Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
I don’t say a word to either of my brothers as I stomp back down the trail. By now I know I can’t control Sitka’s lack of judgment when it comes to them, so I don’t bother stopping her from walking between Fletcher and Boone.
It’s not until I’m at Cheryl’s Jeep that the situation changes, a tension has formed in the air I hadn’t noticed before. Boone is suddenly at my back, pinning me against the driver’s door and not letting me open it. “Nah, ah, ah, snow bunny,” he purrs in my ear. “You definitely didn’t ask my mom’s permission to use her Jeep. And last time I checked, you suck at driving in the snow.”
I move to elbow him, and in reply I get shoved harder into the door, his body pressed to mine and caging me in place. “No. Absolutely not. My jaw hurts still, and I’m not interested in getting more bruises from you without the ability to pay you back.”
“You’re welcome to hit me,” I snarl. “See how that goes for you, Boone.”
“ Hit you?” He sounds horrified, and jerks back just enough to create space between us. “What the fuck—Conor, you’re so weird sometimes. I want to bruise you up, but not because I hit you.”
I shove against him again, but he’s immovable, like a damn stone wall behind me. The only bright side is he’s a lot warmer than a wall, and the cold is starting to get to me. “You’re not driving back home,” he continues, one hand wandering down my side until he can grip my hip through my layers. “So when I move, you’re going to be a good little girl and go around to the passenger seat.”
“Fuck you,” I snap in response. “You really think—” He moves before I can even see it coming. Boone grabs me, spinning me in place and slamming my back into the driver’s door.
“I really think you’ve gotten mouthy. And I think Fletch likes it, or maybe he just wants to spare your feelings.” His eyes are bright, and nose cold from the snow as he crowds close to me. From the corner of my eye I see Fletcher walk by, glancing our way and shaking his head like we’re just two idiots doing typical idiot things.
He doesn’t even say a word. Just goes to his truck?—
His truck . Their truck. The same one I saw in the parking lot of the general store when I got here
“You’ve been here,” I gasp, finally making the connection. I’d missed it this morning; hadn’t really made the connection when I glanced at their truck half-hidden by the side of the house. “You’ve been here, haven’t you? Since before I got here?” I can’t help it. Even with his prior warning, I reach up to shove Boone back, and consider kicking him as hard as I can as I do.
“For fuck’s sake.” His eyes flash, but he doesn’t look pissed. Boone looks excited as he grabs my arms in one hand and yanks open the back door of the Jeep. The bench seat is up, and he throws me onto it, crawling in after me and making sure my legs are in before he drags the door shut. The whole time he keeps my wrists in his grip, no matter how much I writhe.
“Sitka is?—”
“Getting in the truck with Fletch,” Boone sneers. “So she’s not a good excuse for you now. Fletcher said I had to wait, but I’m done waiting. You think you can just get away with hitting me, pushing me? You think I’m going to just keep taking it, huh?” My heart flutters, racing in my chest. The air in the Jeep is slightly warmer than outside, but still chilly as I pant up at him, still writhing to try to get free or at least get one hand loose to clock him in the same place I did last night.
If only for my emotional health at this point.
“You want to fight so badly, huh?” He grabs my jacket and yanks it open, ignoring my yelps of protest. “You want to make me hurt and make me bleed in revenge for everything you think I’ve done?”
“Everything you have done!” I spit at him, getting one leg free from under him. I move to kick at Boone, but he twists, grabbing my leg and slamming it into the console so my thighs are spread around him. A groan tears from my throat at the sharp pain from moving too quickly in a position I’d need to stretch for. But he really doesn’t seem to care. From outside, I hear the engine of their truck and try to sit up, only to be pushed back down.
“He’s leaving you.” My words come out in heavy pants, and I hate how easy it is for Boone to hold me in place. “Aren’t you gonna?—”
“No. The plan was for him to leave me so I could drive Cheryl’s Jeep,” Boone sneers. “You haven’t driven in weather like this for years. We both know you’re not confident and I don’t need you wrecking the Jeep.” He sits up, staring down at me and sucking in a breath. “Apologize,” the brunet says finally.
I blink one, then again, sure I’ve heard him wrong. “What?”
“I said, apologize . To me , right now. Apologize for hitting me, for being such a bitch in a really one-sided way. Let’s be real. It’s because you’re more afraid of Fletcher than me and I get that. I even agree with you.” His crooked smile is anything but friendly. “He’s much more creative than I could ever be, and he’s patient as hell, which makes him scary. But that does not mean, snow bunny, you get to walk all over me and get away with it. So…”—he leans down, face close to mine—“apologize, and I’ll let you up. Apologize and I won’t make you cry right now in this car.”
Part of me really wants to argue with his threat. To tell him he can’t make me cry anymore. But with the look on his face and the heat behind his dark eyes…suddenly I’m not so sure.
Add that to the fact he’s a murderer and my stomach is fluttering with fearful anticipation. I may be stupid, but I like to think once in a while I know when to back down.
“Sorry.” The word comes out in a soft murmur.
“For what?” God, he’s going to enjoy this, I can tell.
It’s hard to stay still, and I find myself squirming under him, hyper-aware of where his hand holds my wrists together over my chest and his other hand is planted on my stomach, fingers splayed there. “I’m sorry for trying to hit you again.” I hate the way it feels, the way the apology makes my throat burn.
“What else?”
My eyes flick to his and I open my mouth to tell him there is nothing else. But that something dark still glitters behind his gaze, turning him from the Boone I remember into something else. Something more akin to a predator than the brother I know and don’t love.
When I don’t immediately answer, Boone shrugs and lifts his hand, using his teeth to take off his glove before his hand slides under my shirts, shoving them upward. “Wait, wait!” I yelp, realizing he’s definitely not bluffing. “Okay, okay wait!” I can’t break out of his iron grip, and all I can do is clamp my thighs tight around him, which does absolutely nothing to push him away. “I’m sorry for taking Cheryl’s car. Especially in the snow.”
“Because you’re a bad winter driver,” Boone purrs. “ Right ?”
Humiliation burns in my veins but I nod. “Because I’m a shitty winter driver. I’m sorry for that too, okay?” I hate the way it feels to have him staring down at me and forcing me to admit my mistakes and flaws. I hate the way heat burns in my face, making it impossible for me to stay still.
While I have no idea what he’s looking for, apparently he finds it somewhere in my expression. He lets go of my hands and removes his fingers from under my shirt, though instead of pulling away he leans forward, twisting his fingers in the front of my hoodie as he pulls me up enough that my back arches off the seat.
“Good girl,” Boone purrs. “See? I knew you could be this way for me. If I have to threaten you, embarrass you, or do whatever else to make you get there, I don’t mind.” Excitement dances in his gaze, and I can feel him trembling over me with unspent restless energy.
Boone really can’t sit still, no matter the situation, and absently I wonder if he’s this active in his sleep.
“I hate you,” I finally manage to whisper. “Did you know that?”
“You think you hate me,” he corrects. “Now I’m going to kiss you, and if you bite me, you’re going to leave this Jeep crying. Do you understand me?” I barely hesitate, my chin dipping in a jerky nod. “Good fucking girl. Good snow bunny,” he coos, leaning closer. It’s only seconds before his lips brush against mine, but he isn’t like Fletcher. He isn’t patient like our other brother.
But that doesn’t make him bad at this in the least. His kiss starts off soft for maybe a heartbeat, before he shoves me back down to the seat and lets himself fall down, his big body blanketing mine. He growls into the kiss, nipping at my lower lip until I open my mouth in surrender.
And he doesn’t stop. That’s not good enough for him, judging by the way he licks the inside of my mouth, trying to claim and taste every inch of space between my lips. My breathing turns heavy, coming in sharp pants that cause my chest to press against his. I’ve never been kissed like this; like the other person wants to devour me with starving desperation.
It shouldn’t be as hot as it is, but I find myself losing my resolve, tilting my head back at his urging, and closing my eyes as I all but space out under the feeling of his mouth.
“No, not this time.” Boone pulls back with a chuckle, nipping at my lower lip hard enough I yelp in painful surprise. “Don’t go anywhere on me, Conor.” His voice is rough and husky, like he’s having trouble getting the words out. “Fletch will kill me if I tear your clothes off and fuck you in the back of Cheryl’s Jeep.”
His words cause a shudder to go through me and I groan, closing my eyes and throwing my arm over my face. “You’re the worst. Don’t say shit like that, Boone. You’re my stepbrother.” But the words are dry and brittle even before they make it out of my mouth. We both know that’s not really an issue.
Peeking through my fingers I see he’s staring down at me, unimpressed. “Uh huh,” he agrees sarcastically. “Sure. That’s the hangup here.” Rolling his eyes, he hesitates then shakes his head like he’s having to convince himself to move. But when he does, it’s to kick the door open and slide to the ground, slamming the door before I can do the same.
Seconds later, he’s in the driver’s seat and the engine purrs to life while I stare up at the roof and try to stave off an existential crisis through willpower and the remaining taste of Boone on my lips. “You’re the worst.” The words are muttered, and I close my eyes before adjusting so my hand is once more obscuring my face.
His chuckle is soft over the roar of the heat blasting from the vents. “Good. I don’t strive to be anything less.”
I don’t realize I’ve dozed off until the SUV comes to a stop and Boone slams the Jeep into park. Surprised, I gasp and jerk upward, my hair a mess and skin too-warm under my layers. “Are we…?” I look up, expecting to see the house and Fletcher glaring at us from the porch. He’s definitely the one who would do it, staring at us like a disappointed parent and ready to read us problematic children the riot act.
But instead, we’re in front of the one diner in town that’s still open even in this weather and with all the snow on the ground. Confusion ripples through me as I comb my fingers through my mess of long auburn hair, most of it having escaped from its ponytail. Realizing that, I tug the hair elastic free, figuring at this point it’s a waste of time and I’ll look better without it.
Maybe a little feral, given that I hadn’t straightened my hair after yesterday’s shower. But better than in a weird, skewed ponytail with my hair sticking out at all angles. “What are we doing?” I mumble, one leg up under me as I blink to clear my eyes of sleep.
“Well, sleepyhead. You missed it, but Fletcher called and said we were going to have lunch. He took Sitka home for you, since I doubt Marietta will let her in, unfortunately. So I took the long way to let you sleep. You’re kind of like an infant, you know?” He turns in his seat and I contemplate kicking it like a toddler on an airplane. “The more I drive the more you snore.”
“I don’t snore,” I can’t help but snap in response.
“Oh, you so snore.” Boone gets out of the SUV, closing the door easily behind him, then yanks mine open and stands there, arms crossed. “We’re not going to fight about this, right?” He sighs. “Because I’m tired of you starting fights where I can’t finish them. Come on. I know you’re hungry, and I’m hungry.” He waits, giving me space to crawl out of the back seat and adds, “Fletcher probably isn’t hungry, but that’s because he survives off of spite and the emotional pain of others.”
That makes me snort, and I look up at him, head tilted. “I didn’t think you were legally allowed to talk badly about him.”
“I just have to do it where neither he nor his flock of familiars will hear. The trees have ears, I swear, and every single one reports to Fletcher.” He rolls his eyes, voice dry, but I get what he’s saying. Fletcher really does have a knack for knowing everything I don’t want him to, and I’m starting to think it works the same in Boone’s case as well.
“Are we hinting that Fletcher is actually a creature of dark magic, born to destroy the human race?” I zip up my jacket and shove my hands in my pockets, walking beside Boone as I survey the diner. The only signage on the old stone building is a sign tacked to one of the windows that reads in scrolling letters Marietta’s Place . It’s big enough to see from the street, but small enough I wonder if it’ll get torn off during the next wind-heavy blizzard. “Also I can’t believe she’s still running this place. Or alive. What is she, three hundred?”
“Fletcher is probably the antichrist. The devil’s child, found on the doorstep of a nunnery.” He shakes his head. “And I’d say she’s closer to three-fifty.”
“Oh, you’re right. I’d even go so far as to say she’s been around since the last ice age. Also…” I kick at a clump of ice on the pavement as we near the door, where Fletcher is already waiting and gazing up at the cloudy sky.
It should be illegal for him to effortlessly look so good.
“Also…?” Boone presses.
“I thought Fletcher came from a foster family in Vermont. Not a church.”
“Northern Vermont,” Fletcher clarifies, not looking down at us. “But I was born in Montreal.” Finally he looks down, gaze searching our faces. “Well, I see he didn’t go too far if you’re still up and walking with your clothes in one piece,” my blond stepbrother remarks. “Let’s stay that way, all right, you two?”
With that, he leads us into the diner, winning over the hostess with his smile and easy charm. He’s so good at that, and I can’t help but be jealous of it. I can’t help but wish I could read people like him, or adapt to be whatever will work out best for him.
It seems like a nice skill to have.
By the time we’re at a booth in the corner with three glasses of water and my frosted glass of chocolate milk, I finally realize I really need a nap. It’s obvious from the way I can barely focus on the menu, and how slow my brain seems to work. I keep zoning out, finding myself staring at Fletcher’s jaw or Boone’s hands as they sit across from me, giving me my own side of the booth free of them.
Part of me just wants to curl up on the fake wood and go to sleep with my head on my arms. It wouldn’t be comfortable, but I’d manage.
“You guys ready to order?” The waitress is young, maybe eighteen, and beams at all three of us with an authenticity that tells me she hasn’t worked here for long.
More importantly, I have no idea what I want to order. I used to know this menu like the back of my hand, but today I can barely remember which of Sitka’s ears is fluffier than the other, let alone what I ate here six-plus years ago.
Fletcher and Boone order quickly, unhesitating, before all three of them turn to look at me, signaling it’s do-or-die time.
And in my current state, the answer is going to be die .
“I umm…” I peer down at the menu, willing to sacrifice eating something I really want for not looking like an idiot. God , why am I having such a mental block right now on just ordering lunch?
“Could you get her a baked apple and an order of biscuits and gravy?” Boone asks finally, plucking the menu out of my hands and giving it to her. “Sorry. She stayed up way too late last night...” He surveys my face. “Coffee. Give her coffee, too.”
“Sorry to be complicated,” Fletcher tells the teenager, smiling that charming smile. “Get her an iced coffee with cream and sugar, please?” The girl agrees happily, turning to give me a sympathetic smile like she can relate to my situation.
God, I really hope she can’t.
“How the hell do you know what I used to get here?” I mutter, rubbing my temples. My headache is setting in, a combination from last night’s slip and fall and my lack of sleep. “It’s been seven years. And I wasn’t drinking coffee back then. Oh, right.” I open my eyes to gaze at both of them flatly. “You’re stalkers.”
Neither of them try to deny it. Hell, Boone seems to preen under the accusation, and sips at his water.
“We’re going to set some ground rules for the rest of this week, all right?” Fletcher doesn’t respond to my barbed words, and seems to ignore my accusation. “And I figured doing it here would stop any outbursts from either of you. Mostly you.” His gaze pins me in place. “Because none of us want to make a scene.”
Obnoxiously, I suck on the straw of my chocolate milk, not replying as my cheeks hollow around it dramatically. Fletcher doesn’t look away. He doesn’t even look fazed by my display.
“First, don’t touch Cheryl’s SUV without asking. You suck at driving in the winter, and her radiator has been on the fritz. Don’t need you dying at the side of the road when it blows up again.” My arguments die on my lips at his words, and my shoulders slump. It’s hard to have a comeback against his explanation, when I know I wouldn’t have any idea what to do if the radiator really did explode with me in the Jeep.
“And don’t touch the truck, or I’ll really have to get mad. Second, stop trying to run away. Not because I don’t want to chase you down. I will. He will too, and he’ll enjoy it more than is healthy.” Fletcher’s eyes flash and he gestures to Boone. “Because it’s freezing, and with our luck, you’ll drown in a snow drift before we can find you.”
“You make me sound like a five-year-old.” Absently, I reach up, rubbing the back of my head and wincing when the spot I’d hit on the column aches tenderly. “I’ve taken care of myself for years now, no thanks to the two of you.”
“Third. Stop trying to get a rise out of Boone in public. I am not bailing either of you out of jail.” There’s a warning in his voice I don’t love, but I also know he’s lying. He’ll bail Boone out of jail any day of the week.
Me, though, he’d probably let rot.
“And last…” Fletcher sits up straight, leaning his shoulder affectionately against Fletcher. “Don’t ask questions you might not want the answers to, Conor. Because”—before I can pull away or argue, his ankle hooks around mine under the table and he yanks me forward so I’m on the edge of the booth, his eyes catching mine—“while you might not like the answers, that won’t stop us from giving them to you.”
I wordlessly search his gaze, looking for any sign of malice or taunting. But I don’t find either. I just find honesty, and maybe a touch of curiosity, though I don’t know what he could be curious about.
But I don’t get the chance to voice my thoughts. The waitress is back a moment later, handing me my iced coffee and assuring us we won’t be waiting much longer for our food. Meaning it isn’t worth it to get into an argument that’ll have me breaking multiple rules this early in the game.
“Whatever.” I sigh once the waitress has walked away, hating how it feels like a surrender. “I’m too tired for your shit, Fletcher. So…whatever you say for now.”
For now , because if I can't do anything else, I’ll make their life hell any way that I can while we’re staying in the same house.