The Arrangement Anthology 2(181)

“And you really believe this?”

“Yeah, I do." I nod, secretly shocked by my sudden certainty. "I guess that’s why I didn’t get sucked down an emotional black hole when they died, or with any of the shit that happened after. No matter what, I’m not totally alone. They hear me, even if I can’t hear them anymore. If I did, I think I’d pee myself.” I laugh and squirm thinking about it.

“Thank you for not questioning me about my mother or our relationship. You took it as a given that she loved me and that I returned the affection in my way.”

I do believe he loved her, but I’m not as sure about Constance. I study the old boards and wonder about the younger version of the Ice Queen, the version who worried her son would fall from a tree. I wonder how she turned into the cold, conniving woman who sat in the solarium each morning, the woman who wanted me gone.

I don’t want people to wonder about me. I don’t want to go down that road.

“Hey,” I say to Sean, bumping his shoulder with mine. When he looks over at me with those blue eyes, I say, “Promise me something.”

“Anything.”

“Promise me that we’ll have one more sweet kiss. Not right now, but at some time when things are normal and ninjas aren’t hunting us down.” I look toward the window, glad no one tended to this part of the woods. If they had, there’d be nowhere to hide.

“They aren’t ninjas or we’d be dead already. Our saving grace is that Vic cheaply surrounded himself with bargain basement thugs instead of trained assassins." He turns and boops my nose. “Miss Smith, I think you might be a candy fang banger after all, but I'll grant your request. Reserved for you is one completely vulnerable kiss with no walls up, no distance, and no hidden heart. Just promise me you’ll use it for good and not evil.”

I smile so hard my face hurts.

“You know I’m going to refer to this place from now on as the Batcave, right?”

“It’s because you want to say,”

We say it together, and laugh, “To the Batcave!”





CHAPTER 5





My eyes flutter open, and I blink the sleep from my eyes. It takes me a moment to remember where I am. There’s a wooden board beneath my head and an arm draped over my waist; I smile as I realize it’s Sean.

I roll towards him and my stomach rumbles. He looks like he hasn’t slept in days. There are dark circles under his eyes. He's awake and watching me.

“Good morning, beautiful.”

I smile at him, taking in his messy hair, scruffy face, and a tiny t-shirt. I look at it again, finally realizing what it is. Across the chest of the rust colored shirt, written in a burnt coffee color are the words CROSS COUNTRY. The rest is too faded to read.

“Was this yours?”

“A million years ago,” he says nodding.

“You were a runner?”

Sean sits up and stretches, the tiny shirt revealing his hard stomach as he moves. He leans back against the wall and tugs the hem down.

“Yeah, it was one of the few school activities I enjoyed. Our father shoved us into everything else. God, you should have seen his face when Peter started swing dancing. The saddle shoes made the old man think Pete changed teams.” Sean laughs once remembering something from long ago.

“I’ve never heard you say much about your dad.” I tread carefully. Sean’s a raw mess of emotions, which means he’s trying to keep everything locked up, but he’ll erupt at some point and go ape-shit crazy. “But I like the tight shirt; it's sexy.”

He grins and looks down at the shirt before running his hands over the faded text.

“Dad was difficult.” He pauses, searching for the right words. “He was either there too much or completely gone. He always went to extremes.”

I smile faintly before my stomach rumbles again, louder this time. Sean looks over at me.

“I’m sorry, we can’t grab pancakes. I wish things were different.” He crawls across the tree house floor and opens the old chest, pulling out bottled water and a silver wrapper that looks like a candy bar. He tosses them to me.

“You stocked the tree house?”

"Not me, Jon," he says, shaking his head. "He was a little paranoid a while back. Those meal bars last a decade. The water is a little questionable, but I drank it, and I’m still here. You’ll be fine.”

I rip the wrapper open and stuff the meal bar in my mouth. I’m starving. It doesn’t matter that it tastes like a combo of hay, clay, and bark.

“So, what’s with you and Jon?” He looks over at me.

“What do you mean?”

“It seems like there’s some tension there. I mean, not from you--you come across tense with everyone--but from Jon. He’s easy going with everyone except with you. Did you guys have a fight or something?”