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Raven
Zay stays fairlyquiet as we collect candles from around the house and light them, one by one, until a faint glow dances around nearly the entire bottom floor of the house.
We’re currently in the washroom, which has a door just before where the kitchen is located. Each candle he lights makes me feel a bit better about the darkness. However, nothing has helped me feel better about how much I upset Jax and Hunter. The longer they’re gone to—well, I’m guessing one of their rooms—the more I worry.
It’s starting to drive me crazy thinking about how I feel like I caused their fight. And the silence isn’t helping alleviate the guilt twisting inside my stomach.
“Dude, you guys have a lot of candles,” I try to joke to crack through the maddening silence.
The corners of his lips twitch as he almost smiles. Then he flicks the lighter and lights another candle. “What constitutes a lot of candles?”
I tap my finger against my lips. “More than ten.”
“And who decided that number?” he questions, setting the candle down on the table.
I shrug. “The most awesome person ever, which just so happens to be standing beside you.”
He presses his together, I think fighting back a smile. Either that or I’m just annoying him. It’s really hard to tell with him.
“So, about that guy you saw in the bar,” he starts as he moves to an end table. Another candle is on there, and he flicks the lighter to light it. “Was there any distinct feature about him?”
“He had a scar on his face,” I say, sketching my finger down my face. “Right here.”
He considers what I said with a crinkle between his brow. “Hunter said he was maybe a little bit older than us, but not by much, right?”
I nod. “And he acted like I should know him, but I didn’t. Well, from what I can remember. My memories can be a little iffy sometimes.”
He bobs his head up and down. “Yeah, mine are a little fucked up, too.”
I raise my brows. “Really?” I’m not sure what I’m surprised by more—the fact that he has a hard time remembering stuff or that he’s sharing something about him with me.
He shrugs. “Yeah, there’s some stuff I block. I think my mind chooses to do it.” He sets the lit candle down on the table, and I notice that, like on his face, his hand is cut up, too.
“So, were you in a fight tonight?” I question.
His lips turn up into a smirk. “If I was, it wouldn’t be anything new.”
“Oh, I know.” I make a mockingly scared face. “Scary Zay. I remember.”
He narrows his eyes at me, but I can tell he’s struggling not to smile. “And smart mouth Raven. I remember, too.”
I sink my teeth into my bottom lip, trying not to smile. I’ll admit, though, that bantering with him is way better than stressing over my thoughts.
He stares at me with this weird look on his face, as if he can’t quite figure something out. Then he suddenly throws me off by saying, “I’m going to go get some firewood from the garage.” He reaches for the washroom door but pauses before opening it. “Stay right here,” he instructs.
“Yes, boss,” I mumble under my breath.
Something flickers in his eyes, like the flame of the candle in his hand. Then he tears his eyes off me and walks into the washroom, leaving me alone with nothing but the firelight to keep me company. As I stand there, all alone, my anxiety returns, and I decide that I might need a bit more to drink if I’m going to make it through the night without a panic attack.
I start for the kitchen but pause when I hear a soft thump from somewhere. I turn back around, holding my breath, wondering where it came from.
Thump.
I tense.
It’s coming from the front door.
I’m not sure why I’m scared. It could just be someone knocking. Then again, the neighborhood is in blackout mode. But maybe someone just needs to, like, borrow a flashlight or some candles … which we have plenty of, so …
