19. Riot
Riot
T eeming with anger, I pushed the county building doors open.
The sick little smile on Elias Blackwell’s face when he invited me to my mother’s church almost made me snap.
But I remembered the last time I let my emotions go and how much I’d hurt Nicolette, so I inhaled my fury and stalked to the truck, listening for her steps behind me.
I could feel her hesitation as sheapproachedthe truck, butI’dalreadystashed her bike into the bed of my pickup.
Reluctanceemanatedfrom her, but so did that wonderful lilac when shespunher head toputher seat belt on, her blonde hairtwirlingaround her like a curtain.
“What happened in there?” It came out more demanding than I intended but, truth be told, I had been worked up and on edge since her first attempted phone call. I spent the last half hour having Brennan hack into her mobile carrier to remotely turn on her location sharing but it was taking too long.
When I’d gotten a text message that she was locked in the basement of the county office building, I sped to the office, blind with adrenaline.
I tried convincing myself that this wasn’t my problem, but the only thing that echoed throughout my brain was her asking for my help before the phone cut out.
“It was nothing. Like Pastor Blackwell said, it was a misunderstanding.” But she didn’t meet my eyes, keeping her body closed off to me and facing the passenger window.
“Eliasisa liar and I don’t trust a word he says.”
Her head snapped to meet my gaze, but she didn’t speak. Her slate gray eyes were big and filled with things I wish she’d say out loud.
“Nic, I’m sorry…” I said, utilizing the chance to look her in the eye. Her chest hitched a bit, and I reddened, realizing I had used the nickname out loud.
“I’mfine, Riot. Really, it’s fine. Can we just go home now?”shesaid, devoid of emotion.
I didn’t know what else to say. If she didn’t want to talk about the kiss, Iwasn’tgoingtoforce it.
She probably hadn’t even thought about it. She’d probably kissed several guys and never gave a second thought to plenty of them. My fingers tightened on the steering wheel at the image. We drove the rest of the way in silence.
Nicolette retreated to her room when we got back, the clacking of her keyboard and the faint sound of her voice created a rhythmic din. It sounded like she was leaving a message for her parents.
My anxietyhadgrowntighter and tighter with each passing second on the ride home.
I pictured the wounded look on her face when I told her I didn’t know what came over me and an overwhelming urge to hear the sound of her laugh punched me in the chest. I approached her door, the curtain pulled back an inch.
I shouldn’t interrupt.
If she had wanted to talk to me, she would have. I retreated to my bedroom. She didn’t want to hear my excuses and, really, what had changed? She was still only here for a few weeks and my life was already mapped out for me and it included marrying the pastor’s right-hand woman.
Although, the more I thought about Katie, the more irritated I grew.
I should confront her about her plans for me but I didn’t want to open that conversation yet.
If what Nicolette had told me was wrong, I would look like an asshole for assuming Katie wanted to be with me.
If Nicolette had been telling the truth, then I would have to have the awkward conversation of trying to let her down gently.
If I was being honest, I was a little nervous about the possible repercussions.
After a month or two of hershowingup with dinner at least twice a week, Irealizedshewasn’tgoingaway.
And Ihadbeenokay with it back then. But despite my best effort, I struggled to feel anything deeper for her.
Shewasattractiveand kind and, for whatever reason, shewantedto spend time with me.
So, I told myself to give it time. Maybe it was just me. Maybe my time incarcerated deadened me inside. But after the kiss with Nicolette it became painfully obvious, I was anything but dead inside. I didn’t know what Katie’s hair smelled like. Was she odorless or had I just never noticed?
Then I remembered the way Nicolette had smelled like lilacs and when she was close to me, I could detect some kind of sweet berry at the base of her neck.
Her lips had tasted like salt and Twizzlers and I remembered the way she’d smiled against my mouth.
I had opened my eyes to look at her in that moment and been awestruck by how beautiful she was and how blissful she appeared.
Her face typically carried the weight of concern but she was relaxed, carefree.
I recalled the way she pressed against me after feeling how hard I was, which was impossible to hide. I hadn’t wanted to hide it. I wanted her to know how badly I wanted her. I wanted her to see what she did to me, how my body came alive in her presence.
Before Iknewwhatwashappening, my handhadslippedunderneath the waistband of my boxers.
Istrokedmyself to the memory of her mouth and the possibilities of where that kiss couldhavegone.
After I came to the fantasy of her beneath me, a deep melancholysettledthrough me,realizingI might never feel this for anyone else, no matter how long Iwasgivento try.
The following week, the town was in full Field Days mode. Everyone’s windows were polished. The signs were cleaned, the streets swept, and the dead light bulbs replaced. I knew because I’d been asked to replace them all.
“You did such a great job with the library landscaping, the town councilaskedif you could do the town square. You know, the little park with the benches and the bushes?”Mr. Meaneysaidthrough the phone.
“It’s apaidgig, kid, so don’t screw it up.
They only ask that you wait until after the shopshavemostlyclosedso that the noise doesn’t disturb customers. ”
I almost snorted. Yes, of course, it was the lawnmower they were worried about making people nervous. I assured him I’d be there prompt and quick under the cover of night.
“Oh, and bring one of those little metal,spinningstatue things. Thatlookedgood at the library. Where’d you find that?”
“Just a local artist at the Farmer’s Market,”Isaid.
“Well, stock up, the libraryhasgottena lot of questions about where people could find something similar.”
A grumpy feeling bloomed in me, knowing I couldn’t tell them it was my work.
That my art would suffer because it was aligned with my name.
I wanted to create something I could be proud of.
I wanted to put something out into the world that would help people see me as more than just a monster, just a killer.
I had been working on a grand piece to display at the Field Days Art Showcase and had planned on entering it anonymously.
But lately, I was tired of feeling anonymous.