Page 30 of Soul So Dark
It’s not a lie, per se, it just happened this morning instead of right now. But they also don’t question me whenever I utter Luca’s name. Probably because they know I’ll never say his name unless absolutely necessary.
“Did he hear you’re shipping out and decide to go thrifting?” Aiden quips as he saunters over to the sofa.
I crack a smile at his perpetual saltiness regarding my post-graduation plans. I should probably start emptying my room anyway, either selling stuff or bringing anything of value over to Aiden’s for safe-keeping. There’s still stuff Luca could steal, but I’ve hidden the irreplaceable things—the ones that are left, anyway.
“I’ll go see what happened and come back if I can,” I say, swinging my arm out above Colson.
He catches my hand and I lean over the back of the couch to wrap my arms around his shoulders.
“Go beat some ass if you have to,” he says, giving my arm a squeeze.
Less than a minute later, I’m climbing into my SUV parked in the turnaround in front of Aiden’s house. I thought the three of them would put up more of a fight, but I did make it seem like Luca’s the reason I had to leave, and none of them want to delve too deep into that dumpster fire. I’m still not sure what exactly I’m going to do, though. The Lutz’s house might be empty except for Dallas, but eventually Scott and Christy will come home. And, more importantly, Colson might come home.
There’s a pull-off about a hundred yards past the Lutz’s house that leads to an access road in the woods behind the water tower. No one’s ever there, and it’s mostly hidden by honeysuckles. I park my SUV next to the thick brush and walk along the road until I can cut across their vast lawn that leads up the hill to their house. The driveway is still empty, so I just stroll up to the front porch and ring the doorbell.
I hear a couple heavy steps and then softer ones as they cross the hardwood. The bright yellow door opens and Dallas appears, peering out from behind it apprehensively.
“Hi,” she says softly and then moves to the side to open the door wider.
“Hey,” I step into the entryway, “what’s going on?”
Dallas shuts the door and locks it before motioning to me. I follow her across the living room and up the stairs, making my way through the dark hallway to her room, which is a blinding shade of Pepto Bismol pink. She shuts the door behind me and locks it, too, before turning around. And when she does, she looks like she doesn’t know where to begin.
“I didn’t know you wear glasses,” she suddenly says, eyeing mine, which also happen to be a similar style of thick black frames.
“You probably just weren’t paying attention,” I smile, throwing her own words from the other day back at her.
Dallas lets out a faint laugh and takes a seat on the edge of the bed. She looks tiny on the cloud-like comforter that pops against the rest of the room. I tilt my head, studying her face as her eyes dart back and forth between me and random places across the wall.
“Dallas,” I say, trying to get her attention, “what’s wrong?”
Still not responding, she looks down and starts wringing her hands in her lap. After a few seconds, I decide we’re not getting anywhere and change my approach. I kneel down in front of her and clasp my hands over hers so she stops fidgeting.
“Tell me,” I say softly.
Dallas eyes me apprehensively. “Colson’s such adick,” she scowls.
I press my mouth together in a desperate attempt to stifle a laugh.That’s an understatement…
“What’d he do now?” I ask, releasing her and resting my hands on her knees.
She shifts her gaze to the side. “He came in here, shoved his phone in my face, and tried to tell me that the guy he got in the fight with at Evie’s funeral is the one who killed her,” her chin starts trembling, “and then he said that he’s going to come after me, too.”
Shit.
Leave it to Colson to say whatever he wants, whenever he wants, with zero tact whatsoever. Even if he’s right, this is hardly the way to deal with the situation, by terrifying his other sister who has no idea what the hell he’s talking about.
“Sorry,” Dallas creaks out, reaching up to wipe a tear from beneath her glasses.
“It’s fine, Dal,” I smile, “stop apologizing to me for having feelings.” Then I give her knees a jiggle before standing back up.
To my surprise, she returns a faint smile. “Evie calls me that, too.”
“Good,” I keep talking, just like in the cafeteria stairwell, “then maybe you can just go back to acting like you usually do when I see you in this house—so busy with your phone and your music that you can’t be bothered to acknowledge anyone.”
Her jaw drops with offense. “That’s not what I do!”
“No?” I ask. “You didn’t even know I wear glasses.” Then I turn and start meandering around the room, examining the items on her shelves. “Mostly at night, though—” I cast her a glance over my shoulder, “chronic dry-eye.” When I get to the giant flat screen mounted on her wall, I nod at the gaming consoles flanking the left side. “What are you playing right now?”
