Dark Light (The Dark Light Series)(56)

By the time the doorbell rings, Donna has wrapped up a plate of fresh, warm cookies for Jared and has even included a plastic container of extras for his mom and James. When their mom was at her worst, Donna would take over a weeks-worth of meals every Sunday so the boys would have home-cooked meals in light of all the distress they were enduring. Jared, James, and their mother, Tammy, were incredibly grateful, though my mom wished she could have done even more.

“Oh wow, Donna, is that a new haircut? If you get any prettier, I might have to steal you from Mr. Winters,” Jared winks. Donna insists that Jared and the rest of my friends call her Donna. It makes her feel young. Chris prefers Mr. Winters. Always so formal, except when it comes to me.

“Why yes, it is, Jared! Thank you for noticing!” my mom blushes, batting her long lashes. Geez, Mom, get a grip. She cheeses at him as if he has ‘Cougar Bait’ stamped onto his forehead.

“Ready to go?” Jared smiles down at me.

“Yup!” This is just what the doctor ordered. Time to get back to my regular, paranormal-free life.

The make-shift carnival off Powers Boulevard is everything Jared promised. Lots of yummy junk food, rides, games and booths to awaken my inner child. Jared is as buoyant as I am, grabbing my hand and pulling me to the first ride we see. He quickly pays for our tickets and we strap in tightly to the teacup style attraction. The ride is fast. Really fast. And if I weren’t already a bit reckless and hell-bent on forgetting that I’m the Dark’s #1 target, I would be worried.

As a result of the ride’s speed, Jared and I are squished together in our compartment. I am wholly aware of our conjoined bodies in the small space, yet it doesn’t bother me. It’s strangely comforting. Jared adjusts his arm and swings it around me, enrapturing me in his massive bicep. My cheek presses against his hard chest, and I relish in his scent of Irish Spring soap and deodorant. The mix would be pedestrian to most, but to me it speaks of home.

Home.

I am at home in Jared, and as the saying goes, Home is where the Heart is. Is my heart really with Jared? Is that why I am willing to reject his offer of love and devotion for heart-stopping, mindless sex with Dorian with no strings attached?

The ride ends too abruptly, jolting me from my muddled thoughts. Jared takes my hand to help me out and I don’t object when he doesn’t release it as we stroll through the carnival.

“Thank you for bringing me. I really am having a great time,” I say, stuffing the last puff of cotton candy into my mouth.

We’ve conquered just about every ride, sampled every carnival food from corndogs to deep-fried Twinkies, and spent a small fortune on carnival games. Two hours later, we’re lugging around the giant-sized stuffed lion Jared won for me at the Strong Man game and walking off the massive amounts of trans fat.

“No problem. I knew you’d enjoy this. Remember when we used to skip school and burn our lunch money on Skee-ball and pizza at Chuck E. Cheese?” he laughs.

I recall the memory fondly. Every other week, I was in some kind of altercation with a random bitchy Queen Bee or massive douchebag that tried to get in my pants and couldn’t take the rejection. Jared was my saving grace. Escaping with him was the only way I wasn’t expelled for fighting. When things got to be too much for me to brush off, he’d insist we go buy our weight in tokens and rack up tickets until we couldn’t hold anymore. We’d always give the them away to youngsters as a way of restoring our good karma for ditching school. Just having that outlet was enough for me. Jared was enough for me.

“I miss those days,” I say smiling up at him. “We should do it again.” Lord knows I could use an escape.

A cold gust of wind runs through me and I shiver noticeably. “Are you cold?” Jared asks. Before I can answer, he shrugs off his hoodie and places it over my shoulders, revealing his boulder-like arms and chest swathed tightly in a navy long-sleeve tee. The chill in the air kisses is nipples, and I can see them protrude through the thin fabric.

“No, I’m fine. Take it back before you get sick,” I protest, but Jared hears none of it. I know better than to dispute his chivalry, and slide my arms in the giant sized sweater.

“Look! A fortune teller. Let’s do it!”

Jared pulls me along and bounds up to the dark tent. It’s absurdly cliché: burning candles, crystal ball on a small table, complete with an old woman draped in a flowing robe. I roll my eyes, and signal for Jared to go first. He hesitantly approaches the woman who appears to be meditating. She hasn’t opened her eyes once since we entered and I instantly deem her a graduate of the Miss Cleo School for Psychics. It’s all in good fun though.