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I avoid his eyes, opening the stairwell door and pressing the panel to reveal the basement stairs.
“I want to get involved in this,” he begs, like he has a monkey on his back. “I want to play.”
“She’s too young.”
“Not as young as Winslet,” he points out, “and you had her crawling into your bed before school and after.”
“That’s enough,” I bite out.
We hear a door close upstairs, both of us staring at the ceiling as footsteps cross the hall and close another door.
“It’s not enough.” He lowers his voice. “I want more. And more. And more.”
I grab him by the collar.
“Our story’s not over,” he pleads, pushing me back.
I plant my hand over his mouth and wrap my arms around him, pressing him into the wall to shut him up.
Goddammit.
I listen for Dylan and the boy, not hearing anything coming down the stairs.
I stare at Deacon.
I’ve been able to keep him in check, but these fucking kids are opening up all of our boxes. It was kind of fun when Hawke found the tower. It was even nostalgic to see Weston get a girl in the exchange, especially with the kids here carrying on the legend. Like Winslet will live forever.
But…
Deacon wants to lurk. He wants to dial it up, and he wants to be seen.
He hums behind my hand, bobbing his head back into the wall. I release him and pull him away, so he stops.
He stands there, eyes locked with mine, and I notice his middle finger is threaded through the shackle of a padlock as he buttons his suit jacket. A chill climbs my skin, and I watch as the snake of a smile curls his lips.
“On Knock Hill, there goes a knocking, knocking,” he sings in a whisper, “and in the attic a rocking, rocking…”
He climbs down the basement stairs, his words drifting up as he goes and reminding me that this is all my fault, and once set in motion, Deacon will never stop.
“On the wind does bring a chill, the ghost of the girl…you did kill.”
I close my eyes, and I see her face. Always.
Hunter
She fucking kicked me out. After I gave her two orgasms.
She’s spent more time with my friends this week than me. If she’s not training with Mace or Farrow, she’s staying after school to help Codi and Coral make pep rally posters in the Art room. I’ve barely spoken to her since we went at it in her room on Monday.
I stand in front of the mirror, gripping the bar in both hands and curling at my elbows. I lift the barbell to my chest again and again.
I can’t go another night without her.
Farrow settles on the bench next to me, starting crunches with a medicine ball. “You’re coming tonight.”
“I know,” I reply.
There aren’t many people whom I’d let tell me what I’m doing or where I’m going, but I won’t hide from Kade’s party.
