Page 11 of Better Watch Out

Or I would, if Fletcher wasn’t suddenly standingrightover me, his knees bracketing my shoulders. I jerk my head back to look at him, hitting his thigh, and realize quickly how awkward of a position it puts me in.

He doesn’t stop me from scrambling to my feet, though, and when I turn to look for Boone once more, I find him leaning over the couch, giving Sitka the thorough kind of belly rub she loves most.

Traitor.But then again, I’ve known for her entire two years of life that she’s not at all a guard dog. There’s not a mean bonein her body and, as proven right here, even if someone breaks in to threaten my wellbeing, she’ll be on their side as long as the stranger gives her affection.

It’s a betrayal of the highest caliber, in my opinion.

“What are you two doing here?” I demand, backing toward the hallway in order to keep both of them in my sight at all times. Maybe it’s an overreaction on my part, but well…it’s not. I remember high schoolall too welland being locked in the damn shed.

“We were invited by your dad and our mom,” Fletcher reminds me. “To reconnect and make up with you. Remember?”

But I’m already shaking my head, not wanting to hear him. “I never agreed to coming back if you two were part of the deal. And stop petting my fucking dog, Boone!” I snap at him, only for him to look up balefully in my direction and keep doing exactly what he’s doing.

“Your dog loves me,” he points out, tapping his foot on the floor. Just like always, he has to be moving. Has to always be fidgeting or doing something. Unlike Fletcher, who can stand as still as a statue for hours if he wants. “So, no. Get fucked, Con. Also”—he straightens, moving to lean on the back of the couch, though he keeps one hand on Sitka just to prove a point—“It was pretty damn rude of you to drop our gift on the back patio. We don’t have extra copies of this shit.” With his free hand he digs into the pocket of his jacket, pulling out the pile of photos that had been in the small box on the deck.

My heart plummets at the sight of them, and suddenly I feel a bit nauseous. I hadn’t even thought about…that.

About what they mean.

“You didn’t…” I glance up at the two of them, eyes going from Fletcher, to Boone, then back again. “Why the hell do you have those, you freaks?”

Boone’s face falls, and I wince internally. “Wait, no. I didn’t mean that Boone. I was callinghima freak.” I point at Fletcher. “You can be a jackass.” I don’t hate them enough to use Boone’s childhood trauma against him, no matter the argument or fight.

“How aboutyoube an adult and stop name calling,” Fletcher retorts coolly. “You’re too old to act like?—”

“No. Absolutely not.Fuck you, Fletcher!” I round on him, hands clenched into shaking fists so hard my nails bite into my palms. “You don’t get to stand there and call me anything.Get out, both of you. Get the fuck out of here.”

They don’t move. But I hadn’t thought they would. Dad’s keys are still in my pocket, though, and I’m fine leaving without my phone if I have to. “Fine,” I sneer. “ThenI’llleave. Come on, Sitka.” She jumps over the couch with a woof and I walk toward the door, keeping Fletcher in my peripheral vision.

I expect it when he lunges, so I’m ready for it. I turn to shove him, surprising him enough that he stumbles and falls back into one of the recliners in the living room while I bark out a harsh laugh. “Stay there. You probably need the rest.” I know I shouldn’t be so cocky or so aggressive, but Ialsoknow that trying to appease them won’t get me anywhere either.

Turning again, however, I see I should’ve just bolted to the door instead, since now Boone is leaning against it, one brow raised as he meets my eyes levelly.

Fuck.

“Out of my way, Boone,” I snap, steeling myself and meeting his eyes. “I’m getting off this mountain and going home.”

“HowisIllinois this time of year? I’ve always wondered if you like the winters there more or not, snow bunny,” Boone replies, grinning like he knows he can get to me this way.

And yeah, he absolutely can. The frustration that goes through me only adds to my resolve as I stalk up to him, handsstill clenched into fists at my sides. “Last chance,” I spit. “Get out of my way, Boone.”

“Or what?” He’s so damn cocky all the time. “You can’t even say something that might hurt my feelings, so what are you going to do to make me—” He doesn’t get to finish. I rear back, just as his face registers what I’m doing and falls in shock. But he doesn’t have time to stop me. He might’ve, if he were expecting it.

But he never expected me to fight back.

My fist connects with his jaw and pain lances up my arm from the impact. I hiss and draw back as he staggers away from the door to clutch his face, as a few not-so-nice replies fall from his lips.

I resist the urge to literally kick him while he’s down and throw open the door to the front porch, hesitating only a little when I feel how cold it’s really gotten and see how much it’s snowing. But I don’t let that stop me. Iwon’tlet it stop me from getting away from them.

“Come on, Sitka!” I call again, knowing I only have a few seconds before Boone is up and pissed. My husky jogs out the door and past me, tail up like we’re playing some great and fun game. I see her slip on the second step, but my brain doesn’t really consider what that means as I all but run across the porch.

“Conor, wait!” I don’t look back at the sound of Fletcher’s warning. “It’s icy?—”

I hit the ice on the second step on the ball of my foot just as my brain puts the clues of the situation together.

Sitka had slipped.

On ice.

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