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“Yeah, that’s it,” Lucas said dryly. “I need someone to squeezereally fucking tightat the scary parts.”
He proceeded to give Jason a hug tight enough to squeeze all the air out of his lungs. Jason wheezed, “Damn, you are scary to cuddle with.”
Manson had claimed me as his cuddle buddy already, the two of us curled up at the corner of the big sectional couch. Even hours later, the impressions of the rope he’d been bound with remained on his skin. My finger traced the reddened imprints as I snuggled against him, saying softly, “These marks look so sexy on you.”
“You’re gonna make me blush,” he said, shivering when I kissed his chest.
As much as I’d learned over these past few weeks, watching Manson with Vincent today had opened my eyes even more. It was intimidating to be trusted with someone’s well-being; their mental health, their feelings, their physical safety. Especially when that person already had so much to fear, for so many reasons. It was like Manson went to war against himself, while Vincent and I handed him the weapons to fight.
He was relaxed now, the most relaxed I’d seen him since his father showed up at the house. The difference could be physically felt as I laid against him, listening to the beat of his heart, steady and slow. He’d softened, as if the tension he’d been carrying had finally released its hold. He sipped a whiskey on the rocks as we watched hapless teens fall victim to killer alien clowns, all five of us laughing at the ridiculous gore and slimy fake blood.
It was a night to be savored, our last day of peace and isolation before we returned to Wickeston tomorrow. Going back home meant facing reality again: my mom and her judgment, my ex-friends and their vitriol, Alex McAllister and his endless grudge against the boys. And...Reagan Reed.
Manson had hoped his father would leave town again while we were gone. Pessimism usually wasn’t my instinct, but something told me Reagan wasn’t going to leave so easily.
He’d still be there. Waiting, watching, but for what exactly, I didn’t know.
Manson was clearly tipsy by the time we started watching Elvira, and his drunken running commentary throughout the movie had me laughing until my stomach hurt. Even as the hour grew later and my eyes became heavy, I didn’t want to go to sleep...not yet. I didn’t want the night to end.
Somehow, amid the thrills and excitement of the dirty games we played, I’d become comfortable. When I was with them, I didn’t have to think about anyone’s disapproval. I didn’t have to care what went on outside our walls.
They’d become my haven.
***
We were awake brightand early Monday morning. We packed everything into the vehicles, cleaned the cabin, then ensured all the doors and windows were locked up before we got on the road.
Just like that, vacation was at an end.
It was a melancholy feeling to go back to reality. Thoughts of what I’d need to get done at work that week crowded my head, my to-do list already trying to demand my attention. But stressing about work wasn’t my only distraction.
I was about to meet Vincent’s parents for the first time.
The Volkov family had taken care of Jojo and Haribo over the weekend. When Vincent first mentioned that we’d be going by the house to pick the dogs up, I hadn’t thought much of it. He’d brought it up so casually that it barely registered in my brain.
Then midway through the drive, a call from his mom came through. He talked to her with a massive smile on his face, assuring her that the drive was going well and that we’d be there in “only a couple hours.”
Thatcertainly brought the nerves crashing over me like a tsunami.
Holy shit.
I was meeting his parents. Oh God, what if they hated me? What if they disapproved? I hadn’t worn any makeup all weekend and today was no different, but suddenly I was rummaging in my purse for mascara, concealer — anything I could do to try to make a better impression.
In typical fashion, Vincent noticed exactly what I was doing.
“Hey, hey, don’t stress yourself out,” he said. He caught my hand and laced his fingers through mine. “My mom is really excited to meet you. I tried to tell her not to, but she’s cooking an early dinner for us.”
“You’re going to love Vera’s cooking,” Jason said. “Vincent’s a good cook, but his mom blows him out of the water.” Vincent nodded along in agreement.
It had been a few years since I’d bothered to meet the family of anyone I’d dated. Getting people’s families involved, including my own, made things complicated and far too serious. Dating was more comfortable when it stayed casual. It was easier to walk away from.
Except in this case, as bad as my nerves were, Ididfeel excited. If Vincent’s mom was eager to meet me, then that meant she’dheardabout me. What on earth had he told her? What must she think of me? Vincent was such an easy-going person, so I could only hope his family was the same. Knowing how hard it was to please my own mother, my stomach twisted up into knots imagining the judgment Vera Volkov could mete out against me.
As we got closer to the house, I was squeezing Vincent’s hand like a vice. The Volkovs lived on the outskirts of Wickeston, down a meandering country road overshadowed by trees. We pulled on to a narrow dirt driveway, with a carved wooden sign fixed to a post next to it.Home Sweet Home,it read.
The house sat at the end of the winding driveway, surrounded by trees. It looked as if it had originally been a barn, but features had been added to convert it to a house. Numerous windchimes hung from the large front porch, tinkling in the breeze. Potted plants and bunches of drying flowers dangled along the porch railing. Chickens pecked for bugs beside the house, lifting their heads curiously as the cars drove up.
We parked, everyone groaning tiredly as we got out and finally had a chance to stretch our legs. Suddenly, the front door burst open and two little girls sprinted outside, squealing as they ran, with Jojo and Haribo hot on their heels. A younger girl, only four or five years of age, ran after them barefoot, her brown hair flying wildly around her face as she tried to keep up.
