Chapter 8 #3
There’s a long pause. I see the battle play out on his face: the pull of keeping the secrets of Aides hidden and the push of not wanting to lie. Every second that passes, the ache in me grows.
His mouth dips. “Remain here, for eternity. Or never return. Not until death.”
The shock of his words rattles me.
“It is an unbreakable rule.”
Is that regret in his voice? No, it couldn’t be. What would the ferrier of souls—someone as frigid and unmoved as Cary—have to feel sorry for?
My pulse punches against my tonsils.
For eternity. Or never return.
I close my eyes. Of course this wasn’t going to be easy. I’m in the underworld. A place like this comes with unbreakable rules. Life-or-death ones.
My ears ring. A somber note on repeat. I can’t stay here forever. What about my parents? And Max? Santa Barbara has always been my home.
But is it still?
All my life, I’ve known the roads. The taste of the ocean breeze. The best places to watch sunsets. Now, though, every part of the city haunts me. Reminds me of London.
It’s not like that in Aides. Here, I can breathe. I don’t feel the pain of what was versus what is. Here, I could be with London.
I drag a hand roughly through my hair, thinking. Then it comes to me. Something Cary said minutes ago.
“You said five times?”
He nods again, squinting.
“But I’ve only been here twice,” I say, more to myself than him. My lips are tugged into a grin. “So I can come back for the party. That’ll only be the third time.”
“Yes, but—”
“So I can come back,” I repeat, resolute.
Cary rubs his forehead. “You should be careful.”
“Why do you care what I do?” I laugh at his narrowed glare. “You didn’t invite me. You don’t even want me here. What does it matter what I do?”
Curls fall over his brow, shadowing his eyes. Icily, he says, “I do not.”
“Great. Then I’ll do what I want.”
“Based on your history, this does not surprise me.”
I cock my head. “Meaning?”
For a beat, Cary chews on his lip. Hesitance fills his expression again. He lets out a sigh. “I have seen enough to know that is what all you mortals do. Whatever you want. You treat choices like a game.”
A snort tickles my nose.
I don’t treat choices like a game. How can I? I’ve been losing ever since I chose to get behind the wheel of London’s dad’s car. When I chose to get distracted by a song playing over the speakers. By London’s smile and the light turning green.
It feels like I never make the right choice.
Until now.
Closing the distance between us, I say, brightly, “I’m coming back for that party. With or without your help.”
He swallows, unblinking. Silent. Good, I don’t have the strength to fight with him any longer.
I’m so angry, so flustered, I don’t pay attention. My foot catches on a root, and I trip.
Before I slam into the ground, there’s a flash of movement. I’m caught mid-fall. An arm tight around my back. A hand cradles my head. Wide black eyes stare down into mine.
“Are you okay, August?”
I’m too startled to answer. My fingers dig into his shirt. He doesn’t complain. He doesn’t do anything but watch me, gaze roaming as if he’s hunting for injuries. But there are none because I never hit the ground.
Cary didn’t let me.
He…he protected me.
“I’m fine,” I say between unsteady breaths. He continues to hold me in his arms like I’m featherlight. Absently, my fingers run up his arm. I feel the smooth bicep under his Henley. The strong, taut muscles.
When he looks, I yank my hand away as if burned.
“Th-thanks,” I stammer.
Cary stands us up. He releases me. Light washes over his pink cheeks. Is that a blush? Noticing me staring, he turns away.
“I will bring you back,” he says evenly. “If you want.”
“You will?” My voice is a whisper on the breeze.
Cary nods his head once.
He keeps his back to me, concentrating on the dancing limbs of a cypress tree as if they’re the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen.
A knot tightens my chest. I can’t explain why I suddenly want him to look at me that way. It’s a fleeting thought I blame on the adrenaline.
When the dizziness settles, I say, “So…is it time for me to go home?”
Cary answers with an outstretched hand. He waits for me to take it.
I do.
When my eyes blink open, the world is fuzzy. Quiet. Darkness with hints of silver swims through my vision. Shards of moonlight cut through the half-cracked blinds over my bedroom window. It’s nighttime.
I pat my shirt. I’m wearing the same one from this morning. And it’s dry. I don’t know why I’m surprised. Like everything that has happened is just the same dream I keep waking from over and over.
Maybe it is.
Except, something blurred sits in my periphery.
I turn my head. Flower petals. Soft and white and there, scattered across my pillow and mattress. Their rich honeyed scent fills my nose. But that’s not the only thing I smell.
Sweetness, like ripe fruit. Heady. Lingering in the air.
Him.
My skin is cool where his arm held me. The back of my head tingles at the absence of his hand. On the tips of my fingers, I still feel the definition of his bicep, the coiled muscles.
I sigh, eyes shutting again.
I’m too exhausted to question the smile inching across my mouth as sleep drags me back under.