“Hey, hey.” Ocean materializes next to me, slinging an arm over my shoulders and hauling me back. “Relax, sunshine. And you, guys, drop it. Let’s not chase him away just yet, now that he finally showed up.”
“Not my fault he can’t take a joke,” Shane mutters, returning to his beer. Seth hovers beside him and whispers something in his ear.
“Whatever,” I hiss, shaking Ocean’s arm off and downing the rest of my beer. I lift the bottle for the bartender to get me another.
The bartender asks for my ID, and I shove my fake one in his face. He still doesn’t look too pleased. Not one of us is twenty-one, and I guess it shows. He scowls at me but finally pulls up another beer and slides it on the bar in front of me.
“Drink up,” Shane says, not looking at me. “Can’t wait to whip your ass at pool. Oh and by the way, loser buys the next round. That will be you.”
“Dream on, motherfucker. I’m gonna beat your stupid ass so hard you won’t know what hit you.”
Tension twangs on the air. I can see Ocean opening his mouth to say something, and for once I think it might be good if he does, when Shane snorts and raises his bottle.
“We’ll see about that,” he says and gulps down the rest of his beer. “Come on. Missed you at pool, man. The others suck.”
The release of tension in the air is so sudden I swear my damn ears pop. Jesse and Ocean wander to the pool tables, and I grab my beer and follow. Looks like the evening won’t be a total loss, after all. With the almost-fight, it’s the first time in days I stop thinking about the girl across the street for a while. Shane wins the first game of pool. I win the second, and the evening rolls without more incidents. I have a good time with the guys.
Problem is, I know tomorrow the respite will be over, and my obsession with the mysterious, sweet-smelling girl will return.
***
I’m lost inside a city that has to be Madison but isn’t. The shop facades are foreign, the alleys warp into different dimensions. I’m sick. I know I am, but there’s nothing I can do. My lungs are twisted and aching, unable to draw air. I roll in the dirt. The walls melt like toffee, leaving behind them white skeletons with grinning skulls, caught in giant black spider webs.
A hand slips into mine and squeezes. Eyes like warm honey look into mine. “I’m Ev,” she whispers. “Hang on in there.”
But the skeletons grab her and draw her away and she screams as she’s pulled into the spider web and left to die. I twist and force my heavy body to move, to go after her, help her. A shout catches in my throat, suffocating.
“Wake up. Micah, wake up!” Big hands clench on my shoulders and shake me roughly until my eyes blink open. I take in a small room with posters on the walls and a man’s face over me.
Seth. And this is my bedroom. Sweat is drying on my face and bare chest, and my breath rattles in my lungs.
“Man,” he says, shaking his head and standing up, “you have some nasty nightmares.”
I say nothing. What’s there to say? He also has his fair share of bad dreams. I hear him shout sometimes in the night. At least I know he understands.
“What was it this time?” he asks quietly as he steps away from the bed. Arms folded over his cotton-clad chest, he comes to a stop in front of the few sketches I have taped to the wall.
“Same as usual,” I reply shortly.
“The streets?”
I scrub my hand over my face. My eyes itch. “Yeah.”
Better than the other dreams of the group home that leave me feeling sick. At least this one had a good ending.
Seth cocks his head, his black hair hanging over one shoulder, studying my sketches. There are abstract designs and cartoon-like women, and a face I’ve seen in my memory a thousand times this past year. The face I’ve just seen in my dream.
“That her?” he asks.
I ignore the question, hoping he’ll drop it. The sky outside my window is growing light. I groan as I sit up, swinging my legs off the bed. The floor is fucking cold. The air is cold.
“What happened to the heater?” No wonder I’m dreaming of the streets. Although it’s April, it’s still damn cold.
“Broke down again. I’ll call Shane to have a look later.”
The time on my phone reads six in the morning. Fucking hell. We only got home a few hours ago. No wonder I feel like hell warmed over.
Which begs the question... “What are you doing up anyway?”
“Couldn’t sleep.” He wanders away from my drawings and stops at the door of my bedroom. “So what will you do?”
“About what?”
“Her.” He nods toward the drawing as he steps out. “Kill it, or leave it.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“The fear, man. Talking about fear. You’re afraid to talk to her, why, I don’t know. Kill the fear, or leave it and be done with it.”
He makes it sound so damn easy.
I down three cups of black coffee before my brain can function enough for me to shower and get ready. I decide to go for a run. I need to get back my strength, and the illness took a huge toll on me. It’s only recently I can jog for more than ten minutes without coughing my lungs out and feeling like I’ll never get my breath back. Getting stronger every day.
Kill it, or leave it.
The words reverberate in my head as I run through busy streets and parks and turn back toward the apartment. My footfalls thump to the rhythm of my heartbeat. I climb the stairs and bend over, coughing.
Kill it, or leave it.
I’ll talk to her. So what if she thinks I’m a stalker? I’ll just cross the street and say, hey, are you Ev? Because you saved my life, you know, and I wanna thank you for that.
Lame. Probably stupid. But it might help me sleep better, knowing I did it.
So of course it makes sense, with my rotten luck in life, that the girl across the street doesn’t show up, not this afternoon, or the one after. She’s gone.
Chapter Four
Evangeline
Joel is furious. He paces my bedroom, his strides eating up the space, his blue eyes flashing at every turn.
“What the hell were you thinking, Evie? Why can’t you be careful?”
I wince, and I pretend it’s because of my leg—which is propped up on a pillow, an ice pack on my throbbing knee. My almost-fall the other day screwed it up quite a bit.
It’s not that bad, I tell myself. By tomorrow I’ll be able to walk properly again, and by the week’s end, I’ll be as good as new.
I should be glad it isn’t worse. I should be glad Micah kept me from falling and spraining my ankle or maybe even breaking my leg again. A shudder goes through me at the thought.
And I shudder again at the memory of his muscular arms around me, his strong body pressed to mine, those sky-blue eyes fixed on me... His scent of burned ink and musk, the intensity in his gaze, in his voice... I should be creeped out that he watched me and followed me—but I’m not. The way he helped me and then held me, his low voice... he made me feel safe.
Which is stupid. I don’t know him. His behavior is odd. He’s... so hot.
Oh God...
“Evie? Have you heard a word I’ve said?”
My cheeks burn. “Sure.”
“Haven’t you learned that running through the town like that is dangerous? Especially with your leg still so weak. Wasn’t one accident enough?” My brother shakes his head. “Why do you have to go to all the seedy places?
“I didn’t go to any seedy places, Joel. I was downtown.”
“Exactly. Why can’t you stay near home?”
Anger warms my chest. “Why? You moved out and have your life. What am I, a prisoner or an invalid?”
“Neither.” His voice softens and he comes to stand in front of me. He kneels, putting his hands on the bed. His eyes are like a cat’s, green and golden. He’s a looker, my big brother, that’s for sure. “Dammit, Evie. I want what’s best for you.”