. White showed across his knuckles.

  But Michael’s eyes were on her father, his tone composed. “I drove. They were just getting together for schoolwork.” He paused, and Layne thought for a moment that he was going to sell her out, to say that he’d specifically asked whether she had permission and she’d lied. “Gabriel and Layne studied in the kitchen; we played ball. I’ve been here the whole time.”

  If anything, her father’s eyes turned darker. “Forgive me if I don’t find that too reassuring.”

  Lightning streaked through the sky behind the houses across the street. Thunder cracked. A drop of water struck her cheek.

  She could hear Gabriel’s breathing beside her, tight and furious.

  Please, she prayed, remembering their exchange in her foyer. Don’t make this worse.

  “Dad,” she choked. “It was fine.”

  “Layne, I’m not an idiot. And I’m not going to worry about you and Simon running around with some worthless teenager who’s a phone call away from juvenile detention—”

  “Hey.” Michael took a step forward, almost toe-to-toe with her father. “He’s not worthless, and you’re out of line.”

  “I’m out of line? Maybe you should think about your position before you get in my face, kid.”

  “I’m not a kid. And you don’t know anything about my position. ”

  “Please,” said Layne. “Just . . . it’s my fault. We’ll get in the car.”

  But her father would never back down from anyone, and he was barely paying attention to her anymore. “Oh, you don’t think I had time to look you up? All I needed was a neighbor to tell me about the strange vehicle in the driveway. She wondered why my kids were getting in a landscaping truck.”

  Layne flinched. Her father said landscaping truck as if she and Simon had been found scrounging in Dumpsters. Another drop of rain hit her cheek. Her forearm. “Dad—stop it.”

  “Clearly they survived the experience,” said Michael. “Funny how you were so concerned, but you had time to look me up.”

  “You know,” said her father, his tone softening, gaining the weight of threat, “everything about you is a matter of public record. I saw the court records, the way you run the risk of being denied custody every spring. I saw the financial condition of your little company.” He paused, the way he did before delivering a final blow to a jury. She’d seen him rehearse one too many times—and the pause was effective because he meant every word that came after it. “You don’t want to mess with me, kid. I can mess with you much more effectively.”

  Thunder cracked, just overhead. Lightning struck a tree beside the driveway with a sound like a gunshot. Layne gave a little shriek. Branches and sparks rained down, just behind her father’s car. Some landed on the trunk.

  Then real rain took over, stopping any fire before it could start. Layne shivered.

  Michael shoved Gabriel back against the garage. “Are you crazy? Go in the house.”

  Gabriel surged forward, but his brother pushed him back, holding him there with one hand as he turned to face her father. Layne could see the muscle twitch in Michael’s jaw, the hard set of his shoulders. Now she saw it, the way he probably got into it with Gabriel. She held her breath, wondering if he’d throw a punch at her father. And how her father would react.

  Considering how her dad was acting, she almost wished Michael would.

  But Michael took a ragged breath and seemed to shore up all that anger. “I’m sorry for any misunderstanding. Maybe you should leave before the storm gets too bad.”

  Gabriel jerked himself out of his brother’s grip, shoving damp hair out of his eyes. He looked like he might go after her father, but Michael gave him another shove toward the front door. “Go inside. Go.”

  Gabriel took a few steps down the walkway, but stopped there, his hands in fists.

  Layne was ready to get dragged to the car, but her father was still staring down Michael, ignoring the rain. She grabbed his arm. “Dad, come on.” Her voice was breaking, and she didn’t care. “Let’s go.”

  He didn’t move. “Get in the car, Layne.”

  She didn’t think that was a very good idea.

  Thunder cracked again, and she flinched. But lightning flashed harmlessly behind the trees.

  Simon stepped forward and shoved her father with his shoulder, stomping to the BMW. At the door, he turned and gave her father a gesture that didn’t need any translation. Then he slid into the backseat and slammed the door.

  Layne swallowed. But at least her father’s focus was thrown. Michael was already herding Gabriel toward the front door, and she turned on her heel and headed for the car herself. She couldn’t bear the thought of sitting next to her father for the drive home, so she slid in beside Simon.

  She didn’t have the courage to slam the door herself.

  A lecture had to be forthcoming, but when her father got in the car, he didn’t say anything. Just switched on XM Radio, the classical station.

  He only listened to classical when he was furious.

  “Dad,” she whispered, “I’m really—”

  “Not now, Layne.”

  His voice was a smack across the face, disappointment and disgust and fury all contained in three words. She fell back against the seat.

  But Simon tapped her leg. His eyes were red, some combination of fear and anger. With rain on his cheeks, he looked like he was simultaneously ready to cry and put his fist through the car window.

  It’s okay, she signed. I’ll tell him it was my fault.

  Simon brushed her hands aside, his way of telling her to shut up.

  Then he glanced at the front seat of the car, the way her father’s hands were practically molding the steering wheel into a new shape.

  Simon looked back at her. I hate him.

  Layne remembered her thoughts from the kitchen, when she’d wondered about what she always saw and what was really there.

  After hearing her father denigrate Gabriel and his brother, it made her want to realign everything she
knew about her father.

  And about herself, too.

  CHAPTER 28

  Gabriel couldn’t get the music loud enough. Maybe if he put a pillow over his head. His eyes were fixed on the white drywall of his bedroom ceiling, his iPod earbuds pressed into his ears so tightly that they were beginning to hurt.

  He was trying to block out the sound of Layne’s father’s voice, which kept replaying in his head like it was on some kind of loop.

  His door opened, and Michael filled the doorway.

  Gabriel yanked the headphones out of his ears, but music still poured out against his comforter. “Ever hear of knocking?”

  He wanted his voice to be sharp, but he couldn’t generate the usual anger.

  He’s not worthless. And you’re out of line.

  “I did knock,” said Michael. “Three times.”

  Oh. Gabriel pushed PAUSE on the iPod and looked back at the ceiling. “Sorry.”

  He was ready for the lecture about the lightning, about lying, but Michael just stood there, keys jingling in his hand. “I still need to go to Home Depot. Want to come?”

  He didn’t want to. But the alternative was sitting alone in his bedroom, feeling lightning in the air. Regretting the afternoon.

  So again, they headed out in the truck, Michael mostly quiet, the wipers snicking back and forth against the windshield.

  Gabriel couldn’t take it. He looked over. “I’m sorry.”

  Michael didn’t look away from the road. “Did you know?”

  “Did I know what?”

  “That she wasn’t allowed over?”

  Gabriel looked back out the window and picked at the weather stripping along the glass. “Mostly. I drove her home last week and her father told me off.”

  “He told you off?”

  Michael sounded pissed, but Gabriel couldn’t tell if it was directed at him or Mr. Forrest. “Yeah. Said he was going to charge me with trespassing and statutory rape.”

  “What an asshole.”

  Gabriel smiled tentatively, as if Michael might start on him next. “Yeah. He is.” He hesitated. “Thanks. For what you said.”

  Michael nodded. “Thanks for not setting his car on fire.”

  Silence streamed through the truck again, but there wasn’t any strain to it this time. Gabriel glanced over again. “What did he mean, about the custody stuff? And about the company?”

  Michael sighed. “He’s not a judge, is he?”

  “No. A lawyer.”

  “I should have figured. You don’t have to worry about the custody stuff. It comes up for review every spring. You know that. You and Nick will be eighteen anyway, so . . .” Michael shrugged.

  “But Chris?”

  “Chris will be fine.”

  “But—”

  “Seriously.” Michael looked away from the road now. “He’ll be fine. That’s the last thing you need to worry about.” He paused. “As long as you can stay out of trouble, I can scrape one more year out of the juvenile system.”

  As long as you can stay out of trouble. He was talking about the fires. Gabriel swallowed.

  “What about the stuff with the company?”

  “Something else you don’t need to worry about.”

  Gabriel was on the verge of peeling the weather stripping right out of the window. “Come on.”

  “Really. He’s bluffing.”

  But Gabriel kept remembering Michael’s comment in the kitchen earlier. We can’t afford for anything to happen to the truck.

  “You know,” said Michael, his voice careful, “when you told me we were picking up a girl, she’s not quite what I was expecting.”

  Layne. Gabriel wished he could have picked her up and carried her into the house, all the while telling her father to fuck off. “I don’t think it matters anymore.”

  “Just saying.”

  Gabriel snorted. “I’m surprised you’re not just saying I need to stay away from her.”

  “Yeah, well”—Michael rolled his eyes—“I already tried that with Chris and Becca, and look where it got me.”

  Gabriel skipped dinner. Things were all right with Michael—for now—but he didn’t feel like putting on the same show for Chris and Nick, especially since Quinn and Becca were here. He holed up in his room again, iPod blaring in his ears.

  He rolled his lighter across his knuckles, striking flame in time with the beat of the song.

  His cell phone was in his other hand. Silent.

  Not that he wasn’t checking it every fifteen seconds.

  Surrounded by people, and he still felt so alone.

  Then his phone chimed. Gabriel was so startled that he dropped the lit lighter in the middle of his chest.

  Out, he thought.

  The fire went out.

  Nice. His control was getting better.

  He checked the phone. Hunter.

  Four alarm fire at Tanyard Springs. U in?

  Gabriel slid his fingers across the keys to respond, then froze.

  As long as you can stay out of trouble . . .

  But a four-alarm fire would be big. And Tanyard Springs was a townhome community. This could be more than one family.

  He paused his iPod and slipped out of bed to crack the door. His brothers were in the kitchen, cleaning up and goofing off from the sound of it. The rain had long since stopped. He could sneak out and be gone before they noticed.

  But things weren’t terrible right now. Spending the day with Michael had actually been nice, in a bizarre way. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d played ball with his older brother. Even the trip to Home Depot had been peaceful.

  If he snuck out, it could unravel everything.

  But a four-alarm fire. There would be a lot of firemen. It would be easy to stay hidden.

  Then again, Michael would know. Hell, he’d probably check the news first thing tomorrow morning. And Michael seemed to be offering him some . . . trust.

  Gabriel considered going downstairs, joining them. It might be awkward at first, but maybe it would be okay.

  Then he caught Nick’s voice. “So how was your afternoon of babysitting?”

  Gabriel started to ease the door closed, sure his twin was talking to Quinn or Becca—but Michael responded. “Fine. We ran to Home Depot to pick up supplies for that gazebo job tomorrow.”

  Gabriel jerked back.

  Babysitting. Babysitting.

  Michael wasn’t being nice. He wasn’t being brotherly. He was sitting around, making sure Gabriel didn’t go out and start any fires.

  No wonder he’d been in the kitchen this afternoon, working on paperwork. No wonder he’d practically dragged Gabriel to Home Depot. And what was he going to do, sit around all weekend?

  Gabriel almost put his fist through the wall. Babysitting!

  His phone chimed again.

  You there?

  Fury almost made it impossible to type. But he managed.

  Yeah. I’m in.

  CHAPTER 29

  Monday morning, Layne dug the currycomb into her horse’s coat, rubbing in circular motions until her biceps ached. Brisk morning air nipped at her cheeks, but she didn’t care. She’d already done this twice and could see the shine on her horse’s coat under the dust and hair she was bringing up. But she’d do it a fourth time, and a fifth, too, if she could get away with it.

  Anything to stay out of the house until her father left for work. Even if she had to wear this getup to school.

  Even if she had to skip school.

  Saturday night, the house had felt like a war zone. At first, they’d gone to different rooms, doors closed, only silence beyond. She’d finally crept out at seven to make dinner, hoping baked chicken and mashed potatoes—her father’s favorite—would be enough to pull him out of his study.

  But she’d knocked, and he’d answered, and he’d told her to feed Simon and go to bed.

  Then he’d come back out, for one reason only: to confiscate her cell phone.

  Sunday was worse, on
ly because her father showed his face. Every word was clipped, every motion sharp. Layne expected him to yell, to ground her, to issue restrictions. But he didn’t mention Gabriel. He barely spoke to Simon—not like there was any change there.

  She’d been relieved when a client called with an emergency, and her father had to leave.

  But the tension in the house had made her completely forget the events of Friday night. Since she didn’t have her backpack, she turned on the computer and loaded her e-mail, hoping to e-mail a classmate to get the weekend assignment for Honors English.

  And then she’d been shocked by the onslaught.

  At first, she thought her account had been hacked. She had over fifty e-mails.

  Then she’d started recognizing the names of fellow students. Taylor. Heather. A few others, all from that crowd.

  Her throat still felt tight, thinking about it. She’d clicked on one.

  It was a picture of her, pinned on that chaise lounge, but the photo had been doctored. Now it looked like she was completely naked.

  Bad enough. But the next one was from Ryan Stacey. The subject line said, Bring back memories?

  She expected another dirty picture, but it was a link to a newspaper article about a fire Saturday night, at some town house community across town. Four homes, destroyed. Almost everyone had gotten out without injuries, but a young woman had been trapped and badly burned before she was rescued.

  There was a picture.

  Layne clicked for the next e-mail, before her brain could register the damage.

  The next e-mail had obviously been passed around before coming to her account, because she had to scroll through numerous LOLs before getting to another photo of herself on the chaise lounge. But she was on fire, her face a Photoshopped image of a charred dog’s head.

  And in the e-mail chain, a message from Kara, saying how hysterical it was.

  Layne had yanked the computer plug out of the wall.

  And then she’d run to the bathroom to throw up.

  The horse sidestepped away from the brush, and Layne snapped back to the present. She’d been pressing too hard.