“Let me ask him,” he says, confident and unmoving, as ifhisgrilling me will amount to anything at all.
But Barfred retaliates quickly, shoving his hand into the hair on the back of Landon’s head and tugging it roughly, causing his whole head to snap back.
“I dare you,” he seethes, peering down at the other man with angry, wild eyes.
Landon swallows roughly as his neck and cheek flush, and he gives a small, sharp nod. And says nothing at all.
“Uh, alright,” I offer quietly. “I’m just gonna…”
Gesturing to the workout equipment in front of me, I turn my attention to it, and I don’t look away until I hear their retreating footsteps.
What thehell?The weary look on Barfred’s face, the panic from the priest, and the resigned concern from Atlas… I’mbeginning to wonder if this newglowthat I have is giving others the wrong impression.
Like maybe they think I’m on drugs or something. Which I’mnot, and it should be obvious in my demeanor and also my very meticulous personality.
Me? On drugs? I’m the last person who would be.
What a weird day.
Only it doesn’t really matterhowweird it is, because my mind still twists back in Cameron’s direction either way, unbothered by the insane encounters I’m having.
Yeah, it’s official. Iamthe pathetic one.
Cameron
19
“HOW’S YOUR MOM?” UNCLEDanny asks, his hands working as he changes a spare tire.
Henry is off on his lunch break, and my other co-worker, Frank, is in the office on a fifteen-minute break, leaving my uncle and me alone in the garage.
I sigh, far too exhausted and mentally fucked-up to be having this conversation, but giving in anyway.
“She’s fine,” I reply without much emotion.
His brown eyes lift to meet mine, momentarily abandoning his work as he frowns. “You sure? Because you seem upset. I’m here for you, you know? I may not have been able to take you in after Ty died, but I do love you.”
His tone, his prying eyes, his full attention—they’re all overwhelming me. I’m not used to people asking to help me, and after last night, I sincerely can’t handle anything that adds fuel to this emotional dumpster fire.
“I know, thanks,” is all I can manage because otherwise, I’ll cry. Or worse, I’ll break down and tell him somethingin the shape of my ex-fling showed up in my bedroom last night.
And thentouchedme.
“Alright,” Uncle Danny mutters, turning back to the car before him.
Listen, if I hadn’t woken this morning covered in my own come, I would write last night off as a dream. But as my alarm rang, and I rolled out of bed, I found myself without pants and with crusty white streaks covering my lower stomach and thighs.
And then, of course, there is the giant hickey on my neck.
Everyone at work talked shit, hassling me about mynew girlfriend, but all I can think about is the way his cold lips felt sucking on my skin.
I need to speak to Atticus. Sure, I could tell it wasn’t truly him—Atticus has never spoken to me in a foreign language, and those purple fingertips and black eyes werenothis characteristics—but he must know something.
It looked just like him! Has he gotten himself into some kind of trouble? Is he hiding a secret, foreign twin brother?
And with all of thehetalk, it sounded almost like he was referencing Atticus…
The guy last night was ahe,right? Or isthinga better word for the Atticus-shaped being that was hiding in the shadows? I just don’t know!
