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They both escorted me home, Misty chattering like the airhead I always pegged her as. Now I knew better. She kept glancing over the front passenger seat at me, like I’d die between one sentence and the next.
How did she manage to look movie star tousled after that, even with a couple of inches chopped off her hair, when I ended up as appealing as a zombie extra?
“Alex.” Sam’s quiet voice jerked me out of my thoughts. “We’re in your neighborhood. Which house is yours?”
“Take the first left, then the first two rights. It’s the big yellow and white Victorian on the left.”
Misty stared at the mix of Victorians, Craftsman style cottages, and bungalows. “I didn’t know you lived in the historic part of town. This is so cool.”
“My mom inherited the house from her grandmother. She’s been renovating it ever since.”
“Impressive,” Sam said.
Did they really care about where I lived? Sam lived in a mansion outside of town, for heaven’s sake. And Misty’s dad had a custom house built at the edge of their own private beach.
I snuck a look at Sam. He drove, calm and quiet, studying the houses with Misty. The only thing giving him away was his white knuckled grip on the steering wheel. I didn’t know how I was going to pry the truth out of him, when it took all my courage to look him in the eye when I passed him in the hall at school.
Yeah, I know—I had just attacked some seven foot hairy monster. I wasn’t secretly in love with the monster.
Letting out a sigh, I closed my eyes, and leaned my head against the seat. Sam had taken the time before we left to tear up his t-shirt, wrap part of it around my forearm, stripping it off without even a hint of warning.
If I hadn’t already been distracted and in pain I’m certain I would have passed out. Instead I got a long, up close look at lean, sculpted muscle, lightly tanned skin—and odd, narrow scars running over his left shoulder. Old, faded scars. Like claw marks.
I added them to my list of questions. It kept getting longer.
Now he wore a well-used, torn Emmettsville High sweatshirt, rescued from the floor of his SUV. Yeah, even the school was named after them. Half the town, since his ancestor had claimed the piece of land as his own little kingdom, and decided that he needed subjects to be king. Ready built businesses and homes had been his bribes—owned by him, of course.
Most of it was still owned by the current Emmetts. For being the multi-great grandson of a megalomaniac, Sam was pretty well-adjusted.
“Here we are!” Misty’s too chirpy voice yanked me back to the moment. “Home at last.”
I let out a relieved sigh as we pulled into the long driveway running along the side of my house. Mom wasn’t home yet.
“You can just drop me off—”
“Not on your life.” Misty pushed at Sam when he didn’t say anything. “Tell her we’re not leaving her, bleeding and traumatized, on her front doorstep.”
Sam glanced at me in the rearview mirror. “What she said.”
Wow—I felt all warm and fuzzy inside. “It’s okay. I’ve done worse to myself.” I started to open the door. Sam beat me to it, moving faster than I expected.
“Give me your hand, Alex.” He eased me out of the SUV, while Misty ran ahead with my keys to open the front door, my messenger bag and the backpack slung over her shoulder. Her feet only had a few shallow cuts; she’d already shed the makeshift bandages from the rest of Sam’s t-shirt.
I tried to talk them out of bringing me inside. I didn’t want them to witness my meltdown when what I’d done finally hit me. Plus I wanted to clean up before Mom got home, to avoid her meltdown if she saw so much as a scratch. I could hide everything with a shower and one of my hoodies. I think.
Sam’s arm slipped around my waist, again. This time I was aware enough to feel the tingle, to feel the blush spread over my cheeks. Hell.
He glanced down at me, and smiled. “Don’t be afraid to lean against me. I think I can handle it.”
Did I mention he was tall? Yeah, about a foot taller than stumpy me, so it felt like he was wrapped around me as he led me up the sidewalk.
I took him up on his offer and leaned into his support, moving slowly, savoring every second. I knew it would be the only time I ever got this close to him, and I wanted to remember every sound, every scent, every touch, so I could relive it in private. After he started ignoring me again.
Bruises and scrapes started complaining as we climbed the steps to the porch. By the time Sam and Misty got me to my bedroom upstairs, my body was in full on rebellion.
“Help her into the shower,” Sam said. “And stay with her, Misty. She’s lost too much blood to be left alone.”
“Where are you going?”
He paused in the doorway. “To get something for that cut. I’ll meet you downstairs.”
And he was gone. If I hadn’t been so shell shocked, my mind would be screaming “Sam Emmett was in my BEDROOM!” But it came out as a whisper, and would soon be a long, detailed entry in my journal.
“Okay, hero.” Misty dropped the messenger bag and backpack next to my desk, led me to the bathroom attached to my room. Yep—being an only child does have its perks. “Let’s get you undressed, see what the damage is.”
“That’s all right.” I tried to pull away from her. My body refused to obey. To my horror, it did the opposite—all but falling against her as my feet tangled themselves around each other. Huh. I didn’t know they could screw up so badly. I’m actually quite graceful, thanks to ten years of dance classes and a low center of gravity. Being short does have some advantages. “Sorry,” I mumbled, clutching at her. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“It’s called shock, girl.” Misty’s voice was brisk, but the look she gave me was kind. And grateful. How am I supposed to handle grateful from the most popular girl in school? She’s barely had more than two words for me since kindergarten, until three days ago. And I was still trying to wrap my head around the fact that Sam Emmett had been in my bedroom. No wonder my head was spinning. “Add in blood loss and that—monster.” She shuddered, and I saw that under the smear of dirt, and now my blood, she was pale. “I’m surprised you’re still upright.”
I knew I wouldn’t be for much longer. Shock was setting in, and my body wanted the oblivion of sleep. That shock kept me from red-faced embarrassment when she helped me strip, carefully pulled the makeshift bandage off my arm, and guided me into the shower stall, closing the door for me.
Don’t get me wrong—I’m far from ashamed of my body, but next to her perky, curvy figure, I felt like a boy.
The brief shower was an exercise in pain. I had bruises everywhere, and more than a few scrapes I didn’t notice until the water hit them. I used the tiled wall as a support for my injured arm, to keep it out of the spray. It hurt enough.
Once the water ran clear, I turned the shower off, and grabbed one of the towels hanging over the top of the stall to dry my hair. I wanted to pull it back, but with only one working arm that wasn’t going to happen, so I let it drip down my back. I was not going to wear a towel on my head in front of Sam Emmett.
I spotted the cleaning rag from under the sink on top of the second towel, and reminded myself to thank Misty for snooping. This time it was called for.
Carefully, flinching from just the weight of it, I wrapped the soft cloth around my arm, hissing when it touched the still bleeding gash.
I took the second towel, and carefully dabbed at my skin, flinching every time I hit a raw spot. Giving up, I wrapped it around me and pushed the shower door open.
“Here you go—nice and cuddly warm.” Misty stood in the bathroom, holding up a fuchsia robe I never wore. I mean—it was pink. I don’t do pink. Ever. It was a gift from my favorite Aunt Agnes, which was the only reason it was actually in my closet at all. “Arm out.”
“Misty.” She looked at me, smiling. “I hurt my arm, not my brain.”
She let out an impatient breath. “I know that. I’m just trying to distract you.”
“That robe did the job. I don’t really ever wear—”
“Are you kidding me? This is adorable.”
Before I could protest any more, she had my good arm in the sleeve. Resigned to looking like an idiot in front of Sam yet again, I clenched my jaw as she eased my injured arm into the wide sleeve, and gave me the privacy I needed to drop my towel and close the robe. She tied the lace trimmed belt. Lace. Really.
I managed to not roll my eyes as she practically drooled over the girly detailing, and helped me down the stairs. I felt better after the shower, but I wasn’t sure I could climb them again. I knew I didn’t dare try it on my own.
My heart flip-flopped when I saw Sam waiting for us in the living room. Sunlight filtered through the window, highlighting his shoulder length, sun streaked blonde hair—and a thin, pale scar on the left side of his jaw I never noticed before. Me—who studied every school photo I had of him for hours on end. How could I not have seen it before?
He distracted me by taking my good arm and lowering me to the sofa. I blinked when he pulled out a medical kit—no, a suture kit. I recognized it from the trip I took to the emergency room after I spun out on my mountain bike. The gash on my right knee took sixteen stitches, and the doctor used a kit exactly like the one Sam held.
He shrugged when he saw my raised eyebrows, opened the kit. “My uncle’s a doctor, and I like to be prepared.”
Prepared—in case a monster attacks someone he knows? Yeah—that list just keeps getting longer.
He sat on the slipper chair he’d pulled closer to the sofa, took out the instruments, and set them in a bowl of steaming water on the coffee table. Carefully—and with the ease that screamed experience—he peeled the cloth off my wound. I sucked in my breath, used all my control to keep from snatching my arm away. It felt like he was peeling off a layer of skin.
After setting the cloth on the coffee table, he rested my left forearm on a dish towel he laid over the arm of the sofa. Just as carefully, he cleaned the wound, using the sterile pads and antiseptic wash he must have found in my mom’s extensive medical stash. Hey—you have an active tomboy, you collect supplies.
“Take these.” Sam handed me three white pills. I recognized them—I’ve taken my share of pain pills, between dance class and my mountain bike adventures. He gave me a bottle of water, took it back after I swallowed them. “I don’t have any way to numb your arm, Alex, so I’m afraid this is going to hurt.” I nodded, prayed I wouldn’t do something embarrassing, like pass out. “Misty, could you hold her still for me?”
She sat next to me and held on to my good hand. I tensed, not entirely comfortable with all the attention. Never mind the touching. Don’t get me wrong—I’ve had dance partners who grabbed me in every conceivable spot, so I’m no stranger to groping.
But this was—uncomfortable, and exciting, and uncomfortable. Tingles radiated out from the contact point to every inch of my bruised and tired body.
“Relax for me. That will make it easier on all of us.” Sam did a good job of distracting me as he started to suture the gash. “I heard you outprogrammed Mr. Deeter in class last week.”
I blinked at him. “You—heard about that?”
He knew I existed last week? Oh, God. What was I wearing? Was that the week I tripped down the stairs because I was too busy watching him walk across the quad?
“Are you kidding?” He smiled, his gaze on my arm. “Matt Kinski told me Mr. Deeter had a fit when you fixed the coding glitch.”
“It was more of a tantrum.”
Sam laughed, the sound of it warm and deep, and—hell, I had to stop that thought train. He felt responsible for whatever happened, and was fixing it. The End.
I jerked when he got closer to the deepest part of the wound.
Sam paused. “I’m sorry, Alex, I know it hurts.”
“Just—finish it.”
He nodded, and kept going. Misty draped her arm over my shoulders, and I gripped her hand, tight. She didn’t make a sound, even though I knew it must have hurt.
Finally, he did the last suture and leaned back, wiping at the sweat on his forehead. I saw his fingers shaking, and realized he was nervous.
Now that the deed was done, my distraction was gone, and my mind began its wild speculations again. What was he doing at the McGinty house? It had been no coincidence that he showed up in time to keep Misty and me from becoming an afternoon snack. And how did an eighteen-year-old learn how to suture like a pro?
Yeah, eighteen. I like older men. I am a junior—okay, the youngest junior at Emmettsville High. So I skipped a grade, or three. Stop judging me.
Sam wrapped a bandage around my forearm, and taped it off. The tingles were less—tingly. I was getting used to him touching me. How would I face tomorrow, knowing it wouldn’t happen again?
His quiet voice pulled me out of my pity party. “How does that feel?”
“Better.” I stared at his hand, afraid every emotion racing around my heart would show on my face. “Thanks.”
“Anytime.” If only he meant that. “Ready to go upstairs?”
“Yeah.” I do happen to be a sparkling conversationalist. Just not around Sam.
“Up you go,” Misty said. She helped me stand—and my legs decided it was nap time. “Whoa—”
Sam caught me—and my heart stopped when he picked me up in his arms. I thought it would pound right out of my chest and smack him in the face when he carried me upstairs, settled me carefully on my bed.
“Get some sleep, Alex. We’ll wait for your mom.”
“No—what—” I tried to sit up. It didn’t take much effort for him to stop me. “Why—”
“We’ll tell her you had an accident just after school. I’ll make sure she understands you’re okay.”
I nodded. Mom would go into full nurse mode no matter what they told her. As long as I kept her from seeing the stitches, and the bruises, and the scrapes, I think I could keep the fussing to a minimum. The disadvantage of being an only child.
Hell, I’d be wearing long sleeves for weeks. Thank heaven for my hoodies. And the fact that fall was here. I never could have pulled this off during summer vacation.
Sam straightened, checking my bandage one last time. The pain killers he gave me must have kicked in, because I opened my mouth and my self-preservation filter failed.
“How did you get the scars on your shoulder?”
He stilled. What looked like panic flashed in his grey-blue eyes—it disappeared before I could be sure.
“Old injury. I’ll tell you the story, when you’re not drugged and looking like a sea nymph—”
He cut himself off. This time I didn’t mistake the shock.
“A sea nymph?” I knew what it was—my brain just wasn’t functioning at the moment.
“A beautiful creature that lures men to their death—shit.” He backed away from the bed. “How do you do that? I’ve never told anyone... I have to get out of here.”
He turned around—and halted when he saw Misty in the doorway, her blue eyes wide.
“Hey,” she said. Her gaze skated back and forth, and I saw the beginning of juicy gossip forming in her mind. Crap. “Your mom’s pulling in the driveway, Alex. Thought I’d give you a heads up.” She raised her eyebrows as she looked at Sam.
“Right,” he said. He walked past her, his shoulders stiff. I figured that was the last word I’d hear from him. Ever. But he turned around, staring at the wall behind me. “This never happened, Alex. Tell anyone anything and I will deny it. That includes you, Misty. Nothing happened.” He finally met my eyes, and the pain in his usually clear eyes stunned me. “And it won’t happen again. I promise you.”
He walked out before I could answer.
~ ~ ~
Mom treated me like I was a soldier coming back from the war—which in a way, I was.
She insisted on examining every inch of me, cursing over each tiny and not so tiny injury. The cover story that I flipped over my bike explained away my injuries. I was just glad I’d left my bike at school, because it would have revealed the lie, being as pristine as the day I bought it a year ago with my hard-earned savings, as a replacement for the mountain bike I pretty much destroyed.
“And where is your bike, Margaret?” I managed not to flinch at my given name. It was a warning; Mom wasn’t completely convinced. “You didn’t leave it at school? Even damaged, such an expensive bike would be a temptation.”
“My friends took it to the shop for me. I look worse than my bike—it just got a few scratches.” I tried on a smile. “It’ll look good as new tomorrow.” Yeah—laying another lie on top of the massive one I’d already told. Might as well go for the gold.
“I’m afraid you won’t be as lucky.” Mom let out a sigh, sat back in the chair she’d dragged next to my bed. “If you need to stay home tomorrow, I can call school for you.” She brushed damp hair off my forehead. “I want you to promise me, sweetheart, that you will be extra vigilant from now on. My poor heart can’t take another shock like this.”
From Margaret to sweetheart in less than a minute. A good sign—she wasn’t mad at me. Being a tomboy with a girly mom, we share, I’ll just say, a different view of approaching pretty much everything. It makes for an interesting life. At least from my side. Mom just clutches her chest if it’s beyond her understanding.
Really—I’m a tomboy, not a boy. Just because I like motorcycle boots more than heels doesn’t make me... sorry. Anyway, I skated through what could have been a long and unpleasant conversation.
One parent hoodwinked. Check. Second parent would be taken care of by parent one. Check.
Next on my list: prying the truth out of Sam.
Which meant I would have to talk to him again. Yeah. My tongue already started to tie itself into a knot at just the idea.