Page 12 of Better Watch Out

The same ice Fletcher is trying to warn me about.

I have a very brief moment of the world turning upside down and feeling that uncomfortable, disconcerting jerk in my stomach before my head cracks against one of the pillarssupporting the overhanging roof and everything immediately goes black.

CHAPTER SEVEN

My head aching is the first thing I notice when I wake up. Even before I remember where I am or bother to open my eyes. It’s not as bad as it could be, but the back of my head throbs along with my heartbeat, like the two of them are somehow working in tandem.

A groan leaves me, and I hear shifting around me along with a low, frustrated huff. “Well this wouldn’t have happened if you’d just listened,” I hear Boone mutter, just as he lifts my head to rest it on a cool ice pack. “Dumbass.”

“God. You’re still here?” I mutter, opening my eyes just enough to glare up at my stepbrother. “Do youhaveto be? Haven’t you gotten what you wanted out of this?” As I search his face, I’m hit with a small pang of satisfaction at the darkening bruise on his jaw from where I hit him.

Good for me.

He must see the look on my face, because he snorts and lightly rubs his fingers over the bruise, wincing a little as he does. “Yeah, you got me good, snow bunny,” Boone tells me almost sweetly. “But you got yourself even better.”

He’s right, and I groan, closing my eyes and turning my face away from him until my nose hits the back of the couch. “Where’s your asshole brother?”

“In the kitchen putting up groceries.”

“And you didn’t take me to, you know,a hospital? Pretty sure that’s what you’re supposed to do when someone gets knocked out. In case of a concussion or whatever. Not that you care, I’m sure, but?—”

“He’s an EMT, Con,” Fletcher cuts me off smoothly, and I don’t need to open my eyes to know he’s standing around where the wood floor meets the tile. “He checked you out to see if you needed to go. Would’ve sucked to have to drive in this weather, but we wouldn’t have let you bleed out or die of a brain bleed.” He sounds so fucking patient, like he’s talking to a five-year-old making an irrational argument instead of a twenty-four-year-old college graduate.

“That’s very productive of you, Boone,” I say at last, forcing my eyes open. It occurs to me that with the angle I can see him at, he’s sitting beside me on the couch.

That has me bolting upright, but the quick movement causes me to hunch forward, nausea going through me as I clutch my head and moan in severe displeasure. “Fuuuuck. This is so your fault.”

“Is it? And you should really just lie down.” Boone’s hands tug at my shoulders, but I only stiffen and pull away from him. Unfortunately for me, I’m woozy, unwell, and weaker than him. With a snort he easily drags me back down, my head in his lap this time.

“I’m surprised you didn’t tie me up or something equally as shitty. Like locking me in the shed,” I can’t help but gripe. “Since you were so fixated on not letting me leave.” Boone looks away from me, glancing at Fletcher with a raised brow.

I hear a sigh and footsteps, and when I turn my head slightly, I can see Fletcher standing over me with a cool, thoughtful look on his face. “You can leave if you want,” he tells me. “We’re not going to keep you here. That headache I’m sure you have might. But if you want to leave…” He rolls his shoulders in a shrug. “Let me help you to the door.”

That’s way too easy. Immediately I’m suspicious, but I don’t get to be. Not when Fletcher reaches down and pulls me to my feet amidst a muttered protest from Boone. My head spins and I stumble over my own feet, belatedly realizing I’m no longer wearing my shoes.

“Wait!” I gasp, grabbing onto Fletcher’s arms as he drags me toward the door. “I-I need my shoes and Sitka. Don’t—” He only smiles mockingly at me and reaches out to grab the door, yanking it open without a word.

When I turn to look, I instantly see the point he’s making. The snow outside is coming down horizontally, and I can’t see past the porch, whatsoever. Not to mention in the time I’ve been out, the ground has gone from having a few inches of coverage to having snow swallowing the first step of the porch.

All the footprints from earlier are gone, as is any evidence of my unfortunate slip and fall. I swallow hard, trying to find a way around what I’m seeing. Even if I were the best driver in the world, there’s no way in the world I’d feel comfortable or be able to get through this kind of blizzard.

“So, let’s try again. Would you like to leave, Conor?” Fletcher’s voice is soft in my ear, but that doesn’t make it friendly. “Unfortunately, I don’t think you can drive in this, and I’m not about to lend you my truck. You’d wreck it.”

“I hate you,” I murmur, looking down and refusing to meet his eyes that I canfeelburning into my temple. “You are quite literally the worst. Even worse than Boone, and I’m pretty sure that’s saying a lot.”

Fletcher only snorts and walks me back to the sofa, easily pushing me down until I’m sitting next to Boone and looking between them with a look of utter dislike on my face. “You know, I only came back with the promise that you two wouldn’t be here,” I mutter, rubbing my arms.

“We know,” Boone assures me, sticking his hand in front of my face, palm up. Two little pills rest there, and in his other hand he holds a bottle of chocolate milk. “It’s a little stronger than Aspirin, and it’ll make you drowsy, I’m sure. But it’ll ease up the headache you have.”

I don’t want to take them from him. I want to pick up Sitka in a fireman’s carry, kick my way out of the house, and levitate through the snow all the way back to Illinois.

But in lieu of that happening spontaneously, I hold up my hand so he can drop the pills into them. I don’t thank him, though. Not when he and Fletcher are the entire reason I’m like this in the first place. Quickly, I take the pills before curling my legs up under me, my eyes searching the room until they land on Sitka.

Who’s sleeping on a dog bed that definitely wasn’t there before. Two bowls sit on a mat near it, shiny and new and filled with food and water. “Where did all that come from?” I ask, wrapping my hands around the cool bottle between my palms.

“Fletcher picked some supplies from town before the storm got so bad,” Boone admits. “He got groceries and some extra blankets. I demanded all that. You seriously didn’t bring adog bedwith you, Con?” There’s something like disapproval in his voice, and I slowly turn to face him, eyes narrowed.

“She sleeps in my damn bed. And the bowls I brought with me were fine.”

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