“Before your very eyes,” I saidflatly.
Though part of me was irritatedwith her mockery that hit a little too close to home, the other side of me was relieved to meet with theirreverent,chain-yankingKrystanagain. Whatever serious faced, quiet version had beenin the vanearlier was not a version I wanted to meet again any time soon.
“What have you got over there?”Krystanasked after a few moments of rooting around in Noah’s bag. She’d pulled out a protractor, a couple ratty comic books, several clean pairs of underwear and socks.
“Not anything better than you.”There were a handful of small dolls, a few extra shirts, a pair of pants, three books, and a stuffed bunny. The bunny was familiar to me, and I realized it was the one she’d been clutching when I saved her from thesouleater.Despite the brown, fluffy, floppy body, thoseblackbead eyes glared at me accusatorily for going through Sophie’s things.
With a sigh, I began to repack Sophie’s things.“I’vegot to head out for afewhours, are you going to be okay herealonewith the kids?”
She looked like she was about toprotest butpaused.
“Did you have somewhere you have to be?” I prompted.
Her dark eyes became round fathomless depths. There was something fearful and hesitant in her eyes, like she needed to tell me something but was restrained byaninvisible force.It freaked me out, but I couldn’t force her to talk.
For half a second, I wondered if she knew it was my birthday but quickly dismissed that.What did she care? I was just an annoying coworker to her.
The prospect of watching the two in the next room probablyhad her ready to race me out the door, so she wouldn’t have to doiton her own.
Even so,I was suddenly uneasy. Stayingverystill,not wanting to spook herfrom whatever she was about to share, Iaskedin a quiet voice. “Is this about the foreclosure?”
Krystanvisibly swallowed then looked down at Noahand Sophie’s strewn belongings on the island.Her finger touchedone of the mini dolls. It was wrapped in a purple dress, sported two braids and a happy smile.“Yeah,” she said in a croak.
Before I even thought about what I was doing,I reached out and covered her hand. Her hand wasslim,but taut with an undercurrent of strength.Krystan’shands weren’t soft, they were calloused and covered in little scabs from shallow cuts we got from fighting monstersand herdark bluenail polish was chipped.The urge to cover them with my lips took me by surprise.
A small bubble of feeling swelled in my chest at the contact and from her sudden jolt before meeting my eye again, I could tell she’dfelt something too.
“I promised we are going to fix it, and I meant it.” I don’t know what the hell came over me. I had no earthly idea how we were going to get the money to save Mrs.Ritshouse, but as I fell intothe depths ofKrystan’shypnotizing eyes,I knew I would have done anything in that moment to come up with the solution.Then I said the most insane thing in my twenty-five years. “No matter what, I’m here for you.Whatever you need,Krystan.”
Instead of a barrage of claws and insults,Krystansimplyblinked, her expression blank. “Okay.”
Suddenly too aware of the rise and fall of her chest and her skin heating up under mine, I stepped back and ran a hand through my hair and mumbled. “Be backlater,” before turning andpractically runningout thebackdoor, needing to get out of the house as fast as possible.
Smoky Badger was a good hour and a halfdrive,andthe sun setas the road curved up into the mountains away from Denver. Not only was it the secluded mountain town where I grew up, but the place it was the place where the gate to the Stygian opened. It was where Emma and Calan had their last standoff and shut it for good. I tried not to think about that night too much.
My eyes becamemesmerizedby the dotted whitelines. With each passingstripe,Krystanpounded into my brain. The way her dark eyes flashed when she wasup to no good. Theslight upturned tip of her thin nose that was a physical embodiment of her flippant sass.The softness of herjet-blackhairwas yet another contrast tothestraight edgecut of her bangs.She smelled like raspberries dipped in dark chocolate and something spicy.Everything about her wasmixed message. Especially the tempting curve of her mouth, almost always painted some come hither/fuck-off red.
While the one timeI’dslept withKrystanwas acompletedisaster.I couldn’t even guess to the number of shots we’dhadthat night, which made sloppy drunk messes of both of us, but there was one moment where the alcohol haze had lifted enough for me to grab a moment of lucidity.Krystanthrew back her head exposingawhitecolumnof neck, her mouth parting and her eyes closedin ecstasy. Istillrememberedthe pitch of her sigh as I slid into hertight, ready channel.Herneartranslucentskin practically glowed in the moonlight that had cut through the darkened room.
The rest was atrain wreck.
A frustrating, embarrassing, unsatisfying train wreck.
But in that one moment, Idiscovered the most powerful craving.Krystanfoughteveryone andeverythingatall the times, but I’dwatchedher surrender,tome,of allpeople. Jesus,I wantedarepeatofthat more than anything.
She doesn’t want you, hell, she doesn’t even really need you.You’re just hard up because it’sbeen so long. Get a grip.
I did not get a grip, not until I drove up the gravel driveway and parked. The slam of the van’s doorcut through the quietnight. The nearest neighbor wasa mile away,so the only lightglowedfrom the windowsof thebeige,ranch style house.A couple ugly shrubs, covered in snow, still lived in the dead of winter. In Denver, we were on a sunny streak but up here in the mountains, the cold was constant.My boots quietly crunched in the snow and gravel as I made my way to the door.
Knocking, I straightened my shoulders.
After some shuffling inside, the lockpopped,and I was greeted by my mother in a gray sweatshirt with theBroncos emblem on the middle.Her eyebrows nearly shot up into her permedhairline. My mom wasa lotshorter than me, andshe was gettingwiderevery year.Her face was flushed even though she wasn’t probably doing anything strenuous.
“Oh Travis, come in.” Shescuttledback,and I stepped in, resisting the urge to shove my hands into my pockets or slouch.
“Marcie, who’s there?” My dad’s voice came from the living roomwhere the only light was from the blue television flashing on him. When he saw it was me, he waved with an uncertain smile.
“Hey Dad, how’s it going?”
