Technically, it’s not anywhere close to my backyard. My parents barely remember that it’s here, it’s so far into the forest. If they knew I was traipsing almost half a mile into the wooded area behind our house, they’d be seriously pissed off.
I’m no longer afraid, though, as the tree house and the woods around it have kind of become my place of solace. Just like Batman has his Bat Cave, and Superman has his Fortress of Solitude, Kennedy Dover has her shabby tree house in the suburban Jersey forest. It’s nothing fancy, though I’ve kept a blanket and some pillows and a flashlight up there since I began making frequent night visit, but it’s mine. In every aspect of my life, I’m expected to be on. Vivacious, intelligent, focused. I’m the girl everyone expects to have a plan or a goal in everything I do. Out here, I can let it all go. Sometimes I cry. Sometimes I let myself dare to dream about leaving it all behind, going on the road and never looking back. I don’t have to answer to anyone in the tree house, least of all, myself.
When I reach the large oak that houses the fourteen-by-ten wood structure high in its branches, only the sounds of crickets keep me company. I’m about to ascend the ladder, feeling for the familiar hunks of wood nailed into the tree. I’ve climbed this dozens of times in the dark, and even more in the light.
A hand snakes around my upper arm just as I reach for the first plank and wrenches me back.
“Oh my God!” I scream, fear slamming into me like a tractor trailer.
The figure clamps its hand down on my mouth, pulling me into it. My heart hammers against my ribcage, and I literally see my life flash before my eyes. This is it, I’m going to die. My body will be left out here, all because I couldn’t sleep and felt too secure in my suburban town.
The fight-or-flight instinct in me both kick in as I realize I need to escape. Wriggling, I struggle against the body, but it’s too overpowering. I might be scrappy, and against another person I’d have good odds, but this mysterious lurker is far too strong. I can barely move an inch, that’s how tight of a hold it has on me.
“Stop fighting me. Be quiet,” the voice commands in my ear.
Instantly, the blood drains from my face; I feel it, but my relieved breath whooshes out onto the palm blocking my mouth. In one second, I’m both calmed and terrified.
Because I’m not here alone. I’m not going to be left for dead. No, I’m here with Everett.
“What are you doing out here?” My voice cracks on the question, and I sound half insane.
“Trying not to be convicted of assault on a teenage girl, if you’d keep your voice down,” he clips out, but doesn’t release me.
I’m acutely aware, at this moment, of our proximity to each other. My back is pressed to his front, all the muscles he now sports rigid against my limbs as they hold me. His hand covers my mouth, but at an odd angle, so that the tips of his fingers caress the corner of my lips. At first, I’m not sure he realizes he’s stroking his thumb against my bottom one.
Involuntarily, my back arches at the tiny gesture of exploration, my butt pressing into his groin. An electrical charge ignites between us, whipping through the air and pebbling goose bumps up my skin. I wore a sweater and Ugg boots out here, aware of the chill, but now I’m burning under the restricting clothing.
Everett’s breath is husky in my ear, my vision still straight ahead at the tree, with the fort lingering above us.
“What are you doing out here?” he accuses, not letting go.
I stay stock still. “This is my backyard, so I shouldn’t have to answer that. But, if you must know, I come out here when I can’t sleep.”
“Seems like an awfully dangerous thing to do. Any murderer or creep could be waiting to pounce.”
“Are you calling yourself a murderer? Or just a creep?” I throw back, annoyed at how turned-on I am.
He’s been nothing but callous and awful since he got home, something I’ve tried to dismiss. But now he’s messing with my alone time, at my tree house, and I’m tired of the antics. Plus, he hasn’t bothered to call or see me since we rocked the shit out of each other’s worlds with that kiss, so I’m extra pissed.
“I’ve killed people in cold blood, shot them right in the head. I guess that makes me a murderer.” His voice takes on an odd note I can’t place.
That should chill my blood, but it only makes my heart weep. What’s become of the boy next door?
“Up you go.” He flourishes a hand, those pearly whites sneaking out as he smirks. Or maybe it’s a snarl.
All I know is, his smile hasn’t looked the same since he came home.
I should tell him to leave me alone, to go back to his house. Part of me protests the idea of getting into an enclosed space with him. It seems like we’ve been simmering for a while now, and if push comes to shove, we’ll boil over. I’m not sure I want to know what happens then.
Especially after the last time. We had the most perfect of first—well, okay, technically second—kisses, and he’s now looking at me like I’m dirt again.
At the same time, though, I’d be a damn liar if I wasn’t jittery with excitement at the prospect of being close to him. Goddamn my foolish heart.
“Why are you out here?” I say as I crest the landing, pulling myself up onto the weathered floorboards.
“I guess I’m looking for the same thing you are.” Everett pulls himself up behind me and looks out at the dark forest.
“I don’t want to play games anymore,” I whisper, because my heart can’t take this. “Either we … do this. Or we don’t.”
He turns, life dancing in his eyes. Sparks of energy light as he stalks toward me.
“I don’t want to play. I don’t want to not play. But I can’t help it.”
Before I can argue with him, tell him to stop fucking with my mind and heart, Everett crushes his lips to mine. And I know what I just said, what I’ve felt for the week he hasn’t called or bothered to explain the kiss in town square.
But this is us we’re talking about. Something I’ve wanted for so long. And while we’re out here in the dark, my shame and rejection can take a back seat if no one is here to witness it.
Everett engulfs me, walking me backward as he kisses me until my back collides with the rough wood wall of the tree house. My tongue invades his mouth, the kiss deepening to a passionate, crazed level that I know won’t stop like the one in town square.
I pull his sweatshirt up and over his head, the sound of Everett hissing through his teeth as I graze his naked flesh hitting my ears like the best kind of music. It’s dark, the tree house barely letting any moonlight in, and I can hardly see a thing. But my fingers rove, hitting muscles after muscle, feeling his skin in a way I’ve only dreamed about.
When I get to his back, that’s when I feel them. The divots, the raised scars, the long, jagged sections that I’m sure stand out in the daylight. I’ve tried to put this part of his homecoming to the back of my mind, where I don’t have to address it. But I saw it the other night in town square, and I’m feeling it now.
The boy next door was tortured, maybe to within an inch of his life, and it’s no wonder he can’t open up to anyone. I want to hold him, just cradle him in my arms.