Page 26 of My Three Rivals

Atticus snorted. “After his little trivia fact about plants this morning, I hope he’s not getting too attached to the place. He was talking about keeping the house when we got here, remember?”

I didn’t respond, but secretly, I was starting to see the appeal in the place that Maverick had noticed. It was falling apart and definitely needed an overhaul, but there was something old and comforting about it, like there was history buried in the walls. I’d never lived in a place for longer than a few months growing up, and certainly not one that boasted this much character. It was a home, not just a house. Good memories lived here, and I was beginning to have second thoughts about stomping on them.

We finished putting the food away, and I finally had a chance to make myself a proper sandwich, inhaling the meat, cheese, and veggie combo in five bites.

Tegan and Maverick arrived back at the house simultaneously, walking in the door together, but she abruptly pivoted and headed upstairs as he moved toward the kitchen.

“What’s she smirking about?” Maverick asked, noting the expression on her face.

“Maybe she’s going to kill us in our sleep,” I quipped.

“I would sincerely not be surprised,” Maverick replied, moving toward the counter to make his own sandwich.

The rest of the day was calm, quiet, almost too much so. My hyper-vigilance warned me about the calm before the storm, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary as the sun turned the world pink and orange, and the three of us again found ourselves outside, inhaling the sweet, country air.

“It smells different here than in the city,” Atticus commented.

“It’s the grapes,” Maverick offered.

“It’s the lack of pollution,” I countered as I nodded in agreement.

“And the grapes.”

I looked back toward the house, and Maverick spoke the words that were lingering at the back of my mind. “Should we call Tegan out here?”

Atticus snorted loudly. “Why? So she can ruin a perfectly idyllic evening? No. If she wants to stay upstairs and sulk like a child, let her do it.”

I said nothing, sipping on my beer, but that knot that had formed in my gut now became a tangled ball. Still, I couldn’t identify it.

The three of us remained outside all evening, drinking beers, and Atticus put some steaks on the barbecue. Like we had in college, we ate with plates on our laps and laughed raucously at stupid, irrelevant things, almost forgetting about real life under the crystal-clear July sky.

I headed off to bed first, and I was out almost as soon as my head hit the pillow, but when I dreamed, it was of Tegan. She lay on a bed of grapes, naked and writhing around, her dark hair fanning seductively as she ran a finger over the slit between her thighs.

“Come and take me, Wyatt. You know you want to,” she purred.

I pounced on her, but when I landed, Tegan had become her brother, Emerson.

Furious and repelled, I fell off. “You!” I spat, my words stuttering as I reverted to childhood, and I was suddenly a little boy, watching him from a place in the closet.

But Emerson was someone else now, his hands encircling my mother’s throat as she gasped for breath and mercy.

Abruptly, the attacker turned to me, his eyes shining, and he was Emerson again. “What are you going to do, Wyatt? Kill me, too?” he rasped.

I woke up in a cold sweat, my breaths uneven, hand curled around the worn bedsheets. The night sky had barely lightened to gray, showing that dawn was still some time away, but I wouldn’t be able to sleep again after that. It had been a long time since I’d had that nightmare in any variation.

Padding toward the bathroom, I located a towel from the stash that Atticus had brought on his last trip to the city and took a cold shower to fully shake off the dream, avoiding my reflection in the mirror when I emerged.

Hastily, I dressed, still unable to let the dream go.

* * *

Today, Tegan smirked at me fully from her spot on the porch when I exited the house, the sight of her again shocking me.

“Don’t you sleep?” I asked, in spite of myself.

She quirked a grin before she could stop herself but hid it. “How can I sleep with you assholes in my house?” she retorted.

I rolled my eyes and headed toward the site, but when I glanced back at her, she was watching me intently. There was something about the way she watched me that didn’t sit well.

---