Page 9 of Getting It Twisted

Just to make sure, I look out the window. The rain is easing up, and the red Ford Mustang is gone, leaving nothing but a trail of wet leaves in its wake.

Chapter 3

Nathan

I climb into thedriver’s seat, completely soaked through and shivering. A glance into the rearview mirror tells me I look a mess, with clumps of hair plastered to my forehead and a haunted gleam to my eyes.

It’s this fucking town. It puts me on edge.

So does Daniel.

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. Tonight I was supposed to be a wallflower gazing into his life, but then he had to come and pluck me off the wall—or more like, shove meintothe wall.

I should have left him alone for now. I should have gone to see him another day. But no, my first order of business when I came back to town after a ten-hour drive was to look up the address of my former best friend and go ogle at him through the window like a fucking stalker.

He was so pissed off when he saw me. Furious. Has living with George and his anger issues rubbed off on him, or did me leaving really affect him that much?

It was so long ago though. A different time. A different life. And we used to be friends. Does that mean nothing to him?

Fuck, I’m too tired for this shit.

As I swerve out on the street, I can’t stop thinking about how he looked inside that house, among all those happy, drunken people. Unlike them, he seemed so . . . dejected. Shoulders slumped, head bent down, gaze dead and numb. He used to get like that sometimes when he got too into his head. Maybe now that he doesn’t have me to lighten his mood, he’s completely taken over by it—the gloominess.

Gloomydoesn’t even begin to describe how he was when he pushed me up against that wall. Goddamn. I liked seeing him like that though. All pissed off and intense, with those thick muscled arms bearing down on me. He’s no longer the skinny, long-limbed teenager I remember.

He’s a man now.

Those baby-blue eyes are the same, as are his long lashes and freckles. But his jaw has sharpened, the last bit of baby fat gone from his face, and the way he looked at me . . . The very thought makes the crotch of my jeans feel tight. I sure wouldn’t mind getting those hands on me again.

The rainfall slows to a trickle as I turn into the downtown district of Springvale. Everything’s closed at this hour except for the odd gas station and a handful of bars. Other than the surrounding nature—if you care about that sort of thing—this town’s only saving grace is its proximity to a fairly reputable college. At this time of year, the area is flooded with students.

I pass the sign for Springvale University and turn left in the three-way crossing by the edge of the city center. Dark groves oftrees line up on either side as I come onto Wayward Road. The streetlights grow sparser and sparser and die some ten miles on.

Around the next curve of the road, there it is: a lonely gray wooden house, tucked into a burrow of trees. I stop the car and rip the key out of the ignition.

Silence.

Dead silence.

Why did I come here again? I mean, I know why, but damn . . . My skin starts to tingle from a mere glance at that house, and I have to do a whole lot more than glance at it.

A dog barks somewhere down the road. There’s a movement in the rearview mirror as my old neighbor, Ennis, comes limping toward me with his cane. His German shepherd zips past my car like a dark shadow and paces the front of the house, whining and barking like mad.

“Jagger!” Ennis yells. “Come back here, girl.” His shrill whistle tears through the air.

I climb out of the car and fish a cigarette out of my pocket.

Ennis’s watery gray eyes fix on me. “What are you doing here, boy?”

I keep the cigarette in my mouth unlit, hands in my pockets. “Didn’t you hear? My mama went and croaked.”

“I know,” Ennis says. “Wayne Hastings himself came a-knocking.”

“Oh yeah?” I light the cigarette and ask the one thing they didn’t tell me on the phone call. “Where’d they find her? In what room?”

“Why don’t you ask at the station?” Ennis grumbles. “Unless you have a spare key, you oughta pay them a visit regardless.”

“Why would I have a spare?” When I left this place, I had no plans of coming back.

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