“I see,” Jason said slowly. Thankfully, he didn’t let the moment linger. “So what’s on the agenda for the rest of the day? I can’t imagine you guys just lounging around all afternoon.”
“Dunno,” I responded. It felt more honest than anything else I’d said today. “Maybe wander a bit. Just don’t want to be back on campus.”
“I don’t blame you.” He paused, considered his words. “Did they tell you what happened?”
I shoved down the images that flowed through my mind like pumping blood—red on white, blood on concrete, crows of shadow—and took a sip of tea. It was cold, and it tasted like raven feathers.
“No,” Ethan answered for me. “Just that she . . . yeah.”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”
I stared into my teacup and my reflection stared back, ripples distorting my face, making me pale. Wavering. Ghostly. The room tilted.
“Are you okay?” Jason asked, putting his hand on my shoulder. But it wasn’t his voice.
I looked over as if in a dream. Blond hair, brown eyes, tan skin, blood dripping from his lip, smeared on his hand. Brad.
I screamed. Legit, top-of-my-voice screamed, the teacup falling from my grip and shattering on the floor. The moment it hit, it was just Jason staring at me. Kind, gay Jason, his hand quickly darting from my shoulder to his lap.
“Kaira, are you—”
“I’m fine.” Too quickly. My blood pulsed the lie through my veins. “Just . . . on edge. Sorry. I shouldn’t . . . I’ll be right back.”
I pushed out of the chair, nearly toppling it over, and ran to the bathroom.
“It’s okay, he’s gone. You’re just stressed. He’s gone. He’s gone. He’s gone.” My words were a furious whisper the moment I pressed my back to the bathroom wall and squeezed my palms to my eyes and tried to block out his words, his laughter, the feeling of his hand on my shoulder, the memory of the cold stall door against my back. I couldn’t stop shaking. I couldn’t stop the tears.
“Kaira?” someone asked. Not Brad. Of course not Brad. He’s gone.
Ethan opened the door and stepped inside, but I didn’t open my eyes. I didn’t move as he walked over and slid down next to me. He didn’t touch me. I could feel the static of space between us.
“Kaira?” he asked again. “Do you need to talk?”
I didn’t answer. He didn’t move.
The silence stretched, but no one else came to check on us. The tears stopped. Finally.
“It’s just stress,” I whispered finally. “I don’t know. Too much at once, you know?”
“I do,” he replied. His voice was grave, like he knew it all too well.
“What happened?” he asked.
I took a deep breath. It felt like coming up from drowning. When I leaned over and rested my head on his shoulder, he wrapped an arm around me. It didn’t feel like Brad. Ethan never felt like Brad. Ethan felt like safety. Like home.
“Too many ghosts,” I finally whispered.
He sighed.
“And in times like this, they just get louder.” He squeezed me and went silent. He didn’t tell me to pull myself together or that everything would be okay. He knew better than to lie.
“They’re going to think I’m crazy,” I finally said.
“No,” he said, just as stoic. “We’ve always known.”
I laughed, and it was almost a sob, but I nudged him in the ribs anyway. He kissed the top of my head.
“I love you, Winters,” he whispered into my hair. Tears welled up again, but I forced them down. Down to where Brad waited, along with the blood and the raven feathers. Down where I shouldn’t see or feel or hear them.
“I love you too, Davis,” I said. “Even if you are an ass.”
? ? ?
“So,” Chris said from his seat beside me. We were in T’Chai Nanni, which was pretty much the antithesis of 326’s empty interior. The teahouse was swamped with patrons, Veronica and the other waiter flitting between wicker tables and rocking chairs and sofas with trays of mismatched teapots in their hands.
“So what?” I asked. We hadn’t even opened up our portfolios to work; Ethan’s and my usual table was taken by hipsters talking about Foucault or something like that, so we nabbed a bench in the corner. At first I had no clue why the place was so crowded, then I saw a band starting to set up in the corner. Great. Acoustic shows always meant a crowd, even if—or especially if—the music sucked balls.
“So tell me about yourself, Kaira the Conundrum.”
I laughed and sipped my tea—Russian caravan t’chai, which was dark and earthy and reminiscent of woodsmoke—as I peered at him over the thick cup. Ethan was on the front porch, chatting on the phone with Oliver, though I don’t know how being outside in the wind and snow was quieter than being in here.
I think he just wanted Chris and me to be alone.