Page 13 of Nightfall (Devil's Night #4)

He turned and pulled into the parking lot of the theme park, the whole place empty for the night. He stopped the truck, not really bothering to fit into any particular space, but he kept the engine running and turned down the radio.

I let my eyes trail around the deserted lot, the empty ticket booths and darkened rides looming beyond the entrance gates. One single overhead light shone on the parking lot.

I looked at him out of the corner of my eye as he leaned back in his seat, staring out the window as the weight of the silence made my heart skip a beat.

“Do you see the Ferris wheel?” he finally asked.

I followed his gaze, looking out my window and finding the Ferris wheel to the right, on the edge of the theme park.

“If you head past it,” he said, “about five-hundred yards east, you’ll come to Cold Point.”

Cold Point was a part of the cliffs that jutted out into the sea a little more than the rest of the coastline between here and Falcon’s Well. With the theme park in the way, it was nearly inaccessible now.

And for good reason, given its history.

“Do you know that story?” he asked me.

“Murder-suicide,” I muttered.

He was quiet, and then I heard his soft, “Maybe.”

I turned my eyes to him as he leaned his head on his hand and stared ahead.

“In 1954, Edward McClanahan was my age,” he told me. “Senior, basketball star, bit of a bad boy, but only where it counted…” He smiled, teasing me. “He was good to people. He showed up for people, you know?”

I didn’t know much about Edward McClanahan, other than the basketball team made an annual pilgrimage to his grave. I never really cared.

But I stayed quiet.

“That season was supposed to be their greatest,” he said. “They had the team, the coach, the years of training… They could anticipate each other’s moves, even their thoughts.” He met my eyes. “That’s what years of playing together had brought them to. They were a family. More than family. They were in perfect symbiosis.”

Like the Horsemen. Watching them sometimes, the other players didn’t exist. Michael, Kai, Damon, and Will were like the four limbs of a single body.

“And that rarely happens,” he continued. “They relied on each other and would do anything for each other, and they were going all-conference. Everyone was hyped for what was coming that season. The games, the parties, the celebrations…”

I wondered how true all of that was. He painted a nice picture, but we believe what it suits us to believe, and nothing more. Everything seemed better in hindsight.

He smiled. “Elvis had just hit the scene, everyone wanted a Chevy Bel Air, and “Sh-Boom” by the Crew-Cuts was the number one song in America.” His face fell a little, and he continued, “Homecoming Night, a girl from Falcon’s Well-one of our rivals-showed up at our high school dance. Alone and wearing a pink dress of lace and tulle. The twinkle lights above the dance floor glittered across her hair and bare shoulders as she walked in, and no one could take their eyes off her. She was so nervous, knowing she didn’t belong there.” He paused, turning his head and holding my eyes. “Feeling like a mouse in a snake pit. She kept holding her stomach like she was going to throw up or something. But she was pretty. So pretty. He couldn’t take his eyes off of her.”

McClanahan.

I looked off, past the Ferris wheel and toward Cold Point, seeing her in my head. The strapless pink dress that poofed out the way dresses in the fifties did, while young men wore suits.

“They say she came to cause trouble,” he told me, his soft, low voice drifting into my ear. “That the rival team sent her to sow discord. They say she taunted our whole team. Tried to get them to do things to her that night so she could play the victim the next day.”

Why was he telling me this?

“No one knows how they knew where to find the body, or if she even screamed, but she was found through the morning fog hours later, broken on the jagged rocks below,” he said, “her pink dress stained red and the waves plastering her hair to the stones as her dead eyes stared up at the cliff above. The last thing she saw was the person who pushed her.”

I tried to lick my lips, but my mouth was too dry.

“They say the team was going to have to forfeit the season under all the media scrutiny and investigation.” He drew in a long breath and exhaled. “They say all the guys who didn’t come from wealthy families were going to have to forego their hopes of athletic scholarships because of it. They wouldn’t go to college.” He paused. “They say the coach would have to be fired and move his family, the prospects of finding another job after such a scandal not high.”

I didn’t know all that. I listened as he went on.

“All I know is,” he sighed, “a week later, Edward McClanahan left a confession on his parents’ kitchen table and then followed her over the cliff. The last line of the confession read ‘We want what we want.’”

I turned my eyes on him as sweat cooled my pores.

We want what we want.

“They say McClanahan sacrificed himself so the season could go on.”

Like he took the blame? He didn’t do it?

“That’s what they say, anyway,” he mused, a gleam hitting his eyes. “But the whispers tell of something else.”

A flutter hit my stomach, and I barely breathed, waiting for him to continue.

“They say she was caught between two best friends-McClanahan, who was in love with her, and A.P., her boyfriend. He wasn’t wealthy like McClanahan, but he was clever. And ambitious. Not someone to be underestimated.”

My interest piqued even more. A mystery.

I liked mysteries.

“They say she was pregnant,” he told me. “They say she jumped.” And then he looked at me again. “They say Edward… didn’t.”

Didn’t jump? So the rumors say Edward was pushed instead?

A smile played on his lips. “They say the note on the kitchen table was a confession, but not his.”

He took another breath and looked out the front windshield again. Everyone revered Edward because they thought he took the fall to save the team’s season. Save some kids their college scholarships and a coach his job.

I always thought it was moronic. Edward clearly didn’t understand all that life could throw at you. He had far bigger things to survive than a scandal.

But I liked the way Will told it. Like nothing was what it seemed, and there was a story waiting to be unearthed.

After all, no one really knew what happened out at the Point all those decades ago.

“I like it here,” he almost whispered. “I like mystery. Sometimes I’m dying to know what happened that night, and other times, I hope I never find out, because it’s more interesting this way. Reality always disappoints.” He turned to me. “I think that’s why I’ve always liked this time of day best. People hide in the dark. They quench their thirsts in the dark. They build their secrets in the dark. We’re more ourselves here than anywhere else. I get to be me...” he swallowed, staring at me, “when nightfall is coming.”

I gazed into his dark green eyes, his whole face enshadowed in the cab of the truck, and I wanted…

Every nerve on my lips hummed, feeling the weight between us like each end of a string tied around him and me, and it kept getting shorter.

I want…

“We want what we want,” he whispered.

I dropped my eyes to my lap, fisting my hands.

And then his voice came again, barely audible, “Come here,” he said.

My heart dipped into my belly, and I could feel him in my hands. I looked at him, seeing him grind the steering wheel under his fist and breathing hard

“Come here,” he said again.

I absently shook my head. “Why?”

“Because I’m your man.”

My heart cracked and splintered, aching with the warmth of those stupid words. Who the hell was he, huh? He didn’t get to decide that someone belonged to him just because it struck his fancy.

And that’s all I was. A passing fancy. He didn’t listen, and he didn’t take no for an answer.

If I let this happen-let him love me and protect me and all that shit he spewed-I’d just be trading one abuse for another.

He’d use me, dump me, and I’d be worse off for it.

I’d be shattered.

“Take me home,” I demanded.

He blinked, but didn’t move otherwise.

I unlocked my door, yanked the handle, and pushed my door open, jumping out.

I’d walk then. Fuck you.

Slamming the door, I heard his open on the other side, and he’d rounded the car and stopped me in my tracks before I even made it to the tailgate.

“Why are you afraid of me?” he barked, backing me up.

“Why did you tell me that story?” I retorted.

“Why do you think?”

“To prove again what I already know?” I yelled. “That Thunder Bay boys always get away with it.”

I stopped, and so did he. “You think Edward McClanahan got away with anything?” he fired back.

I didn’t give a shit about Edward McClanahan! I just… I just wanted… I just wanted to go home!

“I told you, because I like this place,” he finally answered. “I wanted you here with me, because…” He searched for words, his hand shooting to his hair and gripping it. “Because we want what we want, Em! Jesus!”

“Take me home.”

He inched in, his eyes on fire. “No.”

I chuckled once, aghast. Was he kidding?

“This isn’t happening,” I spat out, getting back in his face. “I’m not going to be the one all over you in the school hallways tomorrow in front of everyone. I’m something dirty you hide!”

“Speak for yourself,” he growled. “I think you’re the one ashamed of me. That you want me. That you want this.”

I laughed. “And who told you that? Your secret society of date rapists who advised that me walking away from you the last fifteen times was a ‘signal’.” And I held up my hands, doing air quotes.

He snarled and advanced on me, but then backed away and turned around. He ran his hands through his hair again, and I could see him breathing hard, the vein in his neck bulging.

“I would never stop touching you,” he said, his voice almost tired. “And I would touch only you.”

He turned and looked at me, and he was so beautiful I wanted to believe him.

Raindrops started to fall again, lightning flashing across the sky, followed by thunder cracking overhead.

Out of all the boys in school, Will was the biggest threat. Not because he was handsome or because he was one of the only ones who was ever somewhat interested in me, but because…

He never gave up. Deep down, I loved that, because I was going to be an effort for anyone, and he wasn’t easily discouraged.

Right now, I wanted him to pick me up.

But instead, I circled the truck and climbed in the driver’s side, immediately locking the doors. If he wasn’t driving me home, I’d drive myself.

Rain tapped against his window, and I watched him come around and stand there, a glint in his eyes at my challenge.

I waited for him to try to stop me, but…he didn’t.

Shifting the truck into gear, I punched the gas and sped off, pulling a quick U-turn as the tires screeched against the pavement.

I sped past him and headed out of the parking lot, not even taking one last look in my rearview mirror.

I turned onto the dark road and pressed the gas pedal to the floor, speeding back to Thunder Bay and gripping the wheel like it was his damn neck.

Who did he think he was? Did every girl just roll over and thank her lucky stars for his attention? Is that where he got such confidence?

I just wanted to go home. Study. Graduate. And leave this town.

I didn’t want anything else!

“Ugh!” I growled, turning up the radio and inching up in my seat because I could barely reach the damn pedals, and it was too dark to try to figure out how to adjust the seat in this stupid truck.

God, where did he get off? He’s all like “Hey, babe. I’m-insert hair flip and surfer boy tone-Will Grayson. Should we like, maybe get together and mate? We can totally honeymoon in Hawaii. I’ll put a stamp in your passport and make all your dreams come true.”

Which of course, we wouldn’t need our passports, because Hawaii was still in our own country!

I growled under my breath, breathing hard as rain fell harder, blurring the road in front of me.

I turned on the wipers, my brain calming a little.

Okay, okay. He wasn’t that dumb.

He wasn’t dumb at all. He would know Hawaii was in America.

And he didn’t say ‘like’ and ‘totally’.

I hooded my eyes, sighing. And he could be kind.

And sweet.

I hesitated a moment, watching the rain really come down now before I slowed on the empty highway and pulled another U-turn, heading back to him.

He was persistent to the point of exhaustion, but…I couldn’t let him walk home in this. I couldn’t do that to him.

Speeding back to the Cove, I turned into the parking lot again and spotted him kicked back on a parking stump, hood up and ankles crossed.

I pulled up next to him, rolling down the window.

He peered up at me, batting his eyelashes against the rain.

“I really don’t like you,” I said nice and loud so we were clear.

He smiled and pushed himself up, coming up to the truck and climbing up on the step, peering down at me.

“I like that you don’t like me,” he taunted.

He pushed his hood off, and I watched streams of rain cascade down his face.

“So, I’m a challenge then?” I asked. “That’s what all this is really about?”

“No.” He shook his head. “You just make me want to be…”

“Better?” I rolled my eyes at the cliché statement.

But he paused a moment. “More,” he finally said. “No one ever expects more from me.”

I studied him, not having anything to say to that.

I looked down at the phone in his hand instead. “Is someone coming to get you already?”

“No.” He stuffed the phone in his pocket. “I was getting ready to call your brother to report my stolen car.”

I widened my eyes and almost screamed, but I just clamped my mouth shut and gritted my teeth.

Son of a bitch .

“Scoot over,” he said.

I huffed and crawled over the console into my seat, and he opened the door, climbing in.

· · ·

“Can I pick you up for school Monday morning?” he asked, turning onto my street.

I unfastened my seatbelt. “No.”

“I just asked to be nice,” he said in a stern tone. “I’m picking you up. I don’t like you walking.”

“Please…” I shook my head, ready to plead. “Please don’t.”

We approached my house, and I grabbed my bag and flute off the floor.

“Stop here,” I told him.

“I’m not afraid of your brother, Em.”

“Please just drop me here,” I bit out. “Stop the truck, Will. Please.”

“Okay.” He quickly pulled over to the curb, sliding behind Mrs. Costa’s Buick.

I opened the door, but he grabbed my hand.

I looked at him over my shoulder.

“I’ll be right here,” he said. “At seven.”

I stared at him for a moment, wondering if saying no again would do any good, but I just took my stuff and jumped down from the cab.

I met his eyes once more before I closed the door and then jogged down the sidewalk, turning up my walkway. I looked around for anyone who might’ve seen us, but thankfully, it was late and the street was quiet.

I climbed my steps and twisted the door handle, my heart dropping a little because that meant Martin was still up.

I stepped inside and heard Will’s truck finally pull off, breezing past my house. I closed and locked the door, my lips twitching with a smile.

He actually waited until I was inside to leave.

Dishes clanked in the kitchen, and I dropped my bags to the floor, heading in to face the music. I had no idea how late I was, and I hadn’t checked my phone for missed calls.

Hands in my jacket pockets, I stopped just inside the dark kitchen.

Martin stood at the sink, pre-washing dishes before loading them into the dishwasher. He turned his head, eyeing me over his shoulder.

“Dinner is there.” He gestured to the plate on the table.

But I rushed up to his side instead, taking the plate out of his hand. “I can do it. You worked all day.”

He let me take over, grabbing a towel and drying his hands as he stepped away. I took the dish brush and scrubbed the crust from our breakfast this morning.

“You know,” he said. “Funny thing. When you didn’t make it home by ten, I tracked your phone.”

I faltered, feeling the hair on my arms rise. He could track my phone? How long had he been doing that?

“It told me that you were at the Cove.” He walked away and leaned against the counter, his eyes on me. “Funny thing is, the Cove closed at eight tonight, and when I drove out there, all I saw was Will Grayson’s truck in the parking lot.”

I rubbed circles on the plate, pressing hard so my hands wouldn’t shake.

“I support your education, Emory,” he told me, “your extracurricular activities, and your projects, because I want you to make something of yourself, and I know that all looks good on your college resumé.”

I put the plate in the dishwasher and picked up another one, avoiding his gaze.

I wished I was still in Will’s truck.

“And while you’re off playing, I’m working or I’m here.” He inched closer. “No woman wants me with you in this house. No one wants me because I can never give her the Thunder Bay life, because I’m paying for Grand-Mère’s nurse and for you.”

He stopped at my side, and I couldn’t stop shaking as I washed the dish.

“And you’re off playing,” he said, pushing me in the head.

I stumbled to the side. “Martin…”

“You don’t listen to anything I say.” He dug the tips of his fingers into my skull and shoved again, and I almost dropped the brush. “Is it so hard? Just doing what I tell you to do?”

He pushed me in the head again like I was stupid, and I fell to the side, dropping the dish and brush into the sink. I waited for the slap, but he just grabbed my wrist and yanked me to the table.

Pushing me down in the seat, he grabbed a handful of the spaghetti and stuffed it to my mouth.

Tears swelled my throat, and I squeezed my eyes shut, holding it back.

“As if we don’t have enough problems, you go and get a reputation for being one of their little whores,” he said, stuffing another fistful into my mouth. “Thinking you’re going to be one of them. Thinking you’re better and them thinking they’re better because they get to play with you like a toy!”

Spaghetti flew in my face, dirtying my glasses as he stuffed handful after handful at my mouth, the noodles pressing down my throat so hard I couldn’t breathe.

Silent tears streamed down my eyes. I twisted my head away, trying to spit it out, but he grabbed my face and squeezed my jaw to open me up again.

I couldn’t stop crying as I gasped for air. I couldn’t breathe, and I gripped the sides of the table, my teeth cutting the insides of my mouth.

I tried to think of my gazebo. If Will helped me build it.

How nice that might be someday.

Will and the gazebo… Will and the gazebo…

The breeze on my face was warm, and the leaves in the trees smelled like summer.

But as Martin yelled, and I gagged, spaghetti choking me, I couldn’t muster another single coherent thought.

I couldn’t think. I couldn’t remember what Will looked like. What my gazebo looked like.

I didn’t have a gazebo. There was no Will Grayson.

There was nothing but this.

There was nothing but this.