Part 15 (1/2)

Clay walks over and sits on the floor next to me. He slips the book in my hand.

”Ro ... me ... o and-What's this?” I ask, pointing to the last word.

”Romeo and Juliet. It's a love story. It's a dang tough one, too. It's written in this funky English. Been working on it for six months.”

I run my fingers over the worn paper binding. The picture on the front is a man and woman enfolded in an embrace. With Clay sitting this close to me, the image brings a blush up to my own cheeks.

”Why'd you get embarra.s.sed?” I lift my eyes to his face. There are two red ovals on the bridge of his nose where the gla.s.ses were perched.

He shrugs. ”My pa's got no love for book learnin'. Used to tease the h.e.l.l outta me if he found me reading. Don't know why I like it so much. It's just ...” He pauses, thinking. ”It takes me somewhere else for a while, you know?”

I hand him the book. ”Anywhere but here,” I say quietly.

For a moment we sit in silence. I can feel his body next to me purring like an engine, thrumming, giving off heat. He leans over, picks up a can and slides it to me. ”Ethan said you'd like fruit c.o.c.ktail, so we opened that one.” Clay hands me a spoon. The fruit tastes deliciously sweet in my mouth. I roll the little chunks of peach or pear around on my tongue. For a while it helps take my mind off Clay's even breathing, his increasingly familiar scent. I must smell like gasoline and body odor. What I wouldn't give to smell like meadow flowers just once when he's around.

”Must be hard for you,” he says quietly.

I turn to him, trying to read his expression in the dark. ”What do you mean?”

He nods toward my little brother. ”I know how much I care about the little b.u.g.g.e.r and he's not even mine. Must be hard to worry about him every minute of every day. Bet it wears on you.” He turns and gives me that rea.s.suring smile I've come to depend on.

G.o.d, how can he be so good when I'm so awful? My eyes fall over the soft curves of his cheeks, the hard line of his jaw, the dark lashes around his comforting eyes.

He smiles at Ethan's sleeping form, the curled dark shadow in the corner. ”h.e.l.l of a kid to go through what he did and still want to play cards with me.”

I swallow the lump that's forming in my throat with a little of the fruit c.o.c.ktail. My eyes watch Ethan's chest rise and fall. His bottom lip twitches. ”He's about the only thing worth a d.a.m.n in this world.” Tears p.r.i.c.k at my eyes. Oh G.o.d, am I choking up? I swallow some water and force the tears back.

Clay leans against the wall beside me and stretches his legs out on the moldy carpet. His eyes trail up to the beam of moonlight trickling in from the window above. ”You don't give yourself enough credit. You're as brave as he is, as kindhearted.” He s.h.i.+fts and a beam of moonlight trickles over his face. Through all this grime, dirt and sweat, he's one of the most beautiful people I've ever seen. I turn my eyes to the carpet. A tear escapes and slips down the bridge of my nose.

I don't know if it's the frustration from earlier or the exhaustion from the travel or Clay's nice comment or all of them combined, but I can't stop the tears that begin sliding down my face. They trace my cheeks and drip off my chin. I pretend to itch my nose and to wipe some away. They just keep coming.

Clay looks over at me. ”Hey, are you crying? Don't do that.” He digs in his pocket and pulls out a weathered cloth. ”Here.”

I shake my head. More tears fall and now sobs threaten to shake out of my chest. I can't control myself. I put my head in my hands and hunch over, letting the tears fall between my legs and onto the floor.

I feel his arms around me. Tentative at first, then stronger, circling me in an embrace. His body is so warm next to mine. And my heart is pounding. I can smell remnants of his aftershave. I don't even think. I lean into him. Smell his musky scent. Feel his chest against my shoulder. Then I'm tilting my head, leaning toward him. My cheek brushes against the stubble of his chin. The sweet smell of his mouth intoxicates me. I lift my mouth up to meet his.

He drops the embrace and pulls away. ”I don't ...” he stutters. ”I didn't mean ...”

Oh heavenly Lord, what have I done?

I jump up, the fruit c.o.c.ktail clattering from my lap. I run to the door, yank it open and vault into the hallway. I race blindly down the corridor. How could I?

I skid to a stop at the front office. I scramble in and curl myself into a little ball under the desk. In the dark, maybe he won't be able to find me.

I'm the biggest idiot on the planet. I just tried to kiss Clay. Clay-who's supposed to think I'm a bender. It's not unheard of for two guys to do that sort of thing, but judging by his reaction he was definitely not into that. Not into me. How will I ever face him again? I tuck my knees under my chin and bury my face in them. Stupid. I'm so incredibly stupid. I'll just hide here for the rest of my life. Sure, there's dusty bunnies the size of, well, bunnies under here and I think I just spotted a fresh rat's nest, but anything's better than facing Clay. I don't think I can do it. Ever.

I replay that moment in my head, but all I come up with is the desperate overwhelming feeling of longing. Longing for Clay. For his body next to mine. To feel his arms around me. I've ruined it. Now any time he looks at me he'll think I'm trying to make a pa.s.s at him. I destroyed the comfortable friends.h.i.+p we had when I leaned in, mouth puckered.

I hear someone walking down the hall. Heavy footsteps. Not Ethan's.

”Riley?” Clay calls. ”Come back.”

I clutch my knees to my chest. I can't face him now.

”Riley, come on. It's not safe out here.”

He's right. I have no weapon and we know for sure that someone was prowling around this morning, but I don't care. My embarra.s.sment is bigger than my fear.

”Riley, look, I'm sorry. Can you just come back so we can talk?”

His voice is close. He must be outside the office door. Then I hear him wander away, calling my name. I uncurl and peak over the desk. He's scanning the cla.s.srooms for me. He'll be at my door soon. Then I have the task of deciding to sleep with the dust bunnies or slink in there and pretend nothing happened. He wanders down the hall and calls my name one more time.

That's when I see the dark shadow emerge from the boy's bathroom.

Silent, statuesque. I wouldn't have spotted him except for the twinkle of moonlight on a metal object in his hands. A man. He's watching Clay from the darkness of the bathroom. My heart hammers dangerously in my ears.

He steps out of the bathroom and into the hallway. I see his rifle when he raises it and aims at Clay's back.

”No!” I scream.

I jump over the desk and run toward the man. The shot explodes through the hallway. The bullet misses Clay by inches and blows a huge hole in the wall near his head. Drywall rains down everywhere. Clay dives to the floor.

But my eyes aren't on Clay anymore. They're on the stranger as he swings his rifle toward me.

Just before I zag left, I take my opponent in. Skinny, sickly, his hair hangs in limp strands down his back. He's wearing a dark trench coat and holey boots. When he turns his eyes on me, their strangely vacant, the whites gone yellow, the skin below purple. He slides the bolt on the gun and aims the rifle. I throw myself to the ground.

The gun explodes and a window shatters behind me. Gla.s.s and debris pelt my head and arms. My ears ring, blotting out most of the sound. I sit up and shake my head. Then I realize he's reloading. I'm not prepared to dodge it. The silver barrel centers on my chest. I can see the sheen of sweat on the man's upper lip as he pulls the gun to his shoulder. This is the last thing I'll see before I die.

Clay flies in and tackles the stranger. They both go sprawling into the wall with a loud thud. A drooping ceiling tile dislodges and crumbles on their heads, covering them in soggy white clumps. The stranger lets out a strangled cry as Clay's arms circle around his throat. His fingers claw at Clay's arm as the stranger gags and digs his boots into the tile. Clay pulls tighter, his jaw locked, the veins in his neck bulging. The stranger jabs elbows into Clay's ribs. Clay oomphs and his grip loosens. The stranger wiggles out of Clay's arms, turns and grabs Clay by the throat. I watch as Clay's eye pop and his face purples. I've got to do something. I run over.

Clay c.o.c.ks an arm back and slams his knuckles into the stranger's nose. There's a loud crunch and a m.u.f.fled cry. Two rivers of blood gush from the stranger's nostrils. Stunned, he touches his upper lip with the pads of two fingers. His yellow eyes go wild. He finds his rifle as Clay's catching his breath, pulls it back and bashes it into Clay's forehead. The sickening crack as the gun smashes Clay's skull makes me cringe.

Clay goes limp, eyes dropping closed, mouth open. The stranger lifts a sick, b.l.o.o.d.y smile up over his rotting teeth. He claws up the wall, leaving a red handprint. Slowly he turns his grin toward me. With his long, stringy hair; popped, yellowed eyes; and blood-covered face, I have one thought: this is what crazy looks like.

He lifts his rusty rifle up to his shoulder and points it at Clay's chest.

Clay. I don't think. I move.

I jump on the stranger's back and I throw my arms around his skinny neck. He smells like death in a moldy trench coat as I try to tighten my arms around his throat. He claws at my arms, tripping over Clay in the process and we fall. My body hits the floor and pain snaps up my spine. A second later his weight lands on top of me. All the air slams out of my chest. As I gasp for air, his scent of urine, sweat and decay gag me. My arms go limp. He squirms out of my grip, his elbow digging into my chest. The stranger rolls away and staggers up.

”You came to take the castle.” His hands shake as he pulls the bolt on his rifle to reload. ”But I'm not going give it ye. No, no. No, siree. You brought the bugs and the blood and thought it'd do me, but no. I survived.” He strikes his fist against his skull once, leaving a red smudge there like a third eye. ”Now you come to drag me down to h.e.l.l.” He swipes blood from his lip before he lifts his rifle. ”You're going along first.”