Page 22

Heathcliff

A sharp bang jolts me out of sleep. I’m off the bed in a split second, heart racing, ripping the motel curtains aside.

Not gunfire. Just somebody’s beat-up car backfiring. I groan, rubbing my face. The adrenaline has already spread through my body, and I won’t be able to go back to sleep.

I turn around, expecting Cathy to blink at me from the bed, maybe laugh at me for being startled.

But she’s not in the bed. She’s crouched in the corner by the bedside table, naked, her hair wild and her eyes flashing. She’s tense, white-faced, like an animal caught in a trap.

This girl knows danger, up close and personal. She’s had to defend herself before.

I don’t think this part’s about the banshee. Maybe it’s post-traumatic stress from almost being drowned by a god—or maybe it’s something else.

“Just a car backfiring,” I say slowly. “It’s okay. It ain’t gonna hurt you, and neither am I.”

She’s not quite herself yet, still caught in that space between sleeping and waking. She blinks, hisses a breath through her teeth.

On a hunch, I say, “Your dad’s not here. It’s just you and me.”

Bingo. The panic in her eyes eases immediately, and she rises from the crouch, her slender throat moving as she swallows. “Yeah, I know.”

I understand that feeling. The tension of living with someone you can’t trust not to hurt you.

I walk around the end of the bed, casual, calm. But I don’t touch her. I hold out my hand and let her come to me.

One tentative step, then another…and then she’s in my arms, pressing her bare body against mine. “Heathcliff,” she whispers, taut and hoarse.

“Yeah.” I kiss the top of her head. She feels so delicate and smooth against me, yet there’s strength in her too, like she’s made of steel cables as well as soft flesh.

That’s what I love about her—she’s wild as the cold wind, sharp as broken shells on the beach, tough as the old Southern oaks.

She’s like the Spanish moss on the trees—lacy and fragile from a distance but wiry and rough up close.

She sighs against me like I’m a safe place, when I’m anything but.

She’s gonna get herself killed someday, for real. She’ll wander across a road while she’s in banshee mode or her dad will hit her too hard, and I won’t be there to stop it.

The idea sends raw panic skating through my chest, knocks my heart into a frantic rhythm.

A world without this girl would be a horrible void. I can’t handle thinking on it for too long. So I’ve got to do something about it.

I scoop Cathy up and drop her onto the bed, throwing her legs apart and diving between them. She squeals and tries to pin her thighs together. “Wait, Heathcliff, wait—I have to pee first!”

“Fine.”

But after we’ve taken turns in the bathroom, she seems jittery, reluctant, so I don’t push for sex. She’s scared she’ll blow apart the motel, and after what I saw last night, I’ll admit it could happen. So I suggest we go out to breakfast instead.

This overnight, plus what I have planned for us today, it’ll set me back financially. Motels near the coast aren’t cheap. But at least it’s the off-season, so I got a break on the room rate. Besides, Cathy is worth whatever I have to spend. Whatever I have to do.

I pull the truck into the parking lot of a dingy diner near the motel. Looks like the kind of place that serves a good, hearty Southern breakfast. My kind of food.

“This okay?” I glance at Cathy. She nods.

She’s wearing the change of clothes from her beach bag—a pair of shorts and a soft gray tank top.

No bra, no makeup, and she looks goddamn beautiful, like always.

I want to give her everything. All the fancy cosmetics girls like, a big closet full of designer clothes, a car, a house…

I gotta quit thinking like this. Got to follow the plan, take my time. Work my way out from under Hindley’s thumb.

Inside the diner, we slide onto the red-leather seats of a booth and scan the menu.

Cathy looks like she’s starving but she only orders a muffin.

She’s either trying to save me money or trying to pretend she doesn’t need to eat much for some reason.

Screw that. I order a bunch of stuff—pancakes, sausages, bacon, eggs, hash browns, more than I can eat.

When my food comes, she sneaks envious looks at it until I start piling fried potatoes, eggs, and sausage onto her plate.

“I was trying to save you money,” she mumbles, with a cute half smile.

“Who says I’m paying?”

Her mouth and eyes go wide for a second, and I laugh.

“Of course I’m paying. Eat up.”