Page 3 of Better Watch Out

And the room isn’t empty when I remember it. Instead, the two of them are on Fletcher’s bed, with Fletcher on the bench with his back pressed to the glass and Boone in his lap, lips wrapped around Fletcher’s cock.

All I’d been able to do was stand in this exact place, unable to move or deliver the message from our parents who’d been in town.

But fuck, that hadn’t even been the worst part. I groan and cover my eyes as I remember, feeling my embarrassment staining my cheeks as I remember theexactway Fletcher looked up at me, a slow, lazy smile curling over his full lips.

“Are you just going to stand there, Conor?” he’d purred. “Because this isn’t a free show, babe.”I remember stumbling over an answer, trying to tell them what their mom wanted me to relay to them. And I remember the way Boone sat up and looked at me, dark eyes wolfish as he’d wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and bared his teeth in a feral grin.

I open my eyes and step back, nearly tripping over Sitka with a yelp, and it’s enough to drag me out of my head and back into the present. She barks at me, wagging her fluffy tail, and I groan as I head back to the stairs. “You’re right,” I agree. “It’s not worth it to live in the past. Especially since I never intend to see them again. Well…” I glance at her as we walk down the stairs, thoughtful.

“That’s not true. I’ll be sitting in the front row at their funerals.”

CHAPTER TWO

Parking my dad’s car in the lot near the small store outside of Bolton’s Landing that doubles as a diner and gas station reminds me why I’d never been brave enough to drive here back after I got my license. While no one else in the family except Boone had ever had an issue with the snow and ice, I’d always felt like driving here was suicidal.

Especially the mountain roads.

“Wow. Okay.” I sigh heavily and settle back in the driver’s seat, leaning my head against it with a groan. “That was awful. We’re having stuff delivered for the rest of…however long we’re here.” My tone is dry on the last part as I turn to look at Sitka, who certainly doesn’t mind the fact that according to every airline I’ve looked at, we’re stuck here.

For a week.

A week atleast, apparently, since the storms are supposed to continue from tonight until Christmas. But I’m sure if my husky could talk, she’d inform me this is the Best Day Ever. Especially since there’s definitely going to be snow for her to bury herself in after tonight.

Lightly kicking open the door, I get out with a huff, my boots crunching on the gravel. Surprisingly, the cold hasn’t startedbothering me like I thought it would after living in Illinois for so many years now. Maybe I’m just hot-blooded, and the snowy, long winters of the Adirondack Mountain area is where my body likes to call home.

In which case, I have bad news for my body, because we arenotstaying here longer than we have to. The longer we do, the more likely it is for something to show up. Like weird neighbors, a bear, a moose…

Or my stepbrothers.

My only relief—the one thing I can count on—is that like our parents, they can’t get here, either. Not with the storms coming so most of the roads are going to be impassable after tonight. They’d have toalreadybe here to show up, and unless they’re hiding in the shed or the cellar, they certainly aren’t here. Thank God.

Sitka hops out beside me and I thank the joy of small towns that everywhere here is dog friendly. Whether they legally should be or not. I clearly remember my step-mom taking her little teacup Yorkie in here with her whenever she ran into town for supplies. And clearly, a two-year-old bouncing husky is exactly the same as a Yorkie…probably.

Well, I figure as long as she doesn’t murder anyone or destroy any merchandise, no one will really care. Her leash is in my pocket, but I have enough faith in her that I don’t think I’ll have to use it. Somehow, I’d lucked out and gotten a trainable husky who picked up obedience training and the rule of not leaving my radius really fast.

I like to think it’s because I saved her from the shelter, and not because I’m just a pushover who’s a convenient source of food.

Whistling, I open the door, walking in and letting the glass close behind me as Sitka falls into place, trotting at my side. My social anxiety takes that moment to wake up, and my skin tingleswith the idea of the owner getting mad at me for bringing Sitka into somewhere she isn’t welcome.

Though when I glance at the cash register and see the large smile break out over the old man’s face as he comes around and holds his hands out in welcome, I’m able to let out a breath and remind myself the world isn’t ending.

“Gorgeous dog,” he murmurs, somehow beaming wider when Sitka gets my permission to go over and greet him. She sniffs his hands, then licks his fingers, her tail wiggling in a furry arc over her back. By the time he’s scratching her ears, she’s dancing in place, front paws lifting alternately in happiness. “Purebred? What’s her name?”

“Ithinkshe’s purebred. Or maybe mixed with malamute, if anything? I got her from the shelter and her name is Sitka.” A small smile twitches at my lips, and I scoop the handles of an old, blue plastic basket over my arm, hands in my pockets as I shiver in my hoodie.

The owner, who I vaguely remember from when I was a kid, looks up and studies my face, finally getting to his feet. “You need a real coat up here, miss,” he informs me with a friendly smile. “And gloves. Don’t I recognize you?”

“Uh, yeah.” God, this is one thing I’d been worried about. The town is small enough that everyone knows everyone, and we were here enough that most people around here grew to know my family. “I used to come here all the time with my dad and my step-mom. My dad’s name is Anthony Maxwell,” I offer, trying to look innocuously amiable instead of cold and nervous.

“Oh! Of course! He was supposed to be here this year too, right? He and Cheryl always spend Christmas up here with their two boys. But it’s been a while since I’ve seen you. Nice to have you back. Your dad and mom back up at the house?” he asks, going to the counter and getting a small dog treat from behindit. With a nod from me he gives it to Sitka, who crunches it in seconds like the trash disposal she is.

“Step-mom,” I correct automatically. “And no, unfortunately. Their flight got canceled because of the snow storms starting tonight. So I’m actually here by myself for the next week or so.”

“That’s no good.” He shakes his head. “We’ll have to get you stocked up for Christmas. And you’ll have to come down on Christmas eve. We’re havin’ a little party at the diner for all the locals. Especially anyone who isn’t really celebrating the holidays. You’ll come, right?” he asks, as I try to place his name. IknowI’ve heard it before, because I remember this man talking to me back when I was much shorter and he was less bald.

George, maybe?

Or Harry.

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