Page 137 of The Spider & the Storm

“Wow. That's a long time to not go home.”

Yes, it was, but I didn't say so.

“Whatever happened with that guy and his mom?”

My throat seized around a deep swallow as my eyes danced across the faint beam of moonlight streaming across the ceiling. This was the part I wasn't ready to talk about. The part that I knew without a shred of doubt would make her wish she'd never known me well enough to call me anything but Spider.

My brain hopped from one flimsy answer to another, trying to settle on something acceptable that wouldn't lead to more questions, until I finally came to a brief but honest, “That's a story for another day.”

God, I hated how vague it was, and she didn't seem to like it either, judging by the deep inhale she took before nodding with her exhale.

“Okay,” she replied quietly. “That's fine. But you know you can tell me, if—”

“I know. Iwilltell you,” I promised. “But … another day.”

“Okay.”

I thought she might be done asking her questions for the night, and I hoped she was. I'd told her to ask them—hell, I'd demanded it—but even though she’d only asked a few, it was enough to send the blood rushing through my veins at a speed it shouldn't. So, when she finally settled back against my chest, her head growing heavy and her fingers falling limp, I was relieved and released the air from my lungs into the room.

Then, just as I rested my cheek against the top of her head and began to drift off, she spoke again.

“Charlie?”

“Hmm,” I grunted softly.

“If you haven't been to Connecticut in five years, that means you haven't seen your brother in that long.”

I swallowed, but I didn't speak, afraid of what might come next.

“Do you … do youtalkto him? Like, on the phone or something?”

With my eyes still closed, I could remember Luke's arms around me, his hand clapping against my back. I could picture his face as he took me in that last time, holding me by theshoulders at arm's length, before nodding and telling me to get the hell out of there.

Grief rocked me out of my almost slumber as I bit against my lower lip until the tightness in my throat subsided, only to reply with a simple word. “No.”

***

A battering gale had blown its way through the cemetery, launching something heavy against the bedroom window. I jolted with a start, turning my head in the direction of the sound. Stormy didn't stir from her sleep.

With an aggravated groan, I tossed the covers off aggressively, then settled with a deep breath and reminded myself to not wake her. If I wasn't allowed a good night’s rest, that didn't mean she had to suffer with me.

Taking more care now, I slipped out from beneath her arm and climbed out of bed. The floorboards groaned under my feet, adding a bit of agony to the quiet night. A gust of wind replied, and I turned to the window with a look of unease and suspicion.

It's just the wind, I reminded myself, feeling like a child. But the worrying in my gut wasn't so sure about that.

I stared at the heavy blinds covering the glass pane for a moment. Temptation to pull them aside itched at my fingers so I could see what was out there, staring in from the other side.

But do you really want to know?

No, I decided. I didn't, and I turned deliberately from the blinds until I faced the door.

I walked slowly over the floor, wincing with every step and hoping the whining planks of wood wouldn't wake Stormy. The door had been left ajar before we slept, allowing a soft light to now stream in from the hall.

My life up to this point had been a compilation of terrible memories, many that would've kept even the strongest man up at night to escape the nightmares, and I had never pretended to be a strong man. And now, standing just inside my bedroom, about to step into a dimly lit hallway, all I could think about was the night the floorboards creaked outside my bedroom door, and I had—thank Christ—grabbed the knife from inside my nightstand drawer.

I don’t have a knife now.

You're fine, my mind told the rest of me, and even though I huffed a quiet laugh at the absurdity of my imagination, I wasn't sure I believed it.

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