Page 16

Veva is exhausted.

I know she won’t tell anyone, but it’s written all over her face, in the slump of her shoulders, the way her hands have been shaking since the first time she cast with Claire at the pack hall.

She was quiet the entire road home, looking like she was trying desperately to keep herself from falling asleep in the passenger seat.

Several times, I swear I caught her head bobbing forward, like it might just tuck into her chest, send her to sleep. And I was rooting for it—willing her to rest for a moment. Allow herself to relax in my presence.

We’re back at home now, and I’m in the bathroom, taking a quick shower, not wanting to have the girls out of my sight for too long. Part of me wishes I could bring them in here with me like puppies, have them just on the other side of the curtain so I can check on them, make sure they’re okay.

Every second spent with the door shut feels like another opportunity for something to go wrong. I know Veva has been casting protective spells on the house—mostly concentrated on the guest room—but it doesn’t feel like enough. Especially when she doesn’t have her full strength back.

After scrubbing and lathering, rinsing and drying myself off, I quickly throw on a pair of sweats and a soft shirt, then walk back downstairs, my feet thudding gently against the carpet on the stairs.

The sun slants in through the windows, a deep orange indicating the end of the day.

Distantly, I can hear the twinkle of the neighbor’s wind chimes.

Smells float in through the open window—the chlorine of a neighbor’s pool, flowers blooming at the end of the street, someone grilling up meat on their back patio.

The smell of summer, diffusing right into this room, taking me back to every summer I spent as a kid, showering after a long day fishing or hunting.

I’m surprised to find Veva and Sarina sitting in the living room, talking on the couch, their voices hushed. When Sarina laughs, Veva does, too leaning in and putting her hand on her daughter’s arm. Sarina, as I’m learning she usually does, has a book tucked up under hers.

Sarina looks so small there on the couch beside her mother, who is small enough herself. Veva with her dark chocolate hair, her daughter with a shade so near mine that it makes my heart pang with familiarity.

For a second, I feel so much jealousy—so much yearning for something like what the two of them have—that I’m sick to my stomach.

Then it passes, and I just stand in the doorway, watching them for a second.

The way they chat so easily. How it’s clear that both love and respect pass between them, natural, effortless.

Based on the way Veva’s been acting, I thought they might go straight back into the guest room.

But here they are.

“Hey,” I say, and Veva sits up, straightening and pushing her hair over her shoulders.

She must have showered, too, because her dark hair is damp.

She’s wearing a green lounge wear set—it looks like Kira made it with Veva in mind.

The deep green complements her complexion, the cut of the fabric much simpler than the ruffles and scalloped edges Kira might use on something for herself.

Sarina is also wearing a set of what must be Kira-made clothing—except hers are a fleecy material, featuring several characters I don’t recognize.

When Veva’s eyes meet mine, there’s something new and strange there. I noticed it just after she came out of her mother’s house earlier. A sort of softening.

Specifically toward me.

I don’t understand it, but I’ll take it.

“Hey,” she says, then clears her throat. “So, Sarina and I usually have pizza on Fridays. We used to do it with…our neighbors. Watch a movie. We were wondering if you wanted to do it with us?”

The idea feels so foreign coming out of Veva’s mouth—an invitation to spend time with them—that it takes my brain several long moments to comprehend what she’s said.

Finally, I choke out, “Yeah. Of course. What—uh—let me grab the menu.”

I return to the living room a minute later with the pizza menu for a place down the street. I set it on the coffee table in front of them, then take a seat in the recliner, balancing my phone on my knee, ready to call and make the order.

“What kind of pizza do you like?” I ask Sarina, and she pulls the menu toward her, scanning it, thinking. Her hair falls forward, and the overhead light glints off it. I catch myself staring at it, lost in that familiar hue.

“I like to try new things,” she says, finally, raising her eyes to me and catching me off-guard. “What’s your favorite?”

I laugh, tapping my finger twice on the box that says signature pizza . “Well, my favorite from this place is the crab rangoon pizza, but your mom is allergic to shellfish, so that’s out.”

Sarina and I get absorbed in the flavors, discussing the merits of each of their odd combinations.

This town doesn’t have much in the way of a food scene or night life, but it does have a pizza parlor with strange options.

Finally, decide to go with a small buffalo chicken, a small Dill-iscious, and an order of cheesy garlic bread.

“Sound good to you?” When I look up at Veva to make sure she’ll try our selections, she’s already staring at me, something strange in her expression. It’s hard for me to read.

We order the pizza, and I turn on the TV, wondering about the last time I even powered the thing up.

Watching TV by yourself is too depressing—and before Sarina and Veva got here, I didn’t spend much time at home, let alone in front of the TV.

If I could help it, I’d be out doing something for the pack, or hunting, fishing, working in the garage.

Anything to keep my hands busy, mind busy.

Sarina picks a movie—some new Disney thing with giant-eyed characters and lots of singing. I surprise myself by laughing pretty frequently. There’s a little animal sidekick who keeps getting himself into situations, and it’s actually pretty entertaining.

We break when the pizza is delivered, and I go down to the end of the driveway to meet the guy, since Veva has been casting protective spells all up and down the sidewalk.

After sliding various pieces onto our plates and settling back into the couch, I realize, with a start, that Veva has changed sides, so she’s sitting next to me. The movie plays on, and we relax into each other.

When her thigh is fully pressed against mine, I lose all sense of the plot on screen.

Every neuron in my brain is focused only on the places we’re touching, from knee to hip, the two layers of pants keeping our skin apart.

Without warning, I remember her how we were as kids. How I could touch every part of her. How wholly and completely she trusted herself to my hands.

Always sneaking around—at her house when her mother wasn’t home, on that bed with the dingy pink comforter. I’d laid her out, marveled at the smoothness of her skin. At the way she touched me back greedily, hungrily, like she thought she might never get the chance again.

I remember each time she tried something new, weaving her fingers into my hair, tugging gently, apologizing breathlessly, then taking it back when I said I liked it.

Just before the big climactic scene, I feel Veva’s body relax, and her head drops down onto my shoulder. I hold my breath, afraid to move, afraid that she might wake up and remember how much she hates me.

I have to apologize to her, find a time to speak with her. But Sarina is always around, and even when she’s not, Veva has made it clear she wants nothing to do with me.

Or, at least, she’d made it clear. Before whatever happened today changed her mind, brought us to this moment right now.

When the movie is finished, I move as quietly as I can, shifting our plates to the side and propping my feet up on the coffee table.

Veva has shifted more onto me, one of her hands on my chest, and I have to concentrate to keep from running my hand over her hair, pulling her to me, holding her the way I used to.

Sarina is on the armchair, curled up, a blanket thrown over her. Using my phone, I turn off the lights in the living room, relax into the couch, and breathe deeply, inhaling Veva’s scent so I’m surrounded in it as I drift to sleep.