Page 49 of The Second Deal

Hegrins.Oneof his teeth glints a little. “I’mdrunk, remember?”

Iglare at him for a solid moment until he starts giggling.Ismack his shoulder with my good arm. “YouthinkKrisis wearing a chancla on her talonsIcan borrow to hit you with?Iam so fucking sick of youRamostwins already.Fuck.”

Zakchuckles still, sipping and gazing at me with amusement lighting up his honey brown eyes. “Ay, mamas.Imight like that.”

Itry to bite back uncomfortable laughter, but it slips.

Despitela lechuza—KrisfreakingRamos-Dempsterthe owl-witch man-eater, herself—scratching at the door and forcing me to spend the night with my ex-boyfriend who supposedly made a deal with the devil to live after being attacked by a vampire baby… this feels normal.

Sharingan awkward, flirtatious laugh withZakis remarkably normal and deliciously familiar.

Zakhands me the glass with a drunken simper. “Drinkup.Yourex is about to feel you up under the guise of limpia.”

Ichoke. “Don’tyoueversay that combination of words ever again.”Iadd under my breath, “Betyou won’t be limp after it, either.”

ThatsendsZakreeling, snorting and bent over laughing.

Thefaint sound of an egg cracking makes him gasp. “Oh, shit,” he cackles, looking stupefied at the egg covering his hand and the counter.

Theyolk falls to the floor, landing the same time thunder claps.

Guffawing,Inudge him aside and reach for paper towels. “It’sbedtime, drunk ass.I’mnot letting you baptize me in egg yolk.”

Zakdoesn’t argue, only washes his hands.WhenIturn around after tossing spoiled paper towels,Ifind him watching me intently, the same way he would during a practice or jam session when we were coming up with something new. “Whatwas it like bein’ back on stage?”

Myexpression slowly falls, and nostalgia smothers my chest.Ittakes a moment, butIsay in a soft murmur, “Imissed it so fucking much.”

Idon’t have to look to know he’s smirking.

“It’sdifferent without you up there.”

Thebottle ofCrownon the counter is far too enticing as he echoes his twin’s sentiments.

Herubs his bearded chin. “Itreally hasn’t been the same since you left.”

Ireally don’t want to talk about this.And, yet, just like earlier today,Ican’t help but spill my fucking guts toZak.

“Ihaven’t even picked up a guitar since thatNYBconcert.Ihaven’t played guitar in so long, and—” my fingers flex, balling up and stretching out in front of me, “—somehow, these damn things remember every single note.LikeIwent on an extra-long vacation and just needed a little warm up to get back into it.”

Thetense silence returns, descending into the kitchen between us like a suffocating fog.It’slike this fucking night won’t come to an end.

“Why’dyou completely give up music?” he asks. “Itdoesn’t make sense for you to give it up.”

Igrimace, my stomach churning.Inever wanted to admit this to anyone, butZak’salways had a way of pulling things out of me.Itwasn’t untilIwas hundreds of miles away and deleted his number and socials thatIcould finally cut myself off from telling him everything.

“Playingoutside ofTimelessdidn’t make sense to me,”Iadmit. “Idon’t care how good of a guitaristIam.OutsideofTimeless, guitar doesn’t make sense to me.Musicdoesn’t make sense.”Myheart sinks deep in my chest, threatening to plummet into my stomach. “Nothingreally made sense afterIleft.”

“Yeah,” he murmurs softly. “Iget that.”

Abovethe rain, a distincttap, tap, tapagainst glass behind me sends ice knifing straight into my spine.Myentire body seizes.

Istart to turn, butZakgrabs me and forces my face into his chest.

“Don’tlook,” he murmurs into my hair. “Goto the back of the house and don’t look outside.I’llhandle this.”

“Areyou sure?”Iwhisper. “You’restill drunk.”

Thetapping becomes louder, more pronounced.

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