Kelley Armstrong - The Gathering

“I like that,” I said. “From a girlfriend?”

“Looks like something a girl would give a guy? Right idea, wrong person. It was from my mom. Last gift before she died.” Again that quiet grief threatened to fall. Again he shook it off. “Anyway, so, yes, Mom was Native and my father was, apparently, Latino. So kids would try to get me to commit their criminal acts for them, either figuring I’m a dumb Indian who needed money for booze or a dumb Mexican who needed it for dope. Either way, they were sure I was dumb enough to do something illegal.” A pause, then a crooked smile. “And, apparently, they were right.”

Another minute of silence. The question was hanging there: What did you do? Instead I said, “Are you … okay?”

“You mean, are we in danger of federal marshals barreling through the woods with a warrant for my arrest? Nah. It wasn’t like that. I just … After our mom died, we didn’t have as much money as she thought we did, because Annie and I had sneaked into her savings to get stuff for her. Medicine, food she liked, whatever. It wasn’t bad at first. Annie was working. Two jobs sometimes, and selling her sculptures on the side. Mom was a carver, and Annie got the artistic genes. I wanted to quit school and work, so she could concentrate on her art, but she wouldn’t let me. She helped me get a parttime job, though, so I felt better about it.”

I thought of the girl I’d met. Tried to imagine her as the big sister who’d dragged her brother away from pot-smoking friends, wouldn’t let him quit school, took care of him. It sounded like he was talking about a completely different person. I guess, in some ways, he was.

“And then the accident happened,” I said.

“Yeah. The damage … it took a while to develop. At first Annie could work, but then, not so much. She’s just … she’s not interested in stuff like that anymore. Out here, she’d be happy to wander around the woods all day, find a stream when she’s thirsty, eat berries when she’s hungry, nap when she’s tired.”

“So you needed money.”

He nodded and looked out over the forest. “Annie knew we needed money. She still understood that. She met these guys and they offered her some, and the old Annie—she would have told them to go to hell, but she’s not like that anymore and …” He kept his gaze straight ahead, face hard. “I got there just in time, and I—I didn’t want to ever have to worry about that again. So there were these other guys, drug guys. A buddy of mine was a runner for them. I got him talking, found out they were doing a deal and had money to pay for it, so I …”

“Helped yourself.”

“Yeah. Seemed easy. And it was. Only I found out later why it was so easy—because those guys were connected and no one else was stupid enough to rip them off. Until I came along.” He smiled, but it faltered and finally fell. “And, having won thirty minutes of your time, I think I just gave you thirty minutes of reasons to run the other way as fast as you can.”

“I don’t run away.”

He looked at me, startled, and what I saw in his eyes was so raw that my breath caught and all I could do was sit there, staring at him, that weird floating feeling trickling through my veins.

“That wasn’t what I meant to talk about,” he said, his voice low. “I really wanted to impress you, Maya.”

“You did.”

I leaned forward and kissed him. His eyes widened, then his lips parted and he kissed me back, mouth warm and firm against mine and that floating feeling washed over me and through me, and it was so amazing that when it ended, I just stayed there, my face so close to his I could feel his breath, see those incredible amber eyes, and that was all I could see, all I wanted to see.

We hung there, face-to-face, just staring, then he said, “Yes?” and I said, “Yes,” and he kissed me again, and it was no awkward, hesitant, first-date kiss. It started at third date, deep and hungry, bodies colliding, and I’d like to say he started it but I honestly wasn’t sure.

This tiny voice in my head screamed “Slow down!” but it was so small and so faint that I could barely hear it and I didn’t want to. All I felt was Rafe’s mouth on mine, his arms around me, his body against me, and I didn’t care about anything else. It was like jumping from a cliff, a terrifying, exhilarating, mind-blowing rush, and I didn’t want it to end, didn’t care where it led, only wanted to follow.

I could feel his heart beating, and I could hear it, pounding. I even swore I could smell him, just him. The world seemed to spin and fade, and I drifted in and out, and that voice kept saying that something was wrong, something was very wrong, but I didn’t care.

One minute we were sitting up, making out. The next we were lying on the roof, and I was on top of him, and I didn’t know how I got there. I was kissing him and then, all of a sudden, I wasn’t. He was holding my face in his hands, poised above his, as he panted softly, his pupils so huge I could drown in them.

“Hate to ask,” he said, struggling for breath. “How much did you drink?”

“Nothing. Just Coke.”

“Oh.”

He held me there another moment, searching my gaze, his breath coming in soft puffs, fingers in my hair, looking like he was struggling to hold me there, away from him. I strained against his hands, and he said, “Okay,” hesitantly, like he wasn’t sure it was okay. Then he kissed me again deep and hard, like he didn’t care if it was okay.

Only it wasn’t the same now. His hesitation kept playing in my head, and that little voice got louder until finally I heard myself saying it aloud, “Something’s wrong.”

“It’s all right,” he murmured. “I won’t try anything. Just this, okay?” His mouth lowered to mine. “Just this.”

He kissed me, and I realized he was on top of me now and I didn’t remember that happening. I pulled away, saying louder, “Something’s wrong.” He blinked, hard, like he was clearing his head, and I was suddenly really aware of him, on top of me, holding me down and I panicked, struggling up so fast my elbow caught him in the chin, and he fell back.

I looked around. Everything was hazy. I struggled to my feet, blinking hard, feeling like I’d just stepped off a merry-go-round.

“Maya?”

Rafe’s voice seemed distant and distorted and I said again, “Something’s wrong,” but the words came out mumbled and thick.

I looked down at my empty Coke glass. I remembered Rafe handing it to me at the sofa. Remembered him offering to carry it.

“Oh God,” I whispered.

He stepped toward me. I stumbled back, and he lunged to grab me, calling “Maya!” as I scrambled down the roof. The world kept spinning and I couldn’t focus, couldn’t think, could only see Rafe coming at me, lips parted in words I didn’t hear. I inched back until I was at the edge. Then I crouched and jumped and as I did, I realized what I’d done, saw the ground rushing up and then—

Thump . I landed in a crouch, gasping as pain slammed through my legs. I blinked hard, certain I was hallucinating. I couldn’t possibly have leaped off a two-story roof and landed on my feet. I heard a shout and saw Rafe dangling over the edge. He hit the ground and turned toward me. My heart jammed into my throat and I stumbled back, saying, “No!”

“Maya?”

Sam jogged around the corner. I stepped toward her, but my legs wouldn’t hold me and I went down, landing on all fours, hearing the thump of running feet from both sides, Rafe and Sam.

“Stay away from her,” Sam said, then yelled. “Daniel!”

“I didn’t—” Rafe began. “Whatever happened, it wasn’t me.”

More running footsteps. Heavy. Daniel.