3

It was early dawn when Lexie emerged into the backyard of the Den. Black silhouettes of the hot tub, lawn chairs and deck reminded her of the barbeque when she first met the Pack. She’d been intimidated then. She’d thought she would do anything to be accepted, but as it turned out, she’d been wrong. Now, the patio furniture stood as ebon relics, their stoic shapes highlighted by white dusting of snow. Summer, and so much more, was long gone.

Lexie stripped in the yard and hosed off the smeared blood and saliva that marred her skin. She didn’t want to enter the Den stinking of blood, tears, and another corpse. Cleanliness would preserve the illusion of her sanity. Not that she thought any of the Pack would be fooled.

The ice water shocked her skin, but it left her feeling appropriately penitent. She climbed back in through her window. She didn’t like to take the stairs when all the girls were home. They creaked. She landed softly on her carpet and nearly jumped back out the window when she saw Hazel perched on her desk, waiting.

Lexie grabbed her chest. “What the fuck, Hazel?” Lexie said in a stage whisper, trying to express her shock without waking the house.

“I just wanted to talk.”

“Hazel,” Lexie pleaded. “I’m tired. We can talk later.”

“You always say that.”

Lexie dropped her ruined clothes in a heap on her floor and moaned, yearning only for her mattress and blankets.

She crawled into bed, folding back the top blanket for Hazel. “Come on then.”

Hazel threw off her robe and wriggled into bed alongside Lexie. She rolled over, presenting her back to Lexie. A smattering of tiny beauty marks rode high on her shoulders. She shivered at Lexie’s touch, hot skin pricking with goosebumps.

Lexie reached her arms around Hazel and pulled their bodies tightly together. Lexie was used to being the small one. She liked feeling big and strong in relation to the tiny Hazel. She nuzzled her nose against Hazel’s head. Her black hair smelled like gardenias and vanilla.

“Do you miss her?” Hazel asked, finally.

“Yes,” Lexie said. “Every day.”

“Me too.”

Lexie must have misunderstood. She almost spoke, but Hazel continued.

“Blythe, I mean,” Hazel whispered. “You only really got the worst of her. And that was bad, for real. But, for a long time, she was pretty rad. I mean, she helped me own things that I didn’t even know were there. She was really good to all of us.”

“I’m sorry,” Lexie said.

“It’s not your fault. It’s neither of our faults,” Hazel said. “Ego, right? Sheesh.” Then, after a long pause, “I’m worried about Renee.”

“Do you think she’s taking it hard?” Lexie asked.

“Duh. How would you feel if you killed someone?”

“Someone? Or Blythe?”

Hazel let her restless leg shake. “Fair. But I don’t think Renee is managing.”

“She sounded like she was managing just fine tonight.”

“She’s in denial,” Hazel said.

“Whatever you say,” Lexie said. She wanted to care, to help, but she was tired. Her heart was in the woods at the treehouse, and her mind was still with the body she’d found in the clearing. She didn’t have anything left for Hazel; she didn’t even know how to divine what Hazel might need. Everyone in the Pack seemed to need something from one another, but no one would say so directly. Instead, it was constant shots across the bow: indications, double-speak, and lingering silences. Perhaps the girls, having known each other so long, were able to parse this type of communication. Meanwhile, it only left Lexie feeling stupid and disconnected.

Hazel grasped Lexie’s wrist and drew her even tighter. She curled like a squirrel into the space formed by the crescent of Lexie’s body.

“I don’t think what she did was wrong,” Hazel whispered, a confession.

Lexie didn’t know whether she was talking about Archer, Blythe, or Renee.

“Neither do I,” she replied, absolving them all for past sins.

She stroked and nuzzled Hazel as if it were the next logical step, but as Hazel’s sigh became a snore, Lexie too let herself drift off.