Page 14 of Hell Gate

Yet I go with him, because I’m a glutton for punishing myself with the things I’ll never have. Has it come to this? My desperation for any scrap of attention someone’s willing to throw my way is so bad, I’ll go along with a cute boy—one that was mean to me—just for a moment ofwhat if. Whatever, I have to, anyway. Talbot House is that direction.

He ducks into the record shop and I hesitate on the threshold before following, expecting him to flip the switch and be a dick again any second. At least with the other two it’s easy to hate them—with him, his open flirtatiousness with a dash of golden retriever energy throws me off from how he acted in the graveyard. I watch him carefully, waiting for the switch to flip back to asshole mode.

“Does anyone even listen to records anymore?” I trail after him, tapping my fingertips on the cardboard sleeves while he eagerly thumbs through a punk rock section.

“If they don’t, they’re idiots. Vinyl is the superior medium.” He picks one, flipping it over to scan the back. His broad grin steals my breath. “It produces the best sound. Here. Like this.”

He captures my wrist and tugs me to an old school record player set up with headphones. The side of his full lips curls up and he flashes me an impish glance, disheveled blond hair covering one of his eyes as he sets up the record. When he puts the headphones on for me, his gold eyes bounce between mine, nimble fingers moving through my hair. I’m trapped in his stare while the record starts, my pulse thrumming.

The song he picked is about a pair of runaways looking for something to make them feel alive. His grin grows while I listen, eagerly watching my reaction.

“See? It’s unbeatable. The lyrics, the melody, it all sounds better and makes you want to hit the road.” He brushes his fingers over my chest, and I let him, not pulling back when I’d usually jerk out of reach. “It resonates here.”

I push the headphones off, skin still tingling from the contact. “Or I could just listen to as many songs as I want on my phone instead of keeping this cumbersome stuff.”

He mutters something about MP3 players until I take my phone out. The thing is ancient, the touchscreen cracked, but it works. I don’t get a data plan, so any public wifi is a blessing. After three days here, I’ve learned that this town barely understands what wifi is.

My phone catches his attention and he grabs it from me, ignoring my miffed protest. He turns it back and forth, tapping the apps and making a delighted noise with each one he opens. I slide my lips together, fighting off the thought that he’s kind of adorable. Each one of those excited sounds causes something to unfurl in my chest.

“These things have come far. Last time I was here, they folded in half.”

Clearing my throat, I raise a brow at the strange remark and snatch it back. “Well, everything about this place seems stuck in the past. There’s nothing to do, the wifi is nonexistent and—” I squash the expanding sensation in my chest and give him an unimpressed glance. “—the people are pretty shitty. Basically, it blows here.”

“Welcome to Brim Hills, lost girl.” Matthias chuckles darkly, swiping his tongue along his lip. I don’t know why I thought it was split before. It seems normal now.

My eyes narrow as he returns to flipping through the bins of records in the musty shop. “Why the hell do you keep calling me that? You and your buddies each decide on a nickname to keep hazing me with?”

He shrugs lazily. “Dunno. You feel lost.”

It hits too close to home, leaving me unsettled. I worry my lip with my teeth and back away. I should go, but each time I take a step toward the door an odd instinct stops me, pulling me back.

There’s something about him that makes me think he would understand what it’s like to feel so lost all the time. I don’t know why, but watching the way he lights up at little things like finding a record by a band he likes makes me want to know more.

Toying with the edge of a record sleeve, I grapple with the urge to drop my guard, to give up something about myself. When I do that, I leave myself raw and vulnerable, and every time I end up hurt. It’s why I’ve learned to keep my walls up and dull myself for self preservation.

The minute I start to respond, Matthias stiffens with a frown. Setting his jaw, he shoots a glare through the window of the shop. I don’t see anything on the street to put him in a mood.

He nods curtly. “Fine.” With a tetchy sigh, he abandons the records he picked out and heads for the door. “Sorry to cut this short.”

The corners of my mouth tighten, holding in what I was going to say. There’s the flipped switch. It comes every time without fail.

I follow him out. “Yeah.” My voice is back to being flat. “I have to go, too.”

“See you soon, lost girl. I wish…” The smile he gives me this time is tinged with a hint of regret. He laughs, shaking his head. “Nah. Never mind. It’s a shame it’s not meant to be. Alder would maim me. And then Vale would finish me off.”

A beat up truck rolls by with its sad excuse for a muffler rumbling. I watch it chug down the road, gathering my courage. It’s the first time in so long I’ve wanted to keep a conversation going. I open my mouth to ask what he means, but just like his broody partner in crime, he gives me the slip by the time I turn around.

This time it leaves an empty feeling hollowing out my chest and a burning sensation in my stomach. Always left behind. Always unwanted.

Not meant to be, like he said. At least the others are upfront with being shitty. He’s more dangerous because he made me think for a second that I could actually let my guard down. He’s still toying with me, the prank in the cemetery not enough to entertain him. Fuck them all. And double fuck him.

I blink away the tears that blur my vision, bitter hatred reigniting not just for Matthias, but for everything and everyone that’s ever come and gone in my life.

The walk back feels twice as long, everything less vibrant than this morning—the autumn leaves on the sycamore trees, the red paint on the covered bridge, the satisfaction of finding the answers I wanted.

The entire way it feels like someone—something—watches me.

CHAPTERSIX

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