“I’m okay,” he insisted with a subtle curve at the edge of his lips.
Last night, he’d been subdued and apologetic, but he seemed more relaxed now, probably in relief that we’d survived and I didn’t hate him. The glimmer had returned to his eyes, and there was a grace to his long limbs as he brushed away the grass stuck to his bare skin.
I set one of my cups of coffee on the step so I could help him, my fingers brushing against his abs, and I was surprised by how warm his skin felt after spending the night sleeping in the grass. I think I’d read somewhere that werewolves ran hot, and that explained the constant fiery temperature of his flesh.
When I went to pick a blade of grass from his chest just above his heart, Gabe put his hand over mine and gently held it in place. His heart pounded quickly beneath the palm of my hand, beating the same way it had when we laid together the night before last.
It was a quiet but powerful reminder that Gabe was still Gabe.
“But since you’re okay, I should probably get home and put some clothes on,” he said, with a light teasing in his voice.
“I suppose that you probably should,” I agreed half-heartedly.
When he spoke again, all joking had disappeared. “I was thinking that you should come over and talk to my parents. They know more about all of … my legacy, especially my mom, and she might have some insight about what’s happening here.”
“Sure.” I nodded, ignoring how uneasy the thought of talking to his mom about all of this made me feel.
“You wanna come over around eleven?” he suggested, and I nodded again. “Good. I’ll see you soon, then.”
He let go of my hand, then briefly but wonderfully pressed his lips to mine. He walked off, presumably toward his car parked in the fairground parking lot, and offered Roxie an awkward wave as he did.
I grabbed the coffee and went over to where Roxie was stubbing out her cigarette. The hood of her sweatshirt was pulled up, but her bright blond hair poked out around the edges. Based on the neon color of the sweatshirt, I guessed that she’d borrowed it from Hutch. Her eyes were red from crying, and her cheeks were uncharacteristically puffy.
“How are you holding up?” I asked as I handed her a mug.
“Oh, I’ve had better mornings.” She sipped her coffee and took a deep breath. “I think I always knew Blossom wasn’t coming back.”
“Really?” I asked in surprise. “You seemed the most convinced that everything was fine.”
Whenever I mentioned the possibility that Blossom might be missing, Roxie was always quick to come up with a reasonable explanation about where Blossom might be.
“Denial is how I cope. If I just deny everything, it can’t hurt me, right?” She laughed darkly. “I don’t know. I just couldn’t face the thought of losing somebody else I cared about.”
I rubbed her back, and Roxie leaned over, resting her head on my shoulder before saying, “I think we’re gonna cremate her. Blossom told me and Carrie once that if she ever died, she wanted her ashes spread over a field of flowers. So that’s what I think we’re gonna do.”
“So is Gideon planning to call the police?” I asked.
“No,” Roxie said. “We know how she died, and we don’t want to deal with the assholes that live here. They’d probably just take her body and send it back to her stupid hippie drug-addict parents, assuming they even found them, and Blossom hated her parents. She wouldn’t want to go back to them.”
She sniffled, then went on, “We were thinking we’d have, like, a ceremony or something tomorrow before we left.”
“I think Blossom would like that,” I said.
Roxie sat up a little and peered at me from under her hood. “Did I hear you correctly last night? Blossom’s been talking to you?”
“Yeah, she has. I didn’t realize it at first, but I think she’s just been trying to watch out for us,” I explained.
“Does she sound okay? Like, do you think she’s happy?” Roxie asked.
“I mean, it’s hard to tell when she’s just telling me to run for my life,” I admitted. “But I saw her last night, in the woods, and she looked okay. She looked like Blossom. My mom can probably help you talk to her, if you want.”
Roxie nodded and wiped her nose with the back of her sleeve. “I think I’d like that.”
“Do you know what Gideon has planned for today?” I asked.
“I don’t know.” Roxie shook her head. “But we only have to stay here one more night, and then we get paid and we can get out of here for good. If we can just keep that thing at bay for one more night, we’re golden.”
“Only one more night,” I murmured, and I’d never been so happy and so sad to leave a place.
51. cursed