He smiled down at her and kissed the top of her head, and they walked until they reached the sidewalk in front of the gate. Delilah moved in carefully when it creaked open, pretending like she couldn’t feel the house vibrating just up the walkway. With a quick glance to her right, she made sure the vines were wrapped around the iron, staying right where they should be.
And maybe she really couldn’t feel the house vibrating, couldn’t feel a chill slide up under her sweater and along her spine. Maybe it was all in her imagination because Gavin stopped and pulled her close. Close in a way she wouldn’t have done if her parents were standing right beside them.
“Are you okay?” he asked, the tips of his fingers resting on the bare skin just below the hem of her sweater.
“Yes.”
“I like you a lot,” he said. She pushed up onto her toes, wanting to kiss him so thoroughly he’d have no question how much she liked him back, when the sound of scattering gravel and tires screeching pulled their attention to the driveway.
“Delilah Blue!” her father shouted.
Franklin Blue’s car came to a dusty stop halfway into Gavin’s long, pebbled drive.
Why did he have to drive down this particular street, today of all days? Delilah’s stomach twisted, watching how several tendrils of vines slid down from the fence and snaked toward the tires.
“Dad,” she said, taking a step forward.
“What on earth are you doing here? Get in the car.”
“I have to go,” she told Gavin, reluctantly pulling her hand from his.
His eyes were focused on the vines, too, brows drawn in confusion. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow,” she agreed, walking backward toward the car, eyes pleading. It had officially been the weirdest day of her life. “Good night.”
Gavin looked up at her, expression unreadable. “Night, Lilah.”
Chapter Seventeen
Him
Gavin was angry. It hummed in his veins, surging white-hot to power his lengthy strides as he walked away, back down the sidewalk and away from House. He was unable to go inside yet, feeling the anger bloom in his cheeks, leaving him flushed and too warm.
He could still feel the gentle scrape of the branches where they’d gripped him at the park, hear the rustle of leaves and see Delilah’s terrified expression when she realized they weren’t alone, when she realized they might never be alone. Rage rushed anew through his system, and his fists clenched and unclenched at his sides. This single thought ricocheted in his head, back and forth, louder and more unacceptable with every moment.
How long could this go on? Until he finished high school? College? Forever? He figured he was being dramatic when he’d told Delilah they’d need to get used to it, but was he really? And why was he only thinking about this now? He was young and the future had been so abstract, filled with unnumbered days and the vague idea of years that would stretch on and on and on, but would he live them all inside House?
Would it ever let him leave?
Gavin stumbled on an uneven piece of sidewalk and felt the bleakness of this idea wash over him. The walls would change, the rooms might shift or shrink or grow, but it would still be the same. He would be the same. He might get older, but he would never grow in that house. He would never learn anything different or know love or lust or hate.. . .
No. He would know hate. Years from now he would know hate and resentment because he could taste the bitterness of them swelling up inside him already. It felt like a cancer, this need to yell and shout and be angry. House had to stop; it had to stop trying to control his time and his life because as much as he loved it—would always love it—it would have to let him go. Not now, but one day. Soon.