I grin and sit beside him on a log with a mat tossed over it. “She does, doesn’t she?”
“So…” He bumps his shoulder against mine. “How are you liking Lakeside and Westoria?”
“Beautiful places, if not a bit lackluster.”
He chuckles and digs his heel into the muddy ground, making a rivet in the earth. “I feel you. There’s not much to do around these parts. Though we do have a drive-in.”
I blink with surprise and slight excitement. “You do?”
“It plays mostly crappy movies. Older horrors. But they do amazing fries and popcorn.” He bumps me again. “Maybe you’d like to—”
We both startle when Nok suddenly slams his booted foot into the narrow space between us. He nudges his brother, forcing him to move and stands fully on the log, cups his hands around his mouth and howls at the sky like a wolf.
Everyone stops what they’re doing to join in. Everyone but me.
Howl upon howl sound around us. It’s amazing, but also crazy.
Then he just stops and sits between us, his hip against mine. He rests forward, arms on his knees, hands clasped, biceps bulging, eyes on the track.
“Why do you smell so good?” I ask, scowling at him. I don’t know why I verbalized my inner musings, but I did and now I really fucking regret it.
Nash looks over his brother’s shoulders at me, realization in his eyes though what that realization is goes beyond my mind-reading capabilities and Nok smirks sideways at me. He looks as smug as ever.
I need to fix this.
“You should smell like ass and brimstone to match your soul.”
Nash laughs, Nok’s smirk vanishes.
He keeps his eyes on the track and I take this moment to look over his forward leaning body to seek out Nash.
“Nash? You were saying?”
He glances at Nok and then clicks his tongue against his palate. “Just that there’s a movie on tomorrow night.”
“What movie?”
“Zombie Warrior or something like that.”
I hum and think about it before replying, “I do love a bad zombie film.”
His brown eyes light up with a small amount of excitement. He seems to be fighting a smile. “So maybe I can pick you up at around seven?”
Oh shit. I wasn’t ready for that. Not at all. “Umm…”
Nok looks at me sideways again, his smirk has gone. Is he waiting for my answer? This is so fucking awkward. I don’t know what to say. If we were alone, I’d just tell Nash no, but we’re not and for some reason I care about Nok’s reaction.
Not to mention I have a goal and dating Nash would mess with that.
I blow a breath through my nose and bite hard on my lip for a moment before replying honestly, “I’m not a good person, Nash, and you are.”
“Maybe I could be a good influence?” He hasn’t fully lost hope, but the excitement has left his eyes.
“I don’t wanna be good.” I stand and stretch and put my helmet back on my head before he can question me further. “I’m not your type.” I throw my leg over my bike and kickstart it.
It seems I’ve inadvertently attracted the wrong brother.
Fuck.
“Hey, Mom,” I say around a yawn the next morning when I find her standing at the sink, having just finished cleaning our dishes from the day. Saves me doing them.
“Hey, sweet girl,” she replies, her eyes tired and sad. “I miss you.”
“I miss you too.” I move to the refrigerator and drink some OJ straight from the carton.
“Can you pick up the groceries for me today?” she asks, smoothing back her dark hair and yanking her ponytail tighter.
I close the refrigerator and look at the list on the door. “Sure. Is there enough money in the jar?”
“Seems to be a little bit extra,” she comments, wiping her hands on her white apron.
“Oh, yeah, I did a job for a neighbor and they paid me.” I’m so good at lying. I hate how good I am at it, but I can hardly admit I robbed men at gunpoint in a local gas station.
She smiles with so much love it makes my heart ache. “That’s so good of you, sweetie. I knew you’d be helpful. We have to look after each other in this life.”
I grab the list and stuff it into a pocket on the outside of my bag.
“Are you going back to work?”
“Not yet.” She cups my cheek with her cold hand, her skin so soft her touch is but a whisper. “I’ll be here when you get home.”
“How much time do we have until we leave again?”
She shrugs, her dull gray eyes look sympathetic for a moment. “That all depends.”
“It always does.”
“But a maximum of four weeks I’d say.”
“Of course,” I grit and adjust the strap of my bag so it’s comfier. “Not long then.”
“Our little world is changing at such a rapid pace,” she replies, following me to the door.
“I know. I’m just tired of moving.”
“It won’t be for much longer.”
I’ve heard that before but there’s always just one more place, one more thing she needs to do.
Grumbling under my breath, I leave, pulling the door closed behind me and then turning to lock it. Mom could do it, but I like to be in the habit.
I make my way to school, taking my dad’s car as always, wondering if the police will ever come asking about the truckers and that night. I’ve not been worried about it because I know they’d never tell, but that cashier kid might have, though I’m certain I put the fear of Satan into him.
It is what it is. If I get ratted out, I get ratted out.
When lunchtime comes, I sit under the tree and text my sister. It’s peaceful here. Nobody notices me, everybody is too busy doing their own thing. I don’t know what it is about this tree that makes me feel more grounded. This place is full of trees and beautiful serene places. But at school, this is my safe space.
“Belegana,” Nokosi says, looking down at me.
“I know what that means,” I say, still looking at my phone. “Nash told me.”
Chuckling, he sits too, resting his back against the tree with just inches of the rough, curved bark separating us. “I don’t like you.”
I smile at my sneakers, unoffended and amused. “I don’t like you either.”
“But you’re strong, and brave, and honest. I respect that.”
I look at him and he looks at me, a moment passes between us. One of understanding. A sinking feeling of dread soaks up the warmth I feel from the monumental moment.
“And you turned my brother down.”
I look away, scowling at those who are staring at us as though they have any right to this private moment.
“Why?”
I turn and so does he, he rests his head back slightly, so his cheek is level with the tree. He’s so cleanly shaven. So handsome.
“He’s not my type,” I reply, going for honesty, still scanning his face, following the shallow dips beneath his cheekbones and the sharp edge of his jaw. His eyes are hooded, relaxed, an acorn brown ringed by a striking dark chocolate.
“I’m your type,” he states boldly, his soft-looking lips twitch into that familiar, arrogant smirk.