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“You think you belong with him?”
“I’m not with anybody.”
“That’s not what I heard.”
“You hear what you want to.”
At this he frowned. “Izo.” He dropped the cigarette and ground it out with the tip of one shoe. He stepped in closer. She stood her ground, eyeing him suspiciously as he drew nearer, close enough for her to catch the smell of his cologne mixed in with cigarette smoke and the spearmint gum he always chewed to keep his mom guessing. “The guy is a total freak.”
“Stop calling him that.”
“Listen,” he said, inching in, his expression hardening, “there’s something not right about all of this. He’s got you brainwashed or something.”
She felt herself bristling all over from his closeness, and she wanted to step back, away from his familiar scent and his low, protective tone, but that was exactly what he wanted. She could feel it. He wanted to know he could still affect her like that, that he still held that power over her.
He leaned down and kissed her neck.
She went rigid. “Stop,” she warned.
The smell of tobacco filled her nostrils as his mouth trailed up to her jaw. She felt his arms slide around her lower back, clamping her to his solid frame. “No, Brad,” she was scarcely able to squeak. She raised her hands, palms pressed against the front of his jacket. She pushed, angling back, but not far enough. “I said stop!” He pressed his mouth over hers.
She made a muffled sound as close to a scream as she could manage, even though she knew there was no way her father would hear over the blare of the television. If only he would walk into the kitchen and look out the window. He’d see—he’d know how Brad could be sometimes. She thrashed against him, preparing to bite down on his bottom lip, when suddenly, tensing, he stopped and pulled back.
“What was that?”
“Let go!” she growled, prying herself away, shoving him as hard as she could, though she only succeeded in rumpling his jacket. “What is wrong with you?”
He shushed her, tilting his head to listen. From above came the sound of heavy scraping. “There it is again,” he muttered.
Her eyes widened. Varen. He must have heard them arguing from the roof. What was he doing? Was he coming this way? Was he crazy? Her mind raced for a distraction.
“You’re such a jerk!” she shouted as loud as she could. Brad’s head whipped back around to her, his eyes, that angry, electric shade of blue, searching.
She staggered a few steps back. “Go away!” she shouted again, knowing someone would be there any second.
Brad did too, it seemed, because he wasted no time in stepping down off the porch. He raised a finger, pointing at her as he backed away. “You’ll see,” he said. “You’ll see. In the meantime, why don’t you tell that little faggot I’m gonna kill him. Tell him I’m gonna beat the livin’ piss out of him for what he did, ’cause I know it was him. Tell him that for me, would ya, Iz?”
Isobel stared after him in horrified disbelief, her confusion mounting. Did what?
She heard the porch door open behind her and her mother’s voice. “Isobel, time to come in now. You shouldn’t even be out here after being sick.”
Isobel stood frozen, staring after Brad as he turned away and headed around to the front of the house, no doubt to wherever he’d parked his Mustang.
His Mustang. Why hadn’t she heard his Mustang? Turning, she rushed in past her mother, through the kitchen and into the living room, right up to the window. Parting the draperies, Isobel watched Brad climb into another car, one she recognized as his mom’s sleek black BMW.
She turned to see her father sit up from reclining in his easy chair. The TV on mute, he glared at her.
“Where’s Brad’s Mustang?”
Her father’s gaze narrowed. “I didn’t ask,” he said coolly, “because yesterday you told me that it was in the shop.”
“I forgot,” she muttered, and swiveled for the stairs. “I’m going to bed.”
“I was just about to suggest that,” he said, then snapped the TV volume back on.
Isobel stomped upstairs once more, averting her gaze from Danny, who stood leaning halfway out his door. “Ooh, somebody’s in trouuuuuu—”
She shut her door, cutting him off, then stopped, her heart tripping over itself at the sight of Varen Nethers perched on one corner of her tousled pink bed, last year’s cheerleading album draped open across his lap.
