A hand slips into mine and squeezes. Eyes like warm honey look into mine. “I’m Ev,” she whispers. “Hang on in there.”
But the skeletons grab her and draw her away and she screams as she’s pulled into the spider web and left to die. I twist and force my heavy body to move, to go after her, help her. A shout catches in my throat, suffocating.
“Wake up. Micah, wake up!” Big hands clench on my shoulders and shake me roughly until my eyes blink open. I take in a small room with posters on the walls and a man’s face over me.
Seth. And this is my bedroom. Sweat is drying on my face and bare chest, and my breath rattles in my lungs.
“Man,” he says, shaking his head and standing up, “you have some nasty nightmares.”
I say nothing. What’s there to say? He also has his fair share of bad dreams. I hear him shout sometimes in the night. At least I know he understands.
“What was it this time?” he asks quietly as he steps away from the bed. Arms folded over his cotton-clad chest, he comes to a stop in front of the few sketches I have taped to the wall.
“Same as usual,” I reply shortly.
“The streets?”
I scrub my hand over my face. My eyes itch. “Yeah.”
Better than the other dreams of the group home that leave me feeling sick. At least this one had a good ending.
Seth cocks his head, his black hair hanging over one shoulder, studying my sketches. There are abstract designs and cartoon-like women, and a face I’ve seen in my memory a thousand times this past year. The face I’ve just seen in my dream.
“That her?” he asks.
I ignore the question, hoping he’ll drop it. The sky outside my window is growing light. I groan as I sit up, swinging my legs off the bed. The floor is fucking cold. The air is cold.
“What happened to the heater?” No wonder I’m dreaming of the streets. Although it’s April, it’s still damn cold.
“Broke down again. I’ll call Shane to have a look later.”
The time on my phone reads six in the morning. Fucking hell. We only got home a few hours ago. No wonder I feel like hell warmed over.
Which begs the question... “What are you doing up anyway?”
“Couldn’t sleep.” He wanders away from my drawings and stops at the door of my bedroom. “So what will you do?”
“About what?”
“Her.” He nods toward the drawing as he steps out. “Kill it, or leave it.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“The fear, man. Talking about fear. You’re afraid to talk to her, why, I don’t know. Kill the fear, or leave it and be done with it.”
He makes it sound so damn easy.
I down three cups of black coffee before my brain can function enough for me to shower and get ready. I decide to go for a run. I need to get back my strength, and the illness took a huge toll on me. It’s only recently I can jog for more than ten minutes without coughing my lungs out and feeling like I’ll never get my breath back. Getting stronger every day.
Kill it, or leave it.
The words reverberate in my head as I run through busy streets and parks and turn back toward the apartment. My footfalls thump to the rhythm of my heartbeat. I climb the stairs and bend over, coughing.
Kill it, or leave it.
I’ll talk to her. So what if she thinks I’m a stalker? I’ll just cross the street and say, hey, are you Ev? Because you saved my life, you know, and I wanna thank you for that.
Lame. Probably stupid. But it might help me sleep better, knowing I did it.
So of course it makes sense, with my rotten luck in life, that the girl across the street doesn’t show up, not this afternoon, or the one after. She’s gone.
Chapter Four
Evangeline
Joel is furious. He paces my bedroom, his strides eating up the space, his blue eyes flashing at every turn.
“What the hell were you thinking, Evie? Why can’t you be careful?”
I wince, and I pretend it’s because of my leg—which is propped up on a pillow, an ice pack on my throbbing knee. My almost-fall the other day screwed it up quite a bit.
It’s not that bad, I tell myself. By tomorrow I’ll be able to walk properly again, and by the week’s end, I’ll be as good as new.
I should be glad it isn’t worse. I should be glad Micah kept me from falling and spraining my ankle or maybe even breaking my leg again. A shudder goes through me at the thought.
And I shudder again at the memory of his muscular arms around me, his strong body pressed to mine, those sky-blue eyes fixed on me... His scent of burned ink and musk, the intensity in his gaze, in his voice... I should be creeped out that he watched me and followed me—but I’m not. The way he helped me and then held me, his low voice... he made me feel safe.
Which is stupid. I don’t know him. His behavior is odd. He’s... so hot.
Oh God...
“Evie? Have you heard a word I’ve said?”
My cheeks burn. “Sure.”
“Haven’t you learned that running through the town like that is dangerous? Especially with your leg still so weak. Wasn’t one accident enough?” My brother shakes his head. “Why do you have to go to all the seedy places?
“I didn’t go to any seedy places, Joel. I was downtown.”
“Exactly. Why can’t you stay near home?”
Anger warms my chest. “Why? You moved out and have your life. What am I, a prisoner or an invalid?”
“Neither.” His voice softens and he comes to stand in front of me. He kneels, putting his hands on the bed. His eyes are like a bright blue. He’s a looker, my big brother, that’s for sure. “Dammit, Evie. I want what’s best for you.”
“Really?” I lift my chin. “Getting out of the house is good for me. Meeting new people is good for me.”
“Your homeless friends.” His nose wrinkles, and he gets up, his face closing off again. “They’re the reason you had the accident in the first place. Why can’t you let this childish obsession go? Why not let the agencies and organizations do their thing? Why do you feel the need to meddle in their affairs?”
“Childish obsession?” I sit up. “Are you serious? Besides, they aren’t the reason an idiot run me over with his bike.”
“You were out there looking for trouble.”
“I was out for a jog.” I throw my hands up in the air. “Jesus, Joey. What’s wrong with you?”
“What’s wrong with me?” He grimaces. “I don’t get into trouble and bring grief to my parents. I don’t break up with a nice guy for no reason. I don’t go—”
“Is this about Blake?”
“No, this is about thinking of others, not just yourself.”
“I think of others! Is this a joke?”
“Dammit, Evie!” His jaw clenches. “You just won’t listen. You make us all worry. That’s selfish. And what about your future? What about college? What about thinking ahead?”
My mouth opens and closes. In this family, no matter what I do or say, it’s always turned on me.
“Going to meet with the guys,” Joel says and turns to go. “Do me a favor and stay out of trouble, okay?”