We pull up to the house, and I hop out of Austin’s Dodge Charger to head for the safety of my bedroom. I want to savor the admiring look of appreciation Jim just gave me a few minutes longer. I come up short when I see the broad back of a guy with brown surfer boy hair sitting at the table, talking to my mom?
Mom looks desperate and a little shook? “Where’s your brother, Amy? I mean, where’s Austin?” Her shrill voice screams nervousness. What is going on?
Footsteps sound behind me. “Yo, yo, ma. What’s up?” This is the nickname Austin has for my mother, as he cannot bring himself to call her mom, just as I cannot call his father Juan, anything but Juan. It never ceases to amaze me how my mom thoroughly enjoys Austin’s sense of humor. No one else would ever get away with calling my mother anything but Mrs. Martinez.
The guy in the chair swivels around, and the first thing I see are biceps close to the size of my thighs. I’ve never noticed a guy’s arms before; why start now? My mouth goes dry. I need a drink.
Austin bumps me hard from behind as he walks by. “Shut your mouth, Sees-tor. You’re catching flies.” Just like everything else seems to be a joke to Austin, so does his extremely exaggerated, extremely fake, Spanish accent he chooses to use at his leisure.
I close my mouth, unable to look the guy in the face, opting instead to stare at the floor by his ginormous feet like a mute idiot.
Austin ambles in front of me and gives me time to breathe. “Hey, guys. What’s going on?” I so envy Austin’s lackadaisical way of making himself comfortable in about two seconds.
I peek over his shoulder at my mom who’s talking. “Austin. Hank’s been waiting for you. He said you two are working together on a school project?”
Austin’s head starts shaking back and forth. “I’m not sure..”
I lunge forward and grip the backside of Austin’s upper arm and pinch him hard while staring at my mom, trying to sound normal. “That’s right, Mom. It’s just like this last-minute art project they’re working on at the school. It’s in the art room. I’ve got some things to finish up at the computer lab, so we’d better get going.”
Mom looks confused. “Sweetie, it’s almost dark. Isn’t it kind of late for the school to be open the day before graduation?”
I clench my fist in frustration. “No, huh uh. Mrs. D. will be there. You know her, the yearbook editor? She’ll let us in. It’s cool. But I’m glad you said something, because she’ll probably be gone in about an hour. Come on guys. Let’s go.”
Hank stands up and holy Moses, he’s a mountain. I mean, I’m short at 5’3”, but still. He’s got to be well over 6’. His eyes meet mine, and there’s an instant connection. I feel feverish and itchy all over; but at the same time I feel like I’ve just ran into a dear, old friend. I rush toward the door. Hank follows close behind me and leaves Austin standing in the kitchen. I call out to him. “Come on, Austin. We gotta go!”
Austin locks eyes with me as he peers out from behind Hank’s back. He makes a scared face. I gesture furiously with my hand, and Austin drags his feet across the floor as if he’s marching to his death. We walk down the porch steps and Austin climbs in the front seat of the Dodge. I rush past Hank and jabber all the way. “You can sit up front. There’s more leg room. You might be squashed in the back of that car.”
He turns to me. “Thank you, Amy.”
His voice is soft and low. There’s not a hint of insincerity. I hop in the back and sit down. I glance in the rearview mirror and meet Hank’s intense gaze. I look away awkwardly, but I feel his eyes on me like a magnet.
Austin backs out like a maniac, fast and furious. He peels down the street and drives the twelve blocks to the school parking lot like the Indie 500. He whips his car in hard, barely missing the huge pothole that took out my classmate Aidan’s front bumper on his classic antique Mustang at the end of last year. Aidan had to work all summer on his grandpa’s farm to replace it. Austin turns on Hank, whose eyes haven’t left the rearview mirror. Austin snaps his fingers in Hank’s gorgeous face. Hank’s hand shoots out, quick as a flash. He snatches Austin’s hand. “I do not like that.”
Austin’s face is full of surprise and pain. I speak up. “Let go of him, please.”
At the sound of my voice, Hank releases his hand. He meets my eyes. “I’m sorry.”
Austin shakes his head. “Say sorry to me, Hank. Seriously. You about broke my damn hand.” He flexes his fingers and wiggles them around.
Hank answers. “There was no cracking, popping, or shifting of the bones. Your fingers are fine.”
Austin sits back in his seat and stares at Hank, who continues watching me. “Who are you?”
Hank’s unblinking stare should unnerve me, not give me all the feels. “I am Hank.”
Austin snorts. “We’ve established that. What are you doing here?”
Hank’s brown eyes never waver from my face in the mirror as he answers. “I’m protecting Amy.” Warmth spreads through me, which is ridiculous, as his words should leave me terrified.
Austin’s eyes are bigger than I’ve ever seen. “From what?”
I sigh. “You mean from whom.”
Hank’s look of seriousness continues. “From The Children of the Sun.”
Austin coughs. “Oh, Thank God. I thought you were going to say The Children of the Corn.”
I smack Austin in the back of the head. “That’s a movie, you idiot.”
“I know that, but you don’t know what people believe. They were crazy enough to join the cult, so.” He stops and looks hard at Hank. “Dude. Look at me.” Hank looks annoyed as his eyes flicker to Austin before he returns to me. Austin waves a hand in Hank’s face. “Stop looking at Amy.”
Hank grabs Austin’s wrist fast as lightning again; yet his gaze remains on the mirror. “You are a slow learner, Austin. I will look at what pleases me.”
His words are so bizarre. They should creep me out, but instead have the opposite effect. I’ve never felt this way about a guy before. I have so many questions, but when I look at Hank, any coherent thought I have goes right out the window.
Austin grimaces. “Amy? A little help, please.”
I sit up and reach out to touch Hank’s hand. A shot of heat goes straight to my core. I let go. “Let go of him, please.” Hank drops Austin’s hand. Austin rubs his wrist. By the look on his face, I’d say his male pride is hurting. I clear my throat. “Hank. Did you know Lady Margaret?”
His gaze moves away from the mirror, as his eyes look downward into his lap. “Yes.”
I don’t want to ask, but I have to know. “Were you in the cult?”
He cough/chokes. “Yes.”
I don’t want to ask the next question, but again, I have to know. “Are you still in the cult?”
He hesitates before growling out, “By birth only.”
I swallow hard. “What does that mean, exactly?”
His eyes meet mine in the mirror once more, and it’s like he’s peering into my soul. “I’m the Son of Fire.”
Austin chuckles. “What does that even mean?”
“My father is the leader.”
Austin’s hands fly to his face, and he rubs his cheeks in a downward motion. “Your father is the leader? You’re next in line to the throne? And we’re supposed to trust you?”
Hank refuses to answer, so I try. “Why are you here?”
“To protect you.”
Austin runs his hands through his hair. “You already said that!”
“It is still true,” Hank answers in his cool, calm as Zen tone. His short answers reveal nothing. It is utterly infuriating.
Austin looks at me, pleading. “Amy. Ask him something else.”
I look at Hank, thinking. “How many are there?”
“One hundred and two.”
“Do they all live at the com—in the same place?”
“No. Some of them live there full time, but most live in the community. They pay to reserve their space for when the end comes.”
Austin ducks his head. He stares at his lap as he shakes his head back and forth. His shoulders tremble. I pray he doesn’t laugh out loud. He manages to get a slight hold on himself and chokes out a few words. “And when will that be?”
Hank looks at Austin like he’s crazy. “No one knows.”
Austin throws his hands up in the air. “Doesn’t your father know? Isn’t that the point of a cult? To know the future?”
Hank’s eyes turn hard as flint. “My father is a spiritual leader. He does not have a cult. He has a gathering of like minds.”
Austin stares back at Hank, and I admire his courage. Hank’s intense stare and fiery gaze scares the crap out of me. Austin’s dark eyes spark, and I know his wheels are turning as he faces Hank. “Does your father have more than one wife?”
Hank’s face is pained. “Yes.”
“Does your father handle everyone’s finances?”
Hank’s face becomes more pained. “Yes.”
“Does everyone answer to your father?”
Hank’s eyes go hard and flat. “Yes.”
Austin slaps the console between them. “Ha! Sounds like a cult to me.” The two of them stare daggers at each other. I have to think of something to distract them before Austin’s hot car turns into a blood bath.
I lean to the side behind Austin’s seat to catch Hank’s eye. “Why did you leave home?”
His face fills with so much sorrow, and I want to cry. “I fell in love with a woman, but my father forbade me to lie down with her. He took her for himself.”
Austin’s eyes bug out. “Are you telling me you had to ask your father for permission to have sex with a woman?”
Hank’s eyes are fiery again. “She is my father’s wife! Do not speak of her in such a manner.” His intensity is almost too much to take.
Austin leans up against his window to distance himself from Hank. “I’d say your father still has a hold on you. If my dad took my girl, he’d get no respect from me. I’d kick him and his ho to the curb.”
I smack him upside the head again. “Austin! No disrespectin’ the ladies.”
Austin answers me by rubbing the back of his head with his middle finger.
Hank’s response is to completely ignore our exchange. He instead turns back to Austin. “She was beautiful and kind. We got along so well, but she was not for me. My father said she was too old, and I was too young.”
I look at Hank. I take in his strong jawline, his bulging biceps, and his perfect pecs beneath his tight cotton tee. “How old are you?”
His eyes meet mine again, and I flush with heat. This is ridiculous. “I’m nineteen.”
Austin’s back to his ornery self, I can see by the look on his face. “And how old was she?”
Hank’s gaze never leaves mine. “She was thirty-five.”
Austin laughs out loud and bites his knuckle. “Dang, Hank! Good for you! Going for a mamacita!” Austin glances at me, and I know he’s getting ready to really tick me off. “Did she have a nice rack?”
Hank smirks a little. “She was not unattractive.”
I flop back in my seat and look out the side window, annoyed at my jealousy. This is just stupid. We need to figure out a plan, and fast. “Hank. Where are you staying?”
Austin eyes me in the mirror, but I ignore him as I wait for Hank’s answer. “I don’t know. I rode the bus here.”
I lean forward and grab Austin’s shoulder. “Change of plans, Austin. Hank will stay with us at the house. Sunday morning, we’ll leave town.”
Austin blinks, as if stunned. “Wait, what?”
I stare at him through the mirror. “Mom will let him stay a few nights, but that’s it. You get to talk my mom into letting Hank stay over a few nights before we have to drive him back to his mom’s house in Oklahoma.”
Austin shakes his head. “That’s a terrible excuse, Amy.”
I go to slap Austin upside the back of his head again, but he ducks out of my reach, and I hit the seat. “If you don’t like it, think of a better one. All I know is this is perfect timing. Your dad is gone ‘til Sunday night at his medical conference, so it’s just Mom, and she’s putty in your hands. You’ve got this.”
Hank smiles, and my heart melts a little. “It looks like I’m bunking with you, Austin.”
Austin looks Hank up and down. “You’ll be on the floor. We don’t have a big enough bed. How tall are you?”
Hank’s brow wrinkles. “Last I checked I was 6’6”.
Austin eyes his arms. “Are you into free weights?”
Hank smiles at me in the mirror and flexes his arms. “No. I can swing a pretty mean axe, though.”
Austin laughs out loud. “You’re a literal lumberjack.” He looks at the partial tattoo on Hank’s arm. “What’s that mean?”
Hank glances down at his arm and pulls up his sleeve. I take a deep breath when I see the brand above his tat. “That’s my rite of passage.”
Austin’s eyes get big. “You sure you’re not in a gang?”
Hank laughs, and it’s a deep gut laugh, straight from his belly. “No. If you’re the oldest male in your family, you have to sleep outside for a month in the dead of winter, using only the elements of nature to survive. If you return alive, you’ve passed.”
Complete silence follows as Austin and I stare at Hank’s giant hands. I wonder what they are capable of.