Spirit

But Michael remained still. “You want to sit down for a minute?”

“No.”

“You want to tell me where you’ve been all night?”

Hunter offered the only thing he figured Michael wouldn’t question. “I went by the house. Tried to work things out with my mom.”

“You know I’ve got three younger brothers, right?”

Hunter frowned. “What?”

“It means I’ve got a pretty finely tuned bullshit detector.”

Hunter turned away, his fingers forming a fist around the keys in his pocket. Michael shifted on the step, and Hunter hoped that this was it, that Michael would come after him, that he could rage and fight and come out on top, just once.

But the only thing that came after him was Michael’s voice. “Hunter.”

He kept walking.

“Hunter, come back here. Right now.”

The command in Michael’s tone stopped him, more effectively than a fist or a grip on the arm would have. Something about it felt reassuring and immeasurably painful at the same time, because it reminded him so much of his father.

Emotion coiled around his chest again, clouding his mind with memories he didn’t want right now, memories that had him turning to face Michael, to respect authority, before realizing that nothing was stopping him from just getting in the jeep and leaving.

But he’d already turned, and he met Michael’s eyes. He didn’t move back toward the porch, however.

Michael’s voice was hard. “Quit running from confrontation and sit down.”

“I’m not running from you.”

“No, you wouldn’t run if I tried to take a swing at you. But every time I try to have a conversation, you bolt. Sit down.”

Was that true? Hunter considered.

It was.

He didn’t like that.

He sat down on the stoop, leaning against the post opposite Michael. “Fine. Talk.”

“If you’re going to stay here, you can’t just disappear after school. You understand me?”

Hunter kept his voice even. “I said I was sorry about the job.”

“I don’t give a shit about the job! I care about the fact that you’re a sixteen-year-old kid who might have a target on his back.”

Hunter stared back at him until Michael looked like he wanted to reconsider taking a swing.

Then Michael sighed, a long breath that he blew out through his teeth. “Jesus, kid, I wish I could get inside your head and figure you out.”

Hunter wished the same thing because maybe then Michael could explain it to him.

Michael was still studying him. “What happened the other night? After we went to get your stuff—I thought you’d loosen up a bit. But it’s like the opposite happened.”

The other night. Michael’s promise to repay his grandfather.

The carnival. So much Kate that he almost blushed now, remembering.

The fire. Calla. The gunshot.

For an instant he wanted to tell Michael everything, just so he wouldn’t have to carry it all on his own. He just wanted to crumple on these wooden boards and let all this anxiety and worry and anger and rage pour down the steps.

But the memory of his father was still too fresh, and he could only imagine how his dad would react to him breaking down. Especially with someone he was supposed to hate.

Buck up, Hunter. It’s not anyone else’s responsibility to solve your problems.

Besides, how would that go? “Well, Michael, I’m glad you’re leaving town, because I’m about ready to screw you all over. Mind if I cry on your shoulder for a sec?”

Yeah. Sure.

He’d already lost it once, and he wouldn’t do it again.

“Nothing happened,” he said.

“Well, then, there’s a whole lot of that nothing rattling around inside your skull.”

“Was there a point to this conversation?”

Michael’s eyes flashed, and Hunter braced for more lecturing, but the oldest Merrick simply picked up his coffee. “Can you help with a job on Sunday?”

Hunter blinked, suddenly off balance. He wasn’t sure if he was relieved the grilling was over—or disappointed.

Like it mattered. “Sure.”

“Don’t forget this time, all right? Nick and Chris said they’d help, too, but it’s a big job, and I don’t want to lose the income.”

He didn’t want to lose the income. Probably stocking up for the big move. But what could he say? Hunter forced words past his lips. “I won’t forget.”

Chris’s and Gabriel’s doors were closed when Hunter climbed the stairs, only darkness visible under the doors, but light flooded the hallway from Nick’s room. Hunter half knocked before entering.

Nick was reading a paperback, something with an old-fashioned painting on the cover. Had to be a school assignment. He looked up when Hunter came in. “Hey.”

Hunter dropped his backpack next to the air mattress, beside the two plastic crates. “Hey.” He paused, trying to get a read on the feeling in the room. The air told him nothing, but Nick’s voice had carried the slightest edge. “Reading for school?”

“Yeah.” He held up the book.

“Heart of Darkness?” Hunter bent to unlace his shoes. “I think I’d use Wikipedia for that one.”

“Sounds about right.” Nick turned back to his book.

Hunter almost wished he’d left his shoes on. “What’s with the attitude?”

“I had to help Mike dig an irrigation trench because you didn’t show up.”

“Sounds like your problem.” Hunter felt his voice gain an edge.

Now Nick looked up. “You’re going to pick a fight because you screwed up?”

Hunter hesitated. “I’m sorry. I got caught up in something. I didn’t know you’d get stuck with it.”

“I have three papers due Monday. I really could have used the time.”

“I said I’m sorry, all right?”

“All right.”

But Hunter didn’t feel like he’d been forgiven.

At least Nick shut up after that, and Hunter left him to his super exciting novel in favor of getting ready for bed in the bathroom.

Gabriel was waiting for him when he came out. He blocked the doorway.

Hunter sighed. He probably should have driven to the Target parking lot. “Can’t you all just confront me at the same time?”

“Meaning?”

“Nothing. What? I’m tired.” And he was. As he said the words, exhaustion climbed on his back, grabbed the coils of tension holding him together, and gripped tight.

“I want to know what’s going on with you.”

Hunter snorted and pushed past him. “Join the club.”

Gabriel grabbed him and shoved him into the wall. His voice was low. “I heard someone from the high school went after that Noah Dean kid when school let out.”

Hunter shoved back, breaking his hold. “So what?”

Gabriel wouldn’t let him pass. “What are you doing, Hunter?”

Hunter glared back at him, wondering if he should tell them what Noah had said. About Calla being alive.

Then Nick appeared in his bedroom doorway. “Hey. Leave him alone.”

Hunter didn’t even know which one of them he was talking to.

Gabriel got closer. “What are you doing?” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “It was you, wasn’t it? You went after Noah. After agreeing that we should stay away from them.”

“Back off.”

“Are you f**king with us again?” Gabriel shoved him harder.

The corridor was narrow, with drywall on one side and a bannister on the other, and Hunter got leverage to shove him back. “I said, back off.”

But Gabriel would never back off, and really, Hunter didn’t want to be left alone. This was someone who’d fight. When Gabriel swung at him, Hunter blocked, throwing real force into it, unleashing the anger he’d been holding on to all day. That coil of tension slipped free, and Hunter threw power into his strikes until the air was ice cold and biting the inside of his chest.

But the narrow hallway worked to Gabriel’s advantage, too, and he knocked Hunter’s feet out from under him. Gabriel might have been stronger, but Hunter was faster and knew how to work an enemy’s weight to his advantage. Hunter got leverage to roll him, throwing extra force into it.

He just hadn’t considered how close to the stairs they were.

Or that Gabriel’s momentum in the roll would throw Hunter ahead of him.

They both went down. Every step hurt like a bitch. The slate flooring of the foyer hurt worse, first on his shoulder, then on his head.

Especially since Gabriel landed on top of him.

Then the weight was dragged away. A relief, since Hunter needed to figure out which way was up. By the time he had it straight, Michael was glaring down at him.

Then Gabriel kicked him in the stomach. Pain exploded through the base of his rib cage, and Hunter curled in on himself, forgetting how to breathe.

God, he hadn’t been hit in the stomach in . . . forever. He couldn’t decide if that hurt more than his head.

Both. Both hurt.

Voices were yelling overhead, but he couldn’t make sense of them through the overwhelming need to breathe. It felt like he’d been choking for half an hour. There was a good chance he was drooling on the floor.

And Gabriel was leaning over him, and his voice was fierce. “Guess you picked enemy over friend, huh, jackass?”

Hunter saw Gabriel’s leg move, and just when he thought he might have to draw his weapon to avoid getting kicked again, Michael’s girlfriend appeared in front of Gabriel and put a hand on his chest. “Go on,” she was saying. “Take a walk. Cool off.”

Hannah got Hunter into the kitchen before he was fully aware that he was off the ground and walking down the hallway. None of the Merricks followed him, so he was alone with her, following directions like sit there and don’t move.

The chair came up faster than he was ready for, and he wondered how hard he’d whacked his head. He touched a hand to his temple and was surprised when it came away wet.

Blood.

Hannah was in front of him again, a folded paper towel in her hands. “Press this against your forehead. I need to get my bag from the car.”

“I’m bleeding,” he said, like an idiot.

“I know.” Her eyes weren’t too concerned, though. “Can you hold that and remain upright?”

Either he answered and didn’t remember, or she left without bothering to wait for one. Whatever, she was gone, and he was sitting there, dazed and trying to make both eyes focus.

Then she was back, pulling a chair close to him and pressing gauze to his forehead instead of the paper towel. She had purple latex gloves on now, the kind doctors wore. “Hold that again,” she said, grabbing his wrist to put it in place.

“What are you doing here?” he asked. For a second, his addled brain wondered if she’d been on the porch with Michael during their argument, but he couldn’t make that line up.

She was digging in her bag. “I just got off work. Mike sent me a text ten minutes ago saying everyone was going to bed and we could have a quiet cup of coffee.” She laughed a little, but not like it was funny.

“Sorry,” he said.

She had a tiny flashlight in her hands, and she shined a light in his eyes. “It’s not every day I walk in the front door of a house to see two guys fall down the stairs on top of each other.”

Put that way, it sounded insanely childish. He looked away.

She tapped his chin. “No, look at me. What were you fighting about?”

“It’s not important.”

The light flicked to his other eye. “It rarely is.” She paused. “No concussion. You’re lucky you didn’t break your neck. I saw him kick you. How are your ribs?”