Her house was dark, and I wondered if it was because she wasn’t home or if it was because she was asleep.
I settled back in the seat, thinking I was acting like a crazy stalker and how my mother would kick my ass if she saw me now. I didn’t know what else to do. I couldn’t just sit around at home and wonder if she was okay, not after watching the news.
Her house was pretty nice looking. Not real big, but still a decent size. It was newer looking with vinyl siding and white trim around the windows. The driveway was gravel and led to a two-car garage. A set of concrete steps led up to a covered front entryway and a large porch light hung just above. It was on, which made me think she might be home. The front door was painted yellow, a welcoming sunny color.
Off to the right of the house was a wooded area. The perfect place for some crazy ass to hide. I was pretty sure that behind her house ran the Slate Heritage trail. The trail ran for thirty miles and was built on an old railroad. It was also the trail she was attacked on. It would lead Lex right to her door.
I knew then that I would be spending the night. I would rather feel like a stalker than hear about her murder on the news in the morning.
Besides, I was a lot of things. A stalker wasn’t one of them.
Outside, the wind beat against the ragtop of the Jeep, rattling the vinyl windows, but I didn’t mind the sound. It helped keep me awake. I was tired. I was operating on a couple hours of sleep, and the thorough workout I did mellowed out my body.
A little while later, a light clicked on in one of the windows of Honor’s house. I sat up a little straighter. Now I knew she was home. I watched the house, wondering what she was doing, waiting for the light to click off or another to click on. Neither happened.
The suspense of not knowing what was happening in there drove me insane. I debated for a while until I couldn’t debate anymore.
I was knocking. I was just gonna have to admit that I was out here. She would probably be mad. She would probably tell me to leave and then bolt the door.
But at least I would know she was safe.
Mind made up, I jumped out of the Jeep and jogged across the street. She had potted flowers lining the concrete steps. I paused at the front door, listening for any kind of sound. There was none.
I lifted my hand and knocked.
Several minutes ticked by. I didn’t knock again. I could almost feel her hovering on the other side of the wood. She was probably scared.
“Honor, it’s Nathan,” I yelled.
I heard a few locks unlatch and then the door opened a fraction, enough for one blue eye to peer out. Above her dark head was a sturdy-looking chain across the door. “Nathan?”
“Hey,” I replied. “I know it’s late. But I was worried—”
She slammed the door in my face.
I figured that meant she didn’t want to see me. As I turned to walk away, I heard the chain on the door being slid free. I turned back.
The door opened.
Honor launched herself out of the house and into my arms.
“Hey,” I said, catching her against me, trying not to squeeze her too hard around the chest. “What’s the matter? Are you okay?”
She nodded against me but said nothing. Her feet were bare against the cold concrete of the porch. I lifted her up and went inside, pushing the door shut behind us. I took a moment to throw a couple of the locks before turning back to her. I chose not to acknowledge the knife clutched in her hand. But later we were going to have a talk about proper weapons.
She was wearing an oversized gray T-shirt and a pair of skintight black leggings. Her dark hair fell around her shoulders and cascaded down the center of her back. She still wore a bandage on her hand and some of the swelling around her eye had gone down.
“Are you okay?” I asked again.
“Yeah.”
“What are you doing up? It’s late?”
“I couldn’t sleep.” Her eyes met mine. I knew the look that swam in their depths.
I ran the pad of my finger over the dark smudge beneath her eye that wasn’t swollen. “Bad dreams?”
She nodded again.
“You should have gone home with your mother,” I said sternly.
“I’m making pie.”
I couldn’t really be mad about the change of subject. I mean, she was talking about pie. “You’re making pie?”
“Apple. Wanna help?”
“Do cows have tails?”
She giggled and started up the steps that led into the living room and kitchen. I left my shoes down by the door and followed behind her.
I would have followed even if she didn’t have pie.
25
Honor
The relief that flowed through my veins when Nathan called out from the other side of the door wasn’t surprising. Considering the fact that I thought it was Lex, anyone would have made me weak with relief.
Except that isn’t why I was relieved.
I wanted to see Nathan. Even through the silence of my thoughts, the taunting of the memories, and the nightmares of my dreams, there was one constant.
Him.
It was his image that I clung to when I finally fell asleep. And it was him that pulled me into the kitchen to bake a pie when I was feeling sort of lost.
And now he was here—standing in my kitchen, staring at me like I might up and disappear. I wanted to tell him I wouldn’t go anywhere without him. But that was stupid. I was a grown woman. I was independent. I was holding a knife, dammit.
He didn’t ask me why I was baking a pie. In fact, he seemed thrilled. It made me smile. This guy loved his pie. I looked at him, feeling my heart accelerate just a little as I remembered how close we’d come to kissing earlier.
What a sharp disappointment that had been. My lips practically ached to touch his. Looking at him now only made that ache deeper, made it reach all the way down into the deepest places inside me.
He was wearing a pair of dark-grey Nike sweatpants. They were a little big so they dipped incredibly low on his hips. The drawstring wasn’t tied and the white ends trailed down, peeking from beneath the white shirt that clung to his body. I wondered what he would do if I grabbed hold of those strings, if I gave them a tug. Would he follow? Would he press me up against the counter and kiss me senseless?
He still hadn’t shaved so the bottom half of his face was shadowed and prickly looking. He looked tired around his eyes and I wondered how much sleep he really got the night before.
Maybe I should’ve asked him what he was doing here in the middle of the night, but I didn’t really care. I trusted him; I knew him. No, I guess I didn’t know him, not in a traditional sense. I didn’t know his favorite movie. I didn’t know about his hobbies, his past, or his job.