It was different with Mai. We talked about weird things that I kept in my head but never shared with anyone. Like how sailors steered ships by the stars and a yellow moon must have looked like a God to the first people. How living algae could grow on dead rock and how iron is part of the earth and part of the human body and how the hell is that even possible? How freckles seem random but what if they were actually constellations from another galaxy? I kissed every freckle on her arm that night before she grabbed my hair and pulled me to her lips.
The one thing we never talked about was the future. We didn’t have to; we knew we were going in different directions. I never thought beyond each day with her, but it still burned like hell when she told me I was a distraction from what mattered. I know the only reason it bothered me so much was because the attraction hadn’t burned out.
That won’t happen this time. This time around, we’re going to short out the buzz of electricity for good. I’m going to walk away from Mai and never look back.
A sudden scream echoes down the path.
Mai?
Chapter Eleven
Mai
Snake!
The word explodes in my brain at the same second a scream rips from my throat. I jerk back hard. Rocks skitter from under my boots as I bang into something. Someone. Grant’s arms come up and steady me from behind.
“You okay?” he asks.
“No, I’m not okay,” I cry, my knees wobbling, my skin crawling. The others are there, just behind me—Amber, Mallory, Ben. Then suddenly a shape comes vaulting up from my right, feet hitting the hillside to pass the others, stopping just in front of me.
Relief surges. Anthony.
“What is it?” He’s breathing hard, his big body tensed and ready—putting himself between me and the snake.
“There!” I point a shaking finger.
He raises a hand to keep me back. As if I’d move forward. The snake is in the middle of the trail, stretched across the dirt.
Except.
I blink, my heart thundering as Anthony steps closer and…and…
Oh Lord.
Anthony kicks at it, and the snake is suddenly, obviously, a thick brown stick that clatters harmlessly across the trail.
“A stick?” I say in a choked voice.
Mallory giggles behind me.
Amber gives me a quick pat on the back. “Happens all the time. Darn sticks can look like a snake if you’re not paying attention.”
A stick? My breath is heavy as the words finally penetrate. It looked so real. For a minute, I was seven years old again. Lost. The sound of a rattler so clear in my head.
My cheeks burn with embarrassment. I feel so stupid—I hate feeling stupid. Especially because I was paying attention. It feels like I haven’t blinked in over twenty minutes in case I missed something.
“Hey.” Anthony’s voice is low and works its way under the churning in my head. I can see his fingers twitching near my hand. I curl my fingers away from him. He can’t hold my hand even though I would really, really like that right now. “You okay?” he asks.
“An effing stick.”
He smiles, relief in the breath that whooshes out. Something sparks silver in his hand, and I realize he’s holding a knife. My mouth hangs open. “You carry a knife?”
He presses a spot on the handle, and the blade retracts. “I do.”
Grant steps closer. “Is that legal?”
“Yeah, it’s legal,” Anthony says.
“And practical.” Amber nods her agreement. “They tend to come in handy when Mother Nature decides to throw you a curve.”
Grant doesn’t look happy with the answer, giving Anthony another long stare. I don’t blame him. It’s not like we hang out with people who carry knives—even if they are pocket knives. It’s just more proof that Anthony comes from a different world than we do.
I’ve never seen anyone handle a knife before—not like that, like it’s part of him. I’m not sure how it makes me feel. My gaze drops to his hands. To the scars across his fingers. Maybe he gets into fights. Maybe he has a violent past I don’t know about. Except… I feel safe with him. I always have.
There’s no way I’d let anything happen to you.
It’s not just his words I hear again. It’s the fierce way he said them. He heard me scream and he raced up here, and he was ready to use a knife if he had to.
For me.
Warmth slides down my spine to my core. I don’t want to feel warm. I want to feel uncomfortable about the knife. I want to look at Anthony and not feel…warm.
“Just so everyone knows,” Amber is saying, “I also carry a pocketknife.” She pulls the folded knife from her pocket and shows it around. “Everyone good with that?”
Ben raises a hand like we’re in class. “Did you know pocket knives are responsible for—”
Amber interrupts. “Will this be a helpful comment related to trail maintenance?”
He pulls down his hand. “No.”
“Then you can share it with anyone interested on your time. Right now, this is my time.” She hoists her bucket of shears. “Follow me.”
Grant lags behind with me while I take a drink. “You sure you’re all right?”
I adjust my hat so my face is shaded on all sides. “I’m fine. I’m just embarrassed.”
“No reason to be. I’m not a fan of snakes, either.”
His smile is nice. Everything about him is. We’ve never been anything but friends, but I’ve always thought of him as the ideal. As in: When I find a guy, he’ll be like Grant Ellison. I wonder what it would be like to kiss him? I bet it would be nice, too. Nice is good. Nice is what I should want.
What I feel around Anthony is churning and achy and upside down and not nice.
“A guy who reacts that fast is used to trouble,” Grant says, and I don’t need to follow the line of his gaze to know he means Anthony. “You can tell that by looking at him.”
We’ve just made the turn in the trail, and Anthony is waiting up ahead. Grant is right. He looks like trouble. Legs planted wide. Wicked-looking cuff dangling above a fist. Dirty T-shirt and beat-up jeans. Every muscle tense including one that flexes in his jaw. A stance that doesn’t look like he understands the words, Back up. And I still like him so much more than I should.
I concentrate on stepping around a boulder.
“What do you know about him?” Grant asks.
My pulse skips. “I mean. The basics. Why?”