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Thunder broke again. Rain poured down, slicking her skin.
She felt stronger suddenly, invigorated by the chill in the rain. She fought Michael, wrestling against his hold. Her arm slid through his hand as if the water pried him loose. Her feet found traction as the mud thickened, and she was suddenly five feet away. Then ten, her feet on the pavement.
She flung the back door open and jumped into the backseat of her car, grabbing for the handle to lock herself in. Her hand jammed the lock down, and she scrambled over the center console to get into the driver’s seat.
The key was firing the ignition when she realized Michael hadn’t pursued her. He was already back on the porch, standing in the light of the doorway.
Chris was no longer in the window. Rain pounded on the windshield.
Her breath was shaking.
No one was coming after her.
He’d grabbed her, right? Come after her in the kitchen?
Or had she misread a situation again? She watched; they were ignoring her now, filing back through the front door of the house as if she’d left like a normal guest.
So she put the car in gear and backed down the driveway.
CHAPTER 3
Chris lay in the dark and listened to the rain strike the house. Breathing hurt. Everything hurt. He didn’t bother to strip the wet clothes from his body, and he’d left his windows open so he could inhale the dampness in the air. The rain called to him, each drop begging him to join the downpour, whispering promises he didn’t quite understand yet.
But the house was quiet. His brothers were quiet. Solitude and silence were precious things, and he’d cling to them as long as possible. Experience told him it wouldn’t be long.
Rain came through the screen, droplets collecting on the wood surface of his desk.
An invitation.
“Later,” he said.
God, was that his voice? He sounded like a ninety-year-old chain-smoker.
His doorknob turned slowly, and Chris sighed, listening to each click of the knob until the door swung open. A triangle of light from the hallway arced across the back wall of his bedroom, but he didn’t bother to turn his head.
He knew it was Michael before his brother spoke. “I thought you might have fallen asleep.”
Chris didn’t say anything. He stared at the ceiling and waited for the reprimand that was sure to come. For the fight, for using his abilities, for helping Becky.
Becca. He smiled.
“What are you smiling at?”
That killed it. “Nothing.” Chris lifted a hand. “Say your piece and get out.”
Michael hesitated.
Chris hated this. This distance, this parental posturing. He could still remember the summer he’d turned nine, when Michael had just gotten his driver’s license. His brother hadn’t taken friends for his first drive, he hadn’t taken the twins, who were older and sharper and got everything they wanted. He’d taken Chris. They’d driven fast, clinging to curves on the back roads all the way to Annapolis. Then they’d sat on the hood of Dad’s truck and drunk sodas and watched boats on the Severn River.
He used to think Michael walked on water.
Now he mostly thought he was an ass**le.
His brother stepped into the room. Chris felt him move close, but he kept his eyes fixed on the ceiling. When Michael wound up for a lecture, it was usually agonizing. Maybe he’d actually sit on the corner of the bed or something, just for effect.
But Michael remained standing, and his voice was low. “You want to sit out back for a while?”
Chris swung his head to the side and his vision swam for a moment. When his eyes decided to focus, they looked up at his brother. With the light at his back, Michael’s face was in shadow, his brown eyes very dark, the way their mother’s had been. The rest of them had blue eyes, like their father.
