Rogue (Shifters #2)(41)

Behind me, the footsteps stopped. I was already turning as my last word faded into a heavy, tortured silence, and too late, it occurred to me that the clomping in the hall hadn’t come from cowboy boots.
Marc stood in the doorway, each arm wrapped around a brown paper bag. Our eyes met. I had a second to register the pain in his. Then the bags thumped to the hardwood floor, and he was gone.
Chapter Twenty
Jace and Vic ran after Marc, vaulting over the fallen bags and into the hall. Neither spared me a glance.
I leapt off the couch, a silent scream of anguish splitting my skull in two. On the floor in front of me, a half gallon of triple-chocolate-chunk ice cream rolled across the hardwood, stopping only when it bumped the toe of my sneaker. My favorite flavor. He’d gone out for ice cream, to apologize and make up.
Son of a bitch!
I stepped over the cardboard carton, and my father called my name. I ignored him and took off after the guys, stepping over four more cartons of ice cream, each a different flavor. In the hall, I tripped over a box of waffle cones and had to catch myself against the wall.
As I looked up, Vic disappeared out the back door, Jace and Marc ahead of him.
I ran down the hall after the guys, my sneakers slapping the tile. I called Marc, screaming his name with a desperation that bruised my soul. I knew he could hear me, but he didn’t answer.
I was only feet from the back door when someone grabbed my arm from behind. Ethan pulled me backward and stepped in front of me, completely blocking my path. “Get out of the way!” I screamed, trying to bump him aside and run past him. But he wouldn’t budge.
“Faythe—” 
“Move!”
Ethan held me back, his hands gentle on my shoulders, his eyes oddly imploring. “Give him some time.”
“No! The last thing he needs is time to brood and get madder. He doesn’t understand what he heard. I have to explain.” I shoved him in the chest, but he only bounced back an instant later, wrapping both hands around my upper arms.
“You’ll only make it worse.”
Fighting tears, I twisted out of his grip. “If you don’t want to get hurt, get out of my way.”
“I’m trying to help y—”
“I’m sorry.” I let my right fist fly. It smashed into his jaw.
Ethan stumbled backward into the wall. “Fine, go make it worse!” he shouted, his hand covering the fresh red splotch on his face.
By the time I made it to the back porch, the guys were gone, having holed up in their overgrown dormitory, surrounded by the staples of masculinity: beer, day-old pizza, and mountains of dirty socks.
Lightning flashed across the sky the moment I stepped onto the grass. For an instant, it lit the entire backyard in a stark relief of light and shadow. The image was still stamped into my retinas when thunder roared across the sky, the ageless creak of ancient floodgates opening. Rain poured from the clouds in a sudden deluge the likes of which Texas—even East Texas—rarely ever saw. I was completely drenched in less than five steps.
Pushing wet hair back from my face, I jogged across the yard, stomped up the front steps, and tore open the screen door. It flew back to smack the siding. Dripping water onto the porch, I grabbed the front doorknob, already shoving forward as I turned it. Nothing happened. Well, almost nothing. I walked right into the door, expecting it to open. Instead, I nearly broke my own nose.
In my entire life I’d never seen the guesthouse locked. I’d always been welcome. Always. And now Marc had locked me out. Literally.
I did not take it well.
“Open the fucking door!” I shouted, pounding on the wood with both fists.
“My dad’s not mad at me!” I yelled, straining to be heard over the storm. “Doesn’t that tell you anything?”
No response. I glanced over my shoulder and saw my mother’s form silhouetted in Ethan’s bedroom window. She watched me with her arms crossed over her chest, making no attempt to interfere.
“I can go get a key!” I yelled, turning back to the guesthouse door. “You can’t keep me out forever. Hell, I’ll just kick in the door if you don’t open up in the next two minutes.” I gave the wood another good pounding, thoroughly bruising both fists, then paused again to listen, pressing my ear against the door. This time I heard results: footsteps clomping down the stairs. So, did I stop and wait patiently?
Hell no. I’d forgotten the meaning of the word patience by then. All I could think about was explaining to Marc what really happened before it was too late.
“I hear you in there. Come open this damn door before I break it down.”
“Give it a rest, Faythe.” It was Vic, speaking calmly from the other side of the door. The still infuriatingly closed door.
“You’re waking up people in the next county.”
“Let me in so I can talk to him.” Rain rolled slowly down my spine beneath my shirt, tracing the line of fear building inside me. I had to make Marc understand. This couldn’t be the end for us. Not like this. “I can fix this,” I shouted, dismayed to hear the edge of panic in my voice. “I swear I can.”
“I’m sorry. He’d skin me alive. You’d better give him some time to get over it.”
“That’s just it.” I pounded on the wood again, and Vic swore, then jumped back. Too late, I realized he’d been leaning against the door. “If you don’t let me in so I can explain it to him, he’s not going to get over it. He doesn’t understand what he heard.”“I’m sorry, Faythe,” he said again. “He just doesn’t want to see you.”
This isn’t possible, I thought, wringing rain from my ponytail. Of course, Marc had been mad at me before. He’d been mad at me for five straight years after I’d broken up with him. But he’d never refused to speak to me. He’d never locked me out. I’d spent holidays with Sammi and her family to escape his relentless pursuit, and still he’d called me at least once a week for three years, baring his soul to my voice mail with so much pain in his voice that I couldn’t listen to the messages without tearing up.
When he finally stopped calling, the hush felt strange. It felt like the whole world went silent when Marc did, as if I could see people’s mouths moving, but I couldn’t hear what they were saying. Like I’d gone deaf.
That emotional silence didn’t stop until Marc came for me at school. And it descended on me again as I stood on his front porch. All I could hear was the rain, as if the very heavens were crying for us both.
I glanced at my mother again, only to see her turn away from the window. She looked back once and shook her head. Then she was gone. My resolve strengthened in the face of my mother’s desertion. She might or might not know what I’d done, but she believed I’d lost Marc for good. After years of nagging me to go back to him, she’d given up on us.
But I hadn’t.
I backed down the steps, facing the front door as I descended into the rain. Water poured down on me, replastering loose strands of hair to my cheeks and forehead. I wiped my face with both hands, blinking rain and tears from my eyes as I assessed the door. It was solid and strong in spite of its age. But so was I, in spite of my youth.
And anyway, the frame would break long before the oak panel would.
I pushed back my hair one more time and ran up the steps. At the top, I grabbed the support post for balance and kicked the door as hard as I could, concentrating the blow just below the doorknob. Wood splintered, and I smiled in satisfaction. I grabbed the doorknob and shook it with both hands. Nothing happened. It didn’t even budge.
Damn it!
Fingers appeared in the window, pushing aside a set of cheap white miniblinds to reveal a pair of dark blue eyes and a lock of brown hair. “Faythe, what the hell are you doing?” Jace yelled through the glass. His face disappeared and the steel chain rattled as he tried to unlock the door. But then something heavy hit the wood, probably someone else’s hand.
Vic laughed. “That’s not Faythe,” he said. “That’s the Big Bad Wolf, come to blow us all away.”
“She’s gonna get in one way or another,” Jace said.
Vic laughed again. “She’s gonna try.” 
“You bet your ass,” I shouted, and kicked the wood again. More splintering this time, but still the door wouldn’t budge. However, this time the problem wasn’t the strength of the door, but the strength of the guys holding it in place from the other side.
For a long moment, no one spoke. I was almost convinced they’d gone out the back door when Parker said, “Okay.”
“What? No!” Vic insisted. “He doesn’t want to see her, and that’s his choice.”
“I’ll take the blame,” Parker said, and the chain rattled again. “Get out of the way.” The dead bolt slid back and the door opened just wide enough for me to see his face. Parker’s eyes were hard, his brows furrowed in unease. “I’m going to let you in here on one condition.”
“Fine. Anything.” I was perfectly willing to behave myself in exchange for admission. I could break open the door, but I couldn’t keep them from holding it in place. And if I went through the window, I’d be lucky not to bleed to death before I got to Marc.
“I’m letting you in to keep you from breaking the door, not so that you can break everything else in the house. No damage. Not to our stuff. Not to his stuff. And not to him. You go make it better, not worse.”