The Noctalis Chronicles Complete Set Page 69

  I stayed down the hall, but just out of sight.

  “I'm not going to have you bumming in my house anymore.”

  “Where am I supposed to go?”

  “I don't care. How about you move in with that loser that you spread your legs for?”

  “Dad,” Jamie said in a quiet, but stern voice.

  “You shut your face. This has nothing to do with you.” Jamie had told me about his dad and his drinking. I was all too familiar with living with an alcoholic. When things were good, you were always terrified they were going to get bad again. His dad had been doing well lately, but there was always that chance.

  “Give me the drink, Dad,” Jamie said, holding out his hand. “You were doing so well.” Cassie stood next to Jamie, a show of sibling solidarity. I wished I'd had a sibling to help me like that.

  “You can't tell me what to do in my own damn house. I'm the man of this family, and if I want a beer, I'm going to have one.”

  “What about Mom? What about us?”

  He swayed a little on his feet. Any minute he was going to go down. “All you do is take from me. I give and give and give, and all you do is take. Well, I'm going to take mine.”

  “Dad, we've been trying to help you. Just give it to me.” Jamie motioned for the beer again, but his dad pulled back and tried to go for a punch.

  That was it for me. I dove from my spot and grabbed his arm, bending it back.

  “Who the hell are you?” He was strong for a human, but I was immortal and he had been drinking. I could snap every bone in his body with two of my fingers and not think twice.

  “I swear to God, if you lay a hand on anyone else, ever again, I will kill you. Do you understand?” He struggled, but there was no way he could get free. I made sure I turned him so he saw my face.

  Cassie gasped and clutched onto Jamie, no doubt wondering where the hell I came from and worried that I was going to hurt him. Oh, I was going to do more than that.

  “Let me go, little girl.”

  I pulled him toward my face and hissed at him so he got the full effect of how unnatural I was. “I'm not a girl. I'm your worst nightmare. You will get your act together, because as much as you don't deserve it, your family loves you and you treat them like garbage. It stops today. You will stop drinking. You will get off your ass and you will be the husband and father you should be. Have I made myself clear?”

  “Fuck you.”

  “Good luck with that. I'm going to ask you one more time.” I twisted his arm until it was almost at the breaking point. Just a little bit farther...

  “Brooke. Enough.”

  “Not yet,” I said, enjoying the pain on his face. “I could kill you right now and not care at all. But that boy over there loves you, so I won't. Why don't you save some of your self-pity for him? So, are you going to get your sorry life together?”

  He tried to get free, but I had him good. He growled in frustration. His alcoholic breath would have choked me if I still had to breathe.

  “Fine, fine. Let go.”

  I give him one more twist and then shove him to the floor. The beer drops from his hand, and I catch it before it hits the floor, spilling not a drop.

  “I should smash this in your face, but I'm going to toss it down the drain, along with the rest of it. You will be alcohol-free for the rest of your life.” He cursed at me from the floor. “Well, I'm so sorry you feel that way.”

  I marched to the kitchen, finding every single bottle of beer, vodka, rum, any kind of alcohol, and pouring them all down the drain. The house reeked of booze and I could still hear him groaning in the living room. Cassie tried to help him up, but he tried to shove her away.

  “Lay a hand on her and yours will be gone,” I sang.

  He huffed, but let her help him up and into the chair again.

  “What did you do that for?” Jamie said, leaning in the doorway to the kitchen.

  “Because someone had to. When it comes to drunks, sometimes the best way to get through to them is by force. I've had personal experience.”

  Once my mother had been so wasted, she'd chucked a bottle at me and it had hit me in the face. I'd been cooking dinner, or else I would have ducked. The bottle bounced off my back, onto the carpet and somehow didn't break. I grabbed it, knocked her on the back of the head and told her never to do it again. She just stood there, stunned, and I saw the shock on her face. She'd cried, apologized and had gotten clean for a few days. It had been a glorious four days until she'd gone out with friends to a bar and after promising me she wouldn't drink, she came home wasted with a loser under her arm.

  “I can't believe you did that.”

  “He deserved it. I know he's done it before and he would do it again. As long as I'm here, he won't.”

  “You can't make people change, Brooke. They have to want to.”

  “True, but you can give them a push. A wake-up call.” I tipped in two bottles at once, watching the murky liquid flow down the drain.

  “I should be pissed, but that was kind of awesome.”

  “It was pretty badass. I've always wanted to do something like that and now I can.”

  “You're really beautiful.”

  I knew he was exactly one-and-a-half feet behind me. I knew that his hand was reaching for me. I dropped one of the bottles and spun to face him. Without hesitating, I crushed my mouth to his, yanking him down with probably a little too much force. He tried to say 'ow' but it was lost in our kiss.

  It was more of an attack than a kiss. My lips tried to devour his. It was like I was trying to swallow him whole. I wanted to bite his lips and suck his blood. I wanted to feel his hot skin against mine, right there in the kitchen.

  “Brooke,” Jamie said when our lips parted for a second. His voice made me realize that his breathing was labored, and I'd probably been suffocating him. I couldn't have that.

  “Sorry. I've wanted to do that ever since you pulled your truck over to the side of the road.”

  His chest heaved and he couldn't stop staring at my lips. “Me, too.”

  He smiled and kissed me again, only slow, soft and delicate. It was hard not to try and devour him, but I held back.

  “I want you to stay,” he said.

  “I want to stay.”

  Nineteen

  Peter

  Ava gets up early the next day to prepare for their road trip. Claire grew up several hours east of Sussex in a town called Machias, and driving to the house will take nearly the whole day.

  “I will run alongside the road. I will be with you the whole time.”

  “I know, I know,” she says, wrapping her hair into a bun.

  The day is going to be unusually hot, so she's wearing cropped pants and a t-shirt that shows off her arms. I want to lick every inch of her exposed skin.

  “You're doing that thing where you stare at me and then you think about things. You know I can feel what you're thinking.”

  I do sometimes forget that she gets emotions from me as much as I get them from her. I am not used to having emotions, let alone sharing them with anyone.

  “Now you're looking at me like I'm a piece of earth-shattering cheesecake you want very much to devour.”

  The truth is not that far from it. I want to devour her. I want to take her and taste every part of her, savoring every inch. This is not the right time.

  “You should get ready,” I say so she will stop standing in front of me and making me want her.

  “Yeah, okay.”

  She goes to the bathroom and I shut my eyes. I am consumed by her. Sometimes it overwhelms me.

  Ava

  “Surprise!” Dad and I both yell as he leads her out to the car, hands over her eyes.

  “Oh, wow, it's, um, the car.” She looks confused for a moment, looking back and forth from me to Dad and pretending she knows what's going on.

  “Mom, it's not the car. We're going on a road trip!” I say, throwing my hands in the air.

  “Really? Where are we going?�
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  “What would be the fun in that if you knew?” She's going to figure it out as soon as we get on the highway and start toward Machais, but at least we can keep the mystery for a little while.

  “Oh come on,” she says, pouting at Dad. I glare at him. Do not give in to the pout, Dad.

  “No way, Taylor. I hardly ever get to surprise you, so I'm going to make this one count.” Because it might be one of the last, he doesn't say.

  Dad and I pack the car with typical road trip stuff. I made a picnic lunch, snacks, and I bring jackets and all the things we could need in an emergency. Dad double-checks that we have jumper cables, a tire jack and anything else that we might need if we have car issues. I think we are prepared for everything that could go wrong. As soon as I think that, I freak out a little. I feel like I need to knock on wood or something.

  “You sure you didn't forget the kitchen sink?” Mom says as we shove her in the car among all the other crap.

  “Oh no! I forgot the sink,” I say, clutching my hands together. She laughs and puts on her seatbelt.

  “Where's Peter today? Why didn't you invite him to come with us?” She's really asking if I'm going to freak out and get sick like the last time he left. God, I would rather die than go through that again.

  “Oh, he's busy. Family stuff. But he's never far from my mind,” I say, hoping she gets the hint. She nods, as if she understands.

  “Let's get this show on the road,” Dad says. We all strap in and he turns on the radio.

  “Oh!” I say, remembering. “I made a road trip mix.” I fiddle in my purse and find the clear CD case, handing it to Mom.

  “What's on it?”

  “Road trip songs,” I say. “Put it in.”

  She does and “Ticket To Ride” by The Beatles blasts through the radio. Mom claps and starts singing along as Dad drives up the road. Aj isn't here yet, but I have the sneaking suspicion Dad is going to call her when we're on our way. I think they have something planned.

  “I meant to ask you, did you throw all those flowers away?” Mom says ten minutes later.

  “Yeah. I did. I couldn't stand them anymore.”

  “Thank you. I couldn't stand them either, but I couldn't throw them away for some reason. They were just too much.”

  “Just a bit,” I say as the CD clicks over to another song.

  “So where are we going?” Mom says, batting her eyes at Dad.

  “No way. I want to see the surprise on your face. Nothing is going to stop me from getting that.” He takes her hand and kisses it.

  I settle back against the cooler and close my eyes. Peter is close, so close. I glance out the window, but I can't see him. He's running too fast. We stop at 11:30 so everyone can get out of the car, stretch and pee.

  “I still don't know where we're going,” Mom says, putting her arms over her head and arching her back. She's so thin. I wish she would eat more, but I know food makes her feel sick. She could take drugs that would help her eat more, but they have other side effects that she doesn't want to deal with. It's a lose-lose situation.

  We get back in the car and keep going. It takes another hour, but we finally pass the sign that says we're in Machias.

  “Oh, Sam,” Mom whispers. She knows now. “Thank you. Thank you both.” She reaches her hand to the backseat and I grip it. “I can't believe this,” she whispers.

  I've never been to the house, but I've seen it in pictures enough times. We had a photograph of her sitting on the porch when she was four years old hanging in our living room. I grew up with that picture and I always wanted to see the house.

  “Turn left,” Mom says as we drive through downtown. I'm sure Dad downloaded directions, but he doesn't use them. Mom's way better than the internet. I glance at the cooler I'm slumped on and wish it could magically turn into Peter.

  “Here,” Mom says, pointing to a mailbox with a thirty-eight on it. “I wish we could go see it, but I'm sure someone owns it.”

  “Why don't we see?” Dad says, turning off the car and getting out.

  Mom and I stay in the car. “What is he doing?”

  “Don't know.” I actually don't know about this part. When we discussed it, he said we'd just drive by the house so she could see it from the car. He didn't say anything about getting out. God, we're probably going to get arrested for trespassing. I get out of the car to stop Dad from waltzing onto some stranger's lawn, but I stop when I see the FOR SALE sign. Also, if anyone wants to get us with a shotgun, Peter can block the bullets. My bulletproof boyfriend.

  “Huh. Looks like we can go and see it,” she says. Mom and I walk arm in arm up the driveway. Her breaths are shaky, and I can tell she's on the verge of tears. I finally notice another car in the driveway. A BMW. Dad walks toward it and a woman in a pinstripe jacket with matching pencil skirt gets out, brushing nonexistent wrinkles from her flawless clothes.

  “Mr. Sullivan?”

  “Yes, you must be Gretchen.” He shakes the woman's hand.

  What-the-what is going on? I glance at Mom and she raises her eyebrows. I see movement over my shoulder and I can feel Peter lurking in the bushes. Kind of like a stalker. I prefer to think of him as highly involved.

  “This is my wife, Claire, and my daughter, Ava.” Gretchen sticks her hand out, and Mom and I both shake it. Still not sure what she's doing here.

  “Well, are you ready to see the house?” she says, rifling through a leather briefcase, pulling out some papers and giving us her best smile. It's way too fake.

  “Yes, we are very interested in seeing the house,” Dad says in a loud voice, putting his arm around Mom.

  Gretchen looks at him weird but slides a smile back onto her face. The real estate agent smile. Clearly, that's what she is. I can connect the dots here. Dad called the real estate agency and asked about the house. The only way we're getting in to see it with someone who has keys is to pretend that we're interested in buying it. Well played, Dad. Well played indeed. I didn't know he had something like that in him. It's a scheme worthy of Tex.

  “Yes, I saw the pictures online and it's perfect. This is such a good neighborhood, too,” Mom adds, playing along. I feel the need to add something, but settle for looking like a surly teenager. No normal teenage girl wants to look at a house with her lame parents. Ugh, how awful.

  “It is a good neighborhood,” Gretchen says, touching on one of the good points of the house. I finally take a good look at it.

  “It's just like I remember,” Mom whispers to no one in particular. Dad takes her hand and winks at both of us. Smooth.

  “What did you say?” Gretchen asks, shuffling through her papers.

  “I said it's just like the pictures we saw online,” Mom says as we walk up the front porch.

  The house is older, and a little run-down. The white paint is peeling in spots, and the grass hasn't been mowed in a while. Other than that, it's exactly what I thought it would be.

  A white farmhouse, with a porch that wraps around the front and left side, a peaked roof and a small shed that might have held a tractor in the days when a farmer lived here. I even see a tree with a tire swing across the yard.

  The steps creak and bend under our feet. Gretchen goes into full selling mode, drawing our attention away from the peeling wallpaper and uneven floor to the high ceilings and amazing light that somehow flows from room to room, making it feel like it's bathed in sunlight.

  Mom's eyes go wide and she smiles, going from room to room, brushing her fingers on the wallpaper, the windowsills.

  While Gretchen blathers on, Mom whispers to me some of her memories. Like the corner where she used to read, or the place where she fell and got the scar under her chin. In the kitchen she tells me about my grandmother making pies and Christmas, and I can almost smell the delicious cooking. I try to imagine what it was like. The wooden furniture, lots of flowers, lots of painted teacups on the wall.

  Gretchen takes us upstairs, and Mom clutches my arm when we go into her old room. It looks
almost exactly like mine, only it's tucked into the eaves, so one of the walls slants until it meets the floor.

  “That's where the bed was. My desk was over there.” Mom recreates the room for me, and I can almost see it.

  “So, what do you think?” Gretchen says when we get to the other bedroom. She's been selling this house like her life depends on it, poor thing.

  “It's just what we're looking for. Do you mind giving us a little time?”

  “Absolutely!” she chirps like a bird. Anything to make us happy. God, if we ask her to make us pancakes, she probably would find a frying pan.

  She clomps back down the stairs in her ridiculous heels.

  “Ava, you want to come see the backyard with me?” Dad says, nodding to the stairs. He wants to give her some time alone. Message received.

  “Sure. You okay?” I ask Mom.

  She's staring out the window at memories I can't touch.

  “Yes, I'm fine. I'll be right down.”

  I follow Dad down the stairs. Gretchen's out by her car talking vigorously on her cell phone.

  “Let's sneak around the back,” Dad says in my ear. I nod and we tiptoe out the back by the kitchen. Luckily, there is a back door with steps that lead down into the grass. I take the bottom step and Dad takes the top.

  “I wish I could buy it for her. I know that seems silly, but I'd love for her to own this house.”

  “I know. How much are they asking?”

  “Way too much in this economy. We're going to be strapped enough as it is.” He wipes his face with his hands.

  “You know you can talk to me about that stuff. I know I'm young and your daughter and you want to protect me and all, but I don't want you to have to do this alone.” He looks up from his hands. He stares at me for a couple seconds before he says anything. “You are growing up so fast.” I move backward up the steps until I'm next to him. He puts his arm around me and I lay my head on his shoulder. “Thank you. Sometimes I forget you're not a child anymore. You're almost a woman.” Almost. Not quite.