“I know. I’m just one of the lucky ones, Ara, but the same could be said about you.”
“What’d you mean?”
“You have a real sense of what danger is now. I know that’s a pitiful consolation, but at the same time, you’re seventeen and you have an understanding about life that no other kids your age could. Cars are dangerous and people are blasé about that power. I’ve seen enough accidents in my time on the Force to know how little people value the power of these metal machines.”
The car slowed as Mike flicked on the indicator and changed gears; muscle by muscle, my legs unclenched, and as we rolled at less than half the recommended speed limit, Mike turned his head and smiled at me warmly—ignoring the honking horns from behind us.
“Thanks, Mike.”
“Anytime.”
When we pulled up in the driveway at home, the engine going quiet, a finger appeared in my peripheral. “Might wanna tie that up so you don’t trip,” Mike said.
“Uh, crud.” I bent over my legs and twisted my lace into a bow, then looked up as the door popped open.
“Thanks,” I said, unbuckling my seatbelt and jumping out. As the door closed after me, the look on Mike’s face became apparent. “What?”
“You didn’t yell at me for opening the door.”
“Oh.” I looked at the car, then shrugged. “Guess I didn’t.”
“I like this new, grown-up you.”
Deliberately scanning his broad shoulders, his proud, tall stance and school-boy grin, I said, “And I like this new, hot-guy you.”
“You think I’m hot?”
“Don’t flatter yourself. I was joking.”
He faked a pout and we walked up the fixed previously-broken porch step.
“After you, my lady.” He bowed, opening the door for me.
“Thank you, kind sir.” I ducked through.
“You are more than welcome, my pretty friend.”
“Hey there,” Dad said as he came down the stairs.
“Hi, Dad.”
“Did you have a good day?”
I looked at Mike, then back at Dad. “Actually, yeah.”
“Good. That’s good,” Dad said.
“Well, I’m going to unpack the car. I’ll see you upstairs for a movie?” Mike looked at me.
“Yeah, sure.” He walked away, and Dad’s gaze seeped into my skin. “What, Dad?” I asked with a smile.
He leaned in, kissed my cheek and said, “I’m just happy to see you happy again.” Then, he followed Mike into the kitchen, leaving me alone in the wake of his odd suggestion.
I was glad he’d fallen for the illusion that I was happy; he needed it—needed to relax a little and not worry so much that I was suicidal. And even though, right now, I could feel a small sliver of happiness, as I looked up to the coming night through the small window above the front door, I knew that feeling was fleeting.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
It might’ve been a dream, but it was as close as I’d been to him in two days; I rolled over in bed and flipped my pillow to the dry side, wiping the moist layer of ageing tears from my cheeks.
Outside, the thunder rolled again; it’d been that way all night. Bad weather was brewing, but it hadn’t the strength to burst out and become a storm. I didn’t mind the thunder tonight, though, because I understood its pain—how it felt as though it just couldn’t get free—to be where it was supposed to be. It was trapped, caged in by the wrong conditions.
I rolled over and watched the numbers change on my alarm clock, the gentle green glow reminding me of David’s eyes. But each time I’d fallen asleep tonight and opened my eyes after twenty minutes to see that glow, it only made me feel hollowed out, reminding me how his eyes looked in the dream I just woke from; he was scared, running—trying to get away from something. Maybe from me. Maybe from the Set. I didn’t know. All I knew was that he wasn’t here and he never said goodbye. What if he’d been arrested for hanging out with a human? What if they’d read my History paper and were torturing him right now?
I sat up, clutching my pillow, my heart racing.
“Hey, you’re up,” Mike whispered softly, pushing my door open a crack. “You ready to leave?”
“What, you wanna go now?”
“Yeah, it’s a long drive.”
“You never mentioned leaving this early.”
“I know.” He grinned, opening my door fully. “I planned to wake you—figured I’d save my ears from all the whining last night about getting up early.”
“What makes you think I’d have whined?”
Mike just raised his brows, rolling his head down a little.
“Oh, fine.” I jumped out of bed. “I’ll get my bag.”
“Might wanna put some clothes on, too.” He nodded to my pyjamas and closed the door.
I threw on my bikini, shorts and a shirt, then slipped into my flip-flops and met Mike at the car—dragging my feet the whole way.
We stopped off to grab an egg muffin from Macca’s, then took to the highway, leaving this sleepy little town behind for the day. As the sun peeked out from the eastern hills, I rested my head on the window and tried not to fall asleep. “So, why are we going to a beach four hours away?”
“Because.” Mike shrugged, tossing his coffee cup into the brown paper bag our food came in. “I liked the pictures.”
“Fair enough, I suppose,” I said, then reached for the dial on the stereo. “I wanna play that one again.”
“You liked that?” Mike put his window up as he spoke, and my cheeks tingled where my hair had been whipping my face.
“Yeah. I mean, it’s a little morbid—for my tastes, but—”
“Hey. There’s nothing morbid about Metallica.”
“There is about that one.”
“It’s one song out of how many?”
I stared up at him, not one ounce of care showing in my expression.
“Fine. I’ll play it again. But no more knocking the music,” he warned with a joking air to his tone.
We arrived at the beach just as the Sunday sun woke the rest of the world. Mike parked Dad’s car in the only empty space left near the boardwalk and wandered casually around to open my door.
“Your Majesty.” He bowed, offering his hand.
“Merci,” I replied politely, returning the bow.
“Ah, so the boyfriend finally got you speaking French, too, huh?”