Page 16 of Better Watch Out

I don’t belong here.

Yet I still find myself traipsing up the trail again, my feet taking me on the same path I’d been just yesterday, before this trip had gone to shit.

Before I knew this would be the worst Christmas ever. Though the only thing that makes it worse than the winter I got frostbite is that particular episode had happened three daysafterChristmas.

Today it feels like the walk takes me a lot less time to navigate up to the overlook, even in the deep snow threatening to soak in over the tops of my boots, but I know that can’t be true. Especially with me having to slog through the snow, but my mind is racing fast enough to eat up the two or so miles in the bright midday sun that can’t even melt the top layer of snow, given that it’s pretty damn cold out here.

But Ilikethe cold.

Maybe I really am a born snow bunny, doomed to always come back to the mountains where I was born and somewhat raised. I’ve always preferred New York to Illinois, in terms of weather and location. But the idea of sharing a state with my stepbrothers has kept me away for ages. Just like it will again once the snow melts and the blizzards stop long enough for me to get a flight back.

I don’t pause once I’m at the top, and my legs burn a little less this time than last time. Instead, I walk straight over to the lean-to that’s only slightly protected from the heaps of snow around it, sitting down on the worn bench carved into the back.

It really is pretty here.

Everything up here is pretty, especially in the winter. Lake George is rough today, which is unsurprising, and with the sunout, it looks like the ground is covered in diamonds. Other than my footsteps, the snow is undisturbed. It’s peaceful.

It’sperfect.

Sitka zooms past me, disrupting the perfect smoothness of the white ground and sending powder spraying in her wake. I snort, shaking my head, but before I can start a one-sided conversation with my best friend, I hear snow crunching from behind the lean-to.

I don’t turn. I don’t really need to, since there are only two people I think it could be. My suspicions are proven correct when Fletcher sits down beside me on the bench, prompting me to slouch back against the wood behind me.

Neither of us says a word. He sits straight, his posture as proper as always, while I grind my heels in the snow and just look at the lake. “Where’s Boone?” I sigh finally. “I notice he’s not circling you like a sad puppy off his leash.”

“Around somewhere, I guess.” Fletcher doesn’t look at me when he speaks, and his voice is just loud enough to be heard. For the first time, I feel the cold, and I shudder, teeth chattering briefly. That finally gets Fletch’s attention and he surveys me with blue eyes as cold as the snow around us.

“You’re not used to this weather anymore,” he observes. “You used to be cold-proof when we were kids.” I open my mouth to say something but he holds up one gloved finger. “Don’t bring up the shed again, princess. There’s only so many times that it works in an argument, and we’ve apologized more than once.”

I roll my eyes at him. “You didn’t?—”

But I don’t expect him to turn, slamming his hand into the wall behind me with his face only inches from mine. “Yes, we did. That year and the year after. We’ve said sorry to you, but you just don’t want to hear it. Maybe, I don’t know…” He tilts his head to the side. “Maybe we just aren’t speaking the same language.”

All I can do is survey his face, completely unsure of how to respond as Fletcher invades my personal space so thoroughly we’re breathing the same air. I feel the puff of his breath on my lips, and when my eyes dip down to look at his full mouth, I know I’ve lost. Worse than that, Fletcher knows he’s won.

“Did you do it?” I murmur, voice soft and barely audible. “I mean did you really, actually kill those people?”

“Yeah, Conor.” He reaches up with his other hand, tucking my hair behind my ear and adjusting my beanie. “We killed those people last year.”

I expect myself to panic more. For the fear and the revulsion to knock me over. But instead, I just swallow it back, my feelings muted, somehow. Like it doesn’t bother me as much as it should. Somehow I take a breath, then another, before finally blinking and getting the courage to ask, “Why?”

“Oh, princess,” he coos with a sigh, a light smile touching his lips. “You’re not that good at putting together the pieces of the puzzle we made, are you? All this work we did, and you can’t tell it’s a Christmas miracle, just for you.” When I just stare at him he chuckles softly under his breath, and his breath ghosts against my lips again. “I’ll tell you when I don’t think it’ll scare you away,” he tells me at last. “Until then…”

Fletcher leans forward, hand shifting so he can once again wrap his fingers around my throat. He presses me back, until my shoulder blades hit the wood of the lean-to and all I can think about is how pretty his eyes are and how fucking good he smells.

He’s going to kiss me again. Hard or soft, I don’t know. Will he kiss me like he kisses Boone? Or will he have another brand of kisses, just for me?

And why am I going tolet him?

Knocking on the back of the lean-to makes me jump and Fletcher sits up with a sigh, rolling his pretty eyes. “What, Boone?” he asks levelly, never looking away from me.

“Sorry to interrupt the two of you in what I’m sure is a really hot soft-core scene and all but, uh…” I hear him kick snow against the wood. “We have company of the law enforcement variety. And you know I’m not so great with not saying stupid shit when it matters.”

CHAPTER NINE

Iexpect Fletcher to jerk back and get up, to dosomethingwith some sense of urgency involved when he and Boone have admitted to me they’re the people behind last year’s murders. But he doesn’t. He watches me, eyes falling to my lips before finally he gets up with a sigh, rolling his shoulders with a wince.

“Don’t do something stupid, Conor,” he murmurs without looking at me. “I’d hate to become known as the Christmas Killers or something.” The implication of his words sends a shiver down my spine, and he doesn’t give me a chance to reply before he’s moving, heading toward the overlook like that was his intention all along.

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