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“Shhh.” Nick glanced at the hallway. “You’ll wake Michael, and he’ll have an aneurysm if he sees you like this.”
Gabriel shut up.
Nick looked down at his hands, rubbing at some of the soot that had come off his brother. “Sometimes I wonder if you didn’t let me in on the fire stuff because you knew I wouldn’t be able to handle it.”
“That’s not it at all.” Gabriel swallowed. Somehow this was harder than telling Layne his secrets. “I knew you’d make me stop.”
Now Nick was looking at him, hard. “Stop what?”
Gabriel took a deep breath.
And he told Nick everything.
Layne sat on the stretcher in the ER and hugged her arms across her chest. Her parents were right on the other side of the privacy curtain, having a whispered argument.
Like she was an idiot. Like she couldn’t hear every word.
“Didn’t you tell them?” her mother hissed. Layne could smell her Chanel perfume from here. “I can’t believe they’re not even examining her.”
“Tell them what, Charlotte?” Her father’s voice was tired.
“She’s fine.”
“She’s not fine, David.” Her mother spat his name like it tasted bad. “She’s already damaged enough, and now you’re acting like nothing ”
“I’m not acting like anything. Why don’t you get a handle on the histrionics. I’m sure you have a pill or something you can take.”
Layne wanted to lie down on this stretcher and put the pillow over her face.
She’s already damaged enough.
Thanks, Mom.
The paramedics had said they were taking her to the ER as a precaution, but a doctor had listened to her lungs and shined a light in her eyes and declared her perfectly well. He’d told her that normally people had breathing difficulties from smoke inhalation, coughing, shortness of breath. She didn’t have any of those things. Now she was just waiting for a piece of paper so she could get out of here.
No one knew about Gabriel. No one asked.
She didn’t start out keeping him a secret she just didn’t know what to say, or when to say it. People kept speaking over her head, never asking her anything more than whether she knew what day it was or how to contact her parents.
She’d found his lighter in the grass beside her, probably dropped when he’d grabbed his things and run. She’d shoved it into her pocket. Even now, she could slide her hand between the fabric panels and run her thumb along the slick metal casing.
quo;d killed someone again.
Did it matter that he’d brought her back?
Emotion gripped his throat and almost made it impossible to run.
He pushed through it. Maybe his ligaments would tear and offer some piercing agony. Maybe his heart would give out and he’d collapse in the middle of the trail.
He had no idea how long it took him to get home. The four miles simultaneously felt like they took all day and no time at all. He was just suddenly at the tree line behind his house, gasping for breath with his forehead braced against the bark of an old maple.
Now he could feel the sun, bleeding through the trees, feeding energy into his skin. It still had to be early: The woods around him were silent, as if even the morning wildlife wouldn’t bear witness to his sorrow.
As if he was worth it.
The Guides were right. He should have been killed long before he could cause this kind of damage.
The morning air felt all wrong. Too crisp, too clean, too pure.
