Storm. Brigid Kemmerer
Nick grabbed his brother’s arm. “Chris was awake?”
“Yeah.” They were both looking at her a little too intently, and she remembered why she’d first considered that they might be the aggressors in the parking lot. She wanted to push her chair back a few feet. “Well, he was unconscious when I chased the guys off, but I gave him some water—”
“You chased them off?” Gabriel’s voice was incredulous. He gave her a once-over. “By yourself?”
“You gave him water?” said Nick.
“Yes.” She wet her lips and glanced between them. “And yes.” She hesitated, then explained what had happened.
When she got to the part where Chris confronted his attackers with the water bottle, she couldn’t make it sound sensible. She must have remembered it wrong.
Freeze. Right there.
Or I’ll mean that literally.
“Why’d you give him water?” Michael was leaning against the doorway molding now, his arms folded across his chest.
The question caught her off guard. “I don’t know—he was unconscious, and my phone was dead—and—”
“But you knew.”
Was she missing something? “I knew what?”
“Don’t play with me. You knew the water would wake him up.”
WTF? She glanced at the twins, but they were no help. “I hoped it would.”
“Of course you did.”
Nick sighed. “Jesus, Michael. Bring it down a notch. She goes to our school. She’s in Chris’s class.”
Gabriel dropped back into his chair and flashed irritated eyes at the doorway. “Yeah, Birkenstock. If you want to get worked up about something, why don’t you take a look in the empty fridge?”
Michael’s eyes didn’t leave hers. “You don’t find this all a little convenient? Tyler’s twice her size. Go take a look at what he did to Chris and tell me you believe he’d let her drive off.”
Gabriel lost the sneer and turned to look at his twin. “He’s that bad?”
Nick glanced at Michael, then nodded. “Pretty bad.”
Now all three of them were looking at her, and she could feel the aggression in the air.
“Look, I was just trying to help Chris.” She glanced at Nick and balled up the towel to set it on the table. “I told you who did this. I didn’t mean to get in the middle of some ... I don’t know, turf war, or gang thing, or whatever you guys are—”
“Save it.” Michael straightened until he filled the doorway, until she became very aware that he blocked the path out of the kitchen. “You expect me to believe you scared off Tyler all by yourself? And he just let you drive Chris home?”
“Tyler grabbed me.” She swallowed, feeling guilty for absolutely no reason whatsoever. “I jabbed him in the eyes and we jumped in the car.”
Gabriel smiled, and it stole some of the fury from his expression. “I like this girl.”
“You jabbed him in the eyes,” said Michael.
“Yeah.”
“Tyler.”
Her mouth was dry, and she had to wet her lips again. “What, you want a demonstration?”
He stepped into the kitchen. Instinct forced her out of the chair, and she backed away, toward the cooking island.
But he stopped, his eyes narrowed. “What are you afraid of?”
She was beginning to wish she’d just left Chris in the driveway. Her key ring was in her pocket, and she felt her fingers curl around the steel, her house key and car key poking through her knuckles. “You.”
“But I thought you were just trying to help.” The sarcasm came through loud and clear. Michael took another step toward her. “Why would you be afraid of me?”
She didn’t understand his tone. Some of it felt like concern—but some of it felt like crazy-serial-killer. Becca took another step back, putting the cooking island between her and him, before realizing this felt very much like cat and mouse. “Stop it.”
He stared back at her. “You’re not going anywhere until you tell me the truth.”
Gabriel pulled a cookie from the package and sat back in his chair. “My money’s on the girl.”
My money’s not.
Michael took another step closer “How about it? You want to try another story?”
He stood in the gap between the island and the counter now, blocking her path to the doorway. He was close enough to touch, close enough to grab her. She kept hearing Paul’s words in her head, bits and pieces from the class. Eye contact. Target. Control. Balance.
Then she was doing it. She swung her fist into his midsection, trying to scrape past him into the hallway. He caught her arms.
“Hey,” he said. “Wait a second—”
She swung for his face with the keys, but missed and got his shoulder. She tried to kick him, to knee him in the groin, anything. She had no idea if her hits were successful. His fingers caught at her hoodie and she slid out of it. She felt her shirt ride up to her chest, but she didn’t care. The wet fabric pulled free, and then she was loose, bolting for the doorway.
She felt him right behind her.
Her feet slapped the slate floor of the foyer; then her hand caught the doorknob. The door swung wide and she exploded into the darkness, slipping on the wet steps, skidding in the grass on the way to her car.
Thunder growled in the sky, and the grass gave way to mud, clutching her sneakers. Her knees hit the ground. Her hands squished into the dirt. She slipped and slid, struggling for purchase, but couldn’t find her footing. Her fingers seemed to tangle in the grass, as if the roots grabbed her hands and held her down.
A hand seized her arm and hauled her to her feet. The landscape spun as her eyes tried to keep up. She saw the brightly lit front of the house, the twins on the porch, the frustration in Michael’s face as he tried to get hold of her.
And behind him, on the second floor, Chris’s face in a window, watching the whole thing.
Her breath caught. She pulled to get free, but Michael’s grip was secure. “Just wait a minute,” he said. “I’m not going to—”
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.