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Chris pointed to his face. “Is that what this is? Baiting me?”
“Damn it, Chris. They want you to lose control. You know that, right?”
He did know that. Didn’t Michael know he knew that?
“I want to leave,” said Chris.
Michael sighed, a sound full of oh-not-this-again. “And go where? Just how long do you think we could stay hidden? We’re not little kids anymore, Chris. If we move into another community, they’ll report us for sure.”
Chris scowled. “Then let’s go somewhere there’s no community.”
“Oh. Great idea. Where’s that?”
“Shut up. We don’t need them. We don’t need—”
“We don’t need what? A house? School? You want to move to the middle of the woods somewhere and just live off the land?”
Yeah. He did. If that was the tradeoff, he’d take it.
Chris stared out at the darkness and didn’t say anything.
Michael rolled his eyes. “Okay, Chris. Whatever.”
Some of the tightness in his chest was loosening, making it hard to maintain his anger. He could feel it now, the rain tracing along his shoulders, feeding relief into his muscles.
“You want me to just leave you alone?” said Michael.
No. He didn’t. He wanted Michael to sit here and tell him that this time they’d stand up to them, that they would show Tyler and all those freaks just who they were messing with.
But Michael would never do that.
“Yeah,” Chris said. “I’m tired.”
Chris heard him shift to stand, but he didn’t look over. His brother was watching him; he could feel it.
But Michael just sighed and moved toward the door. “Me too, kid. Me too.”
Her mom would flip out if she found mud tracked across the front hall, so Becca trudged through the grass to the back door and let herself in through the laundry room.
Her best friend was sitting at the kitchen table, pawing through a magazine. A half-empty dinner plate sat in front of her. Becca wasn’t surprised to see her—any time Quinn had trouble with her mother, she ended up here. An untouched pile of stuffing and a small slice of turkey were left on the plate, but all the vegetables and most of the protein were gone.
“Hey.” Becca struggled to kick off her shoes.
Quinn lifted her eyes from the magazine. “You walk home or something? Why do you look like that?”
Becca considered reviewing the course of the night’s events. The fight. The drive to Chris’s house. His weird brothers.
Too complicated. “Long story. Is that my dinner?”
Quinn speared the last piece of turkey and slid it into her mouth. “Your mom left two plates.”
Of course she did. “She already leave for work?”
“Yep. Off to save lives, one dumbass at a time.”
ehind him, on the second floor, Chris’s face in a window, watching the whole thing.
Her breath caught. She pulled to get free, but Michael’s grip was secure. “Just wait a minute,” he said. “I’m not going to—”
