My hands itched to wrap around one and brand it as a weapon against the world. A weapon against him.
Instead, I whispered their names. “Betty. Hank. Reed. Nash.”
Maybe he wasn’t the snake.
Maybe I was.
A weak one, raised in captivity, not meant to be wild.
“Tell me about Nash,” he said.
“Why?”
“The way you say his name—”
“Is none of your business.” Venom slithered up my throat. If I were a snake, I would poison this man before he touched my Prescotts. “He doesn’t live here anymore. It’s just Betty, Hank, and Reed. And before you accuse them of anything, Reed is just a kid, and Betty and Hank are good people.”
“And Nash? Is he a good person?”
I considered it and realized I didn’t know. As much as I wanted to say no, I couldn’t. Not as an attempt to protect him, but because Nash’s actions always contradicted his words. I didn’t think of him as a bad person.
He wasn’t sweet words.
He was sweet actions.
The notes the agents had probably rifled through proved that.
Besides, Reed never talked about it, but I figured Nash was going through something, and everyone deserved a second chance.
It didn’t mean the sting of that night had disappeared. It didn’t mean my cheeks stopped flushing each time I thought of him. But it was a good type of flush. The way your cheeks warmed when you knew a secret that was too good to keep to yourself.
I’d taken too long to answer, and when I turned to my right, the stranger had already left. I pivoted, pausing when I heard a tree ruffling in the maze. Forcing the curiosity aside, I sprinted down the path to the house in time to catch the profile of the man’s face before he slipped inside my house through the backdoor.
The same face staring back at me on my sketchbook.
Brandon Vu.
The Present
I should have taken tonight’s starless sky as a warning.
Nothing good ever happened on them.
I swung the hotel lobby door open and glared at the sky, sifting through some secrets I could offer it.
Secret #1—I may shed a tear if I get to the soup kitchen and find it closed—then poison Chantilly for making us work so late without overtime pay.
Secret #2—I screamed Nash’s name so loud when Ben made me come last night. You can’t imagine the fear fueling my veins when I peeped my head out of the closet to make sure no one heard me.
Secret #3—I snuck a bag of pita chips and cold soda from the fridge when everyone went to lunch today and Delilah came down to grab Nash’s signature on a few papers. I hid the wrapper and empty can under the couch cushions when he came back sooner than I’d expected.
Chantilly sat on the cushion above the can, and everyone went silent because they thought she farted. I said nothing, even when red flushed her cheeks and she looked at Nash like he’d throw on a knight’s armor and save her.
Does that make me the dragon and Chantilly the princess in this story? (If it’s any consolation, she’d join a league of Snow Whites, and you know how I feel about that.)
There you have it. Are three secrets enough for you, Starless Sky? Will you spare me tonight?
“Waiting for the sky to fall, Winthrop? That would only happen if you ever decided to act normal.”
My legs jerked at Nash’s lazy drawl. I tamped their reaction as best as I could, exhaling as if I’d run a marathon in the past second. My staccato heartbeat reached a climax before falling.
“Following me is pointless.” I gave the sky another fifteen seconds to respond—a shooting star, a comet, anything—before I lowered my head and began walking. “I’m never going to accept your double portions. You may as well stop.”
I didn’t have to stare at him to know the corners of his lips curled up when my stomach protested.
Loudly.
“Hmm…” Nash’s stride matched mine. “Do you really want to walk yourself to the soup kitchen alone in the dark only to walk back after you figure out it’s closed?”
Translation: are you that stubborn?
I tipped a shoulder up in a half-assed shrug and catapulted to record-breaking speeds. “If the shoe fits, it fucking fits.”
“That’s not the saying.” Nash’s hand shot out and steadied me when a car rounded the corner too closely.
My heart punched at my chest, rendering me too useless to protest as he swapped our positions, so he walked on the street side.
When I finally collected myself, I should have thanked him. Instead, I continued my speed walk. “You must wear shoes that don’t fit.”
“That’s not a saying either.” He dug two hands into his dress slacks. We waited for the sign to turn white. “For the record, I’m not following you. I volunteer at that soup kitchen. Better—I basically fund it.”
“We both know the soup kitchen is closed. It’s—” I grabbed Nash’s hand to glance at his watch, but the wild rhythm of his pulse against my fingertips distracted me. Definitely didn’t think that one through. “Umm…”
“Ten forty-six.”
Catching sight of his amusement might very well kill me, so I glared at the sky. We waited for the crosslight to turn green.
I gave you secrets.
You gave me Nash.
What the fuck, dude?
“Right.” I lowered my head. “It’s ten forty-six.”
“If you know the soup kitchen is closed, why are you still headed there?”
“Hope, young grasshopper.” I rounded the corner adjacent to the soup kitchen, recalling his note about asking Betty to find his hope. Had he ever found it? “That shit gets me full.”
“Like magic words?”
I stopped and gave in, studying his face with the vigor of a straight-A student. He seemed pleased with himself. Too confident that he’d found a pressure point of mine. The real pressure points were the questions that threatened to spill past my lips.
The most important one being—why do you even care about feeding me?
I bit my tongue.
“What do you know about magic words?”
“I know you look batshit when you mouth them during meetings with suppliers.” His arm crossed over my stomach as a car careened past us at the crosswalk. My abs flexed at his touch, my shirt suddenly feeling too thin. Meanwhile, he appeared unaffected. “People stare at me and wonder why the fuck I hired the lunatic in the ripped jeans and selcouth tees.”
“I haven’t worn the selcouth tee since—”
He cocked a brow. “Since?”
“Is there a point to this conversation, or can we eat—Wait. You're pressing me.” My fists rested on each hip. I tipped my head up to glower at Nash. “If you think you can do some subtle ninja interrogation and find a way to trick me into eating your food, you’re as stoned as you used to be.”
“Doesn’t matter.” He gestured across the street. “The soup kitchen is closed. The lights are off. Unless…”
You hate me, don’t you, Starless Night?
“Unless?” I curled my toes inside my Chucks, knowing I’d loathe whatever answer he offered me.
“Unless you know someone who donates a shit ton of money and has a key to the place.”