Page 41 of Demons

“I’m listening,” he drawled.

I glanced around, mostly so I didn’t ogle him like a weirdo. “Where did you come from?” I asked him, wanting to change the subject.

“Hell,” he replied. “Now, answer my question.”

I stared back at him, and his eyes held me there. It was a simple question—or so it would seem to anyone else—but telling someone like Thatcher Shephard that my momma controlled my life was humiliating. I licked my lips, wishing I had some better answer. One that didn’t make me sound so pathetic.

I decided to answer the reason I’d laughed instead of explaining why I had been crying.

“I was thinking about the fact that you seem to show up when I need a distraction, and then I thought about needing a distraction from my mom and taking you home with me. Seeing her face …” I trailed off then, not sure I should have said that either. “I mean, my mom is just real religious, and she’s a gossip, so she would think—I mean, she’d—I didn’t mean for that to sound so offensive.” I was rambling, trying to make this better. My entire face had to be as red as an apple.

“Doll, if your momma liked me, then I’d be offended,” he replied as the corner of his lips quirked, like he just might smile, but didn’t. He shoved off from the tree he’d been leaning against and took a few steps closer to me. “Who made you cry?” His tone dropped a notch, and the threat in it made me tense.

Why did he care so much? What was he gonna do, go take up for me like he had at the ice cream shop? My stomach turned as I thought about why those guys would never bother me again. I tried not to let my head go in their direction. Dad was right, and bad choices caused tragedies. It wasn’t my fault.

The way he was studying me so intently made me believe he wasn’t going to let this go. I had to make something up that was half truth and half lie. I didn’t want him to know how sheltered I was. It was too embarrassing to think about.

“I’ve been working a lot to save up so I can get my own apartment. I thought I had found one, but turned out, I didn’t get it. That one was the only thing available that was in my budget.” There. That was the truth. I’d just left out a lot of details.

He took the cigarette from his mouth and let out some smoke as he glanced back toward the park, then at me. “You’re ready for freedom, I take it? Done with living in the minister’s house?”

I nodded, feeling the heaviness settle back over me again. He had no idea how done with it I was or how smothering my mother could be.

“That’s the only reason you’re crying?” he asked me.

The urge to blurt out the entire truth to him was tempting. I wanted to. I wanted to tell him everything, and if it wasn’t that his older, sexy, possibly dangerous guy would think I was pathetic, then I would. But I liked him showing up in my life. It was always brief, but it made the bad stuff fade away. Which was ironic since most people I knew were terrified of him.

Instead of spilling my guts, I just nodded.

He smirked, almost as if he didn’t believe me. Was I that bad of a liar?

“All right then,” he replied, dropping his cigarette to the ground and covering it with the toe of his boot. “If there is no one I need to kill, I’ll leave you to your run.”

I frowned as he turned and walked away, but not toward the park. He walked to the woods behind us. Had he come from the woods? Was that why I hadn’t seen him? But why would he have been in the woods?

Better yet, what I should really be questioning was … had that been a joke? The killing someone thing? Yeah, it must have been. He was probably making fun of the fact that everyone in town thought he’d murdered a guy or that his family was in the Mafia.

The little house was perfect. I stood outside in the front yard, smiling like an idiot. This could actually be where I lived? I shook my head in disbelief.

Please, God, don’t let me wake up and this be a dream. I was going to be really upset if it was.

And it was three times the size of the studio apartment I was going to pay three hundred dollars more a month for. That seemed very unreal.

“Just need you to sign here,” the older lady who had shown me the house said, holding out an iPad toward me.

The lease. She wanted me to sign the lease. I had to get my money back from my mother first. I couldn’t pay for this without my money. I couldn’t lose this house.

“Um, Ms. Ma—”

“Maeme. It’s just Maeme,” she replied with a kind smile.

I liked this woman. I had no idea how she’d found out I was searching for somewhere to live or how she had gotten my number, but I was thankful. But that oddity also made me fear this was a dream. How had a deal like this just fallen in my lap?

“Maeme,” I corrected myself. “This house is amazing. I would love to lease it, and I can afford it. But I need to go get my money back first. My, uh … well, I have it, but my mom is holding on to it. As soon as I get it from her, I can pay this month and of course the deposit or last month’s rent—whatever is required. Just … could I get it to you later?”

Maeme held out a set of keys to me. “Take the keys,” she said. “When you are ready to move in, give me a call. I’ll stop by with the lease for you to sign. No rush.”

If I wasn’t asleep, I was hallucinating. I held out my hand, and she dropped the house keys into it.

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