Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
T ime seems to stand still, though some part of my mind that’s detached from the situation can’t help but appreciate the way Fletcher has grown up. The last time I saw him, I was seventeen and he was nineteen. He’d still had a bit of a babyface back then.
But that’s gone now.
Blue eyes glimmer under tousled, dark blond hair. He looks as if he hasn’t shaved in a few days, but I think he looks good like this, rather than cleanly shaven. It certainly doesn’t take away from the sharp angles of his jaw one bit. He tilts his chin to stare down at me, scrutinizing me in the same way I’m scrutinizing him.
“Give me the phone,” he murmurs in that soft, velvety voice I remember all too well. “Let me tell your dad not to worry.”
In response my fingers tighten over my phone, but I can’t say anything. I can’t , with my throat blocked by trepidation and my heart trying to evacuate my body through any means necessary. “ No ,” I mouth finally, jerking backward.
Fletcher just rolls his eyes and reaches out, grabbing the front of my hoodie and dragging me to him as he steps in the door. Before I can make a sound he presses a finger to his lips, like I’m the problem, and then reaches out to yank my phone out of my grip.
But he still doesn’t let go of me. His fingers hold the front of my hoodie tightly even as I dig my fingers into his wrist, though for some reason I don’t make a noise. Not with his eyes on mine the way they are now, in warning and promise.
“Hey, John.” His greeting is smooth as he puts my phone to his ear, and he uses his foot to softly kick the front door closed until it clicks. “Yeah, I’m sorry about that. We really didn’t mean to freak out Conor.” He pauses, probably to give my dad time to say something, and chuckles. “Yeah, she was telling the truth. We were out back because we got here so early and didn’t want to wake her up. The whole scaring her thing was incredibly unintentional.”
He’s lying.
I realize that instantly when I think about them, about yesterday on the trail, and I know they’ve been here for longer than he’s admitting to. I shift on the balls of my feet, but I only bite my lip instead of saying anything. I have a feeling Fletcher will make me regret it if I do.
“It was a close call. Barely made it in the truck before the snow really hit.” He adjusts his grip, acting as if he doesn’t notice the way my nails are digging into his wrist. It has to hurt, but he’s not even flinching. “Anyway, she’s all good. She’s helping Boone with the back door right now. Yeah, still sticking. I’ll have her call you in the morning? She seems pretty worn out so I’m hoping to convince her to get a few more hours of sleep.” Another pause, and he chuckles amicably. “Thanks. Sorry again for waking you.”
With that he hangs up, pocketing my phone with casual, unhurried movements.
“Let go of me!” I snap, yanking on his wrist. Fletcher blinks that slow, lazy blink of his that tells me how bored he is of whatever I’m saying. But to my surprise he lets go, allowing me to whirl around in an attempt to create distance between us.
Though as soon as my feet hit the tile of the kitchen, Boone rounds the corner, causing me to slam into his chest. A yelp leaves me, and when I stumble, I’m sure I’ll hit the floor on my ass from the force of my hurried movements. Except, I don’t. Instead, Boone wraps an arm around my waist, letting out a low huff.
“God, you’re dramatic,” he mutters. “Fletch, you were right. She basically has nothing to eat. And all our shit from last time’s gone.” When I try to yank away from my stepbrother, he only holds me tighter, and my snarl draws his gaze down to me.
I really wish I hadn’t come up here.
Boone gazes at me before hitching a grin on his full lips, his dark-brown eyes just as dark as I remember under his tousled, thick brown hair. “Well, I see you haven’t gotten any taller,” he remarks, reaching up to tap my jaw with one long finger. I slap his hand away with a sneer, then shove away from him as hard as I can.
Unexpectedly, he lets me go, sending me sprawling back onto the hardwood floor on my ass. “You’re such a jerk,” I snarl, hands braced on the wood under me as I bring up my knees to get to my feet.
Or I would, if Fletcher wasn’t suddenly standing right over me, his knees bracketing my shoulders. I jerk my head back to look at him, hitting his thigh, and realize quickly how awkward of a position it puts me in.
He doesn’t stop me from scrambling to my feet, though, and when I turn to look for Boone once more, I find him leaning over the couch, giving Sitka the thorough kind of belly rub she loves most.
Traitor. But then again, I’ve known for her entire two years of life that she’s not at all a guard dog. There’s not a mean bone in her body and, as proven right here, even if someone breaks in to threaten my wellbeing, she’ll be on their side as long as the stranger gives her affection.
It’s a betrayal of the highest caliber, in my opinion.
“What are you two doing here?” I demand, backing toward the hallway in order to keep both of them in my sight at all times. Maybe it’s an overreaction on my part, but well…it’s not. I remember high school all too well and being locked in the damn shed.
“We were invited by your dad and our mom,” Fletcher reminds me. “To reconnect and make up with you. Remember?”
But I’m already shaking my head, not wanting to hear him. “I never agreed to coming back if you two were part of the deal. And stop petting my fucking dog, Boone!” I snap at him, only for him to look up balefully in my direction and keep doing exactly what he’s doing.
“Your dog loves me,” he points out, tapping his foot on the floor. Just like always, he has to be moving. Has to always be fidgeting or doing something. Unlike Fletcher, who can stand as still as a statue for hours if he wants. “So, no. Get fucked, Con. Also”—he straightens, moving to lean on the back of the couch, though he keeps one hand on Sitka just to prove a point—“It was pretty damn rude of you to drop our gift on the back patio. We don’t have extra copies of this shit.” With his free hand he digs into the pocket of his jacket, pulling out the pile of photos that had been in the small box on the deck.
My heart plummets at the sight of them, and suddenly I feel a bit nauseous. I hadn’t even thought about…that.
About what they mean.
“You didn’t…” I glance up at the two of them, eyes going from Fletcher, to Boone, then back again. “Why the hell do you have those, you freaks?”
Boone’s face falls, and I wince internally. “Wait, no. I didn’t mean that Boone. I was calling him a freak.” I point at Fletcher. “You can be a jackass.” I don’t hate them enough to use Boone’s childhood trauma against him, no matter the argument or fight.
“How about you be an adult and stop name calling,” Fletcher retorts coolly. “You’re too old to act like?—”
“No. Absolutely not. Fuck you , Fletcher!” I round on him, hands clenched into shaking fists so hard my nails bite into my palms. “You don’t get to stand there and call me anything. Get out , both of you. Get the fuck out of here.”
They don’t move. But I hadn’t thought they would. Dad’s keys are still in my pocket, though, and I’m fine leaving without my phone if I have to. “Fine,” I sneer. “Then I’ll leave. Come on, Sitka.” She jumps over the couch with a woof and I walk toward the door, keeping Fletcher in my peripheral vision.
I expect it when he lunges, so I’m ready for it. I turn to shove him, surprising him enough that he stumbles and falls back into one of the recliners in the living room while I bark out a harsh laugh. “Stay there. You probably need the rest.” I know I shouldn’t be so cocky or so aggressive, but I also know that trying to appease them won’t get me anywhere either.
Turning again, however, I see I should’ve just bolted to the door instead, since now Boone is leaning against it, one brow raised as he meets my eyes levelly.
Fuck.
“Out of my way, Boone,” I snap, steeling myself and meeting his eyes. “I’m getting off this mountain and going home.”
“How is Illinois this time of year? I’ve always wondered if you like the winters there more or not, snow bunny,” Boone replies, grinning like he knows he can get to me this way.
And yeah, he absolutely can. The frustration that goes through me only adds to my resolve as I stalk up to him, hands still clenched into fists at my sides. “Last chance,” I spit. “ Get out of my way, Boone .”
“Or what?” He’s so damn cocky all the time. “You can’t even say something that might hurt my feelings, so what are you going to do to make me—” He doesn’t get to finish. I rear back, just as his face registers what I’m doing and falls in shock. But he doesn’t have time to stop me. He might’ve, if he were expecting it.
But he never expected me to fight back.
My fist connects with his jaw and pain lances up my arm from the impact. I hiss and draw back as he staggers away from the door to clutch his face, as a few not-so-nice replies fall from his lips.
I resist the urge to literally kick him while he’s down and throw open the door to the front porch, hesitating only a little when I feel how cold it’s really gotten and see how much it’s snowing. But I don’t let that stop me. I won’t let it stop me from getting away from them.
“Come on, Sitka!” I call again, knowing I only have a few seconds before Boone is up and pissed. My husky jogs out the door and past me, tail up like we’re playing some great and fun game. I see her slip on the second step, but my brain doesn’t really consider what that means as I all but run across the porch.
“Conor, wait!” I don’t look back at the sound of Fletcher’s warning. “It’s icy?—”
I hit the ice on the second step on the ball of my foot just as my brain puts the clues of the situation together.
Sitka had slipped.
On ice.
The same ice Fletcher is trying to warn me about.
I have a very brief moment of the world turning upside down and feeling that uncomfortable, disconcerting jerk in my stomach before my head cracks against one of the pillars supporting the overhanging roof and everything immediately goes black.