In spite of herself, Keira laughed and swung into the car. “Deal.”
It wasn’t until he was halfway around to the driver’s side that Keira realized she’d let him open her door for her. She hadn’t even noticed he was doing it.
Walker’s triumphant expression said that even if she hadn’t noticed what he’d done, he absolutely had.
Back at Keira’s house, Walker turned off the engine.
“What are you doing?” Keira asked. She hadn’t meant to sound horrified.
Oops.
Without missing a beat, Walker opened his door. “Trying to correct your mother’s impression of me,” he said. “Moms like guys who come in for a minute and say hi. Trust me.”
Keira hesitated. If both of her parents were home, if they’d decided to “sort through some things” while she was gone . . .
“What?” Walker asked.
“I—it could be World War Three in there.”
Walker nodded solemnly. “All the more reason for me to come in. I don’t want to send you into the trenches alone.”
Keira tried to smile, but it twisted and broke, dying on her lips.
Walker reached across the car and squeezed her hand. “Seriously. It’s okay. If they’re fighting, I’ll leave. And I’ll still call you tomorrow. It doesn’t bother me, Keira.”
The dashboard wavered in front of her as tears crept into her eyes. “It bothers me,” she whispered.
“I know.” His voice was warm and calm. It soaked into her, making everything okay.
Keira got out of the car. “You can’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Together, they headed up the front walk and Keira opened the door.
The silence that poured out was more beautiful than music.
Walker, a half step behind her, put a hand on Keira’s shoulder and squeezed.
“Hello?” Keira called. “We’re home.”
“In the kitchen,” her mother called back. “And who’s ‘we’?”
Walker’s laugh was too quiet for anyone except Keira to hear, but she smacked his arm anyway. It only made him laugh harder. The two of them wove their way through the dark hall.
“Oh, hi, Walker. It’s been a while.” Her mother wore her best PTA smile—the one she reserved for people she couldn’t stand but needed to be nice to anyway.
“I know. Thanks for letting me take Keira to dinner tonight.”
Keira’s mother tugged the dishcloth through her hands.
If that thing had a neck, she would be wringing it.
“Why don’t you two go in the living room? I’ve got some decaf brewing—I’ll bring it in when it’s ready. Walker? Do you take cream or sugar?”
“Both. And lots of them, please.” Walker smiled sheepishly. Keira thought it looked very sweet. Her mother looked like she thought the sheepishness was nothing more than a wolf in disguise.
Keira and Walker left her mother fiddling with cups and spoons. They sat an awkward but polite cushion-width apart on the sofa.
“Will you play?” Walker asked, gesturing to the piano.
Keira hesitated. She wasn’t ready to play the pieces she’d written herself—not for anyone else—but the rest of her playing had sounded so wooden lately.
“Coffee’s ready!” Her mother’s voice was painfully perky. Her polite veneer was so thin that Keira could see her seething underneath it. Her mom stepped into the living room. In that instant, the same tree that Keira had hallucinated before swung into existence, swaying wildly in a wind that Keira couldn’t feel. The branches above Keira’s head dropped fruit like enormous hailstones and she automatically ducked as one sailed past her head.
“What’s wrong?” her mother asked, frowning. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Keira struggled to pull herself together, but the two visions coming so close together had left her nerves splintered. “No ghosts. Imaginary trees, sure,” she wisecracked pathetically, “but no ghosts.”
Walker stared at her. His voice was light, but his face was dark as a coal mine. “Imaginary trees aren’t that bad. As long as you can duck the falling fruit, you’ll be fine.”
The words rumbled toward Keira. They slammed against her eardrums, their meaning painting itself across Keira’s mind. Instead of popping out of existence, the landscape around the tree shimmered and grew, spreading across the living room floor.
Keira clutched the pillow next to her as her sense of balance evaporated. She couldn’t tell which things were real and which weren’t. The couch was firmly beneath her, but her mother wavered insubstantially in the doorway. Keira could feel the wind that howled around the tree. It slapped her cheeks.
There was only one thing in the whole room that looked normal, that looked right.
Walker.
His eyes caught hers for a moment before glancing up at the canopy of tree branches over her head. She saw his hand curl into a fist at his side.
He knew. The thought stole her breath. It also made air completely unnecessary. He saw what she saw. She wasn’t crazy. The visions weren’t hallucinations or messages from her subconscious.
They were real.
They were
fucking
real.
Chapter Twenty-Four