Page 61 of Within These County Lines

Xander jumps. “Ah,” he yelps. “Why did you set an alarm?”

I groan. “Crap. We need to clean up before Grandpa locks us in here.”

I snap a few more pictures while Xander hurries to restack boxes. Just as he slides the first one onto the shelf, the lights snap off.

A door slams somewhere in the distance. The sound echoes like a closing prison cell. It settles in fast that the archives department has no windows.

It’s black, darker than midnight.

“Uhhh, did he forget about us?” Xander asks.

“He must have,” I say, gripping a stack of papers.

“We have enough info for now. Let’s get out of here.”

I nod, even though he can’t see me, and take a cautious step forward. Immediately, my hip collides with the edge of a steel shelf. A pained whimper slips from my lips.

“Stetson?” Xander’s voice shifts.

“I’m fine,” I mumble, gripping my side. I reach for my phone, fingers fumbling in my back pocket ready to use its flashlight. But I stop when Xander’s hand settles on my shoulder.

Slowly, his palm glides down my arm. His fingertips trace a quiet path over my skin until he links his fingers with mine. The warmth of his hand spreads through me like fire over dry leaves.

“Here,” he murmurs. “Let me help you.”

I swallow. Hard.

“Okay,” I say. It’s barely more than a whisper.

My phone stays in my pocket. If he doesn’t need the light, neither do I.

We move together through the pitch-black aisles with our fingers entwined. Every few seconds, Xander gives my hand a gentle squeeze, reassuring his lead. I squeeze back, letting him know I trust the path he’s chosen for us.

The darkness doesn’t feel so suffocating anymore. If anything, it feels like we’re the only two people left in the world.

28

At home, I grab my family’s laptop from the kitchen table and lead Xander to my room. He follows close behind, quiet but observant, taking in everything.

My face warms as I watch him. “Sorry, my house is small,” I say.

“It’s the same size as mine was,” he replies, staring at photos in the hall.

A few steps later, I plop onto my bed, the plaid sheets still wrinkled from the night before, and rest the laptop on my thighs. Xander mirrors me exactly, until our knees touch.

“Let’s see what we got,” he says, rubbing his hands together.

“Hold on,” I say, fishing out a USB cord from under my pillow. “I need to hook up my phone.”

Xander groans. “This can’t just sync to the cloud?”

I shoot him a sidelong glance. “Not all of us can steal MacBooks whenever we want.”

“I’ll get one for you. What color do you like?” I tap my chin. “I don’t know how I feel about that.”

Without another word, Xander suddenly springs up from the mattress and wanders toward my bulletin board on the floor where the pile of pictures is scattered like fallen leaves, left untouched since my meltdown a couple weeks ago. He crouches and lifts up a photo from the mess.

“Is this your ex-boyfriend?” he asks.