Rachel Vincent: My Soul To Take

Nash frowned in concern, and I closed my eyes, barely noticing the sudden swell of music from the club. I knew that look. It was the one mothers give their kids when they fall off the slide and sit up talking about purple ponies and dancing squirrels.

“I know it sounds—” crazy “—weird, but…”

He took both of my hands, twisting to face me more fully on the flattened box beneath us, and again the colors in his irises seemed to pulse with my heartbeat. His mouth opened, and I held my breath, awaiting my verdict. Had I lost him with talk of creepy black shadows, or did my mistakes start all the way back with the spilled drink?

“Sounds pretty weird to me.”

We both glanced up to find Emma watching us, a chilled bottle of water in one hand, dripping condensation on the grimy concrete, and I almost groaned in frustration. Whatever Nash had been about to say was gone now; I could see that in the cautious smile he shot at me, before redirecting toward Emma.

She twisted open the lid and handed me the bottle. “But then, you wouldn’t be Kaylee if you didn’t weird-out on me every now and then.” She shrugged amiably and hauled me to my feet as Nash stood to join us. “So you had a panic attack because you think some girl in the club is going to die?”

I nodded hesitantly, waiting for her to laugh or roll her eyes, if she thought I was joking. Or to look nervous, if she knew I wasn’t. Instead, her brows arched, and she cocked her head to one side. “Well, shouldn’t you go tell her? Or something?”

“I…” I blinked in confusion and frowned at the brick wall over her shoulder. Somehow, that option had never occurred to me. “I don’t know.” I glanced at Nash, but found no answer in his now-normal eyes. “She’d probably just think I was crazy. Or she’d get all freaked out.” And really, who could blame her? “Doesn’t matter, anyway, because it’s not true. Right? It can’t be.”

Nash shrugged but looked like he wanted to say something. But then Emma spoke up, never hesitant to voice her opinion. “Of course not. You had another panic attack, and your mind latched onto the first person you saw. Could’ve been me, or Nash, or Traci. It doesn’t mean anything.”

I nodded, but as badly as I wanted to believe her theory, it just didn’t feel right. Yet I couldn’t make myself warn the redhead. No matter what I thought I knew, the prospect of telling a perfect stranger that she was going to die felt just plain crazy, and I’d had enough of crazy for the moment.

For the rest of my life, in fact.

“All better?” Emma asked, when she read my decision on my face. “Wanna go back in?”

I was feeling better, but that dark panic still lingered on the edge of my mind, and it would only get worse if I saw the girl again. I had no doubt of that. And I would not give Nash an encore of the night’s performance, if at all possible.

“I’m just gonna head home.” My uncle had taken my aunt out for her fortieth birthday, and Sophie was on an overnight trip with the dance team. For once I’d have the house to myself. I smiled at Emma in apology. “But if you want to stay, you could probably catch a ride with Traci.”

“Nah, I’ll go with you.” Emma took the water bottle from my hand and gulped from it. “She told us to leave together, remember?”

“She also told us not to drink.”

Emma rolled her big brown eyes. “If she really meant that, she wouldn’t have snuck us into a bar. ”

That was Emma-logic, all right. The longer you thought about it, the less sense it made.

Emma glanced from me to Nash. Then she smiled and headed down the alley toward the car lot across the street, to give us some privacy. I dug my keys from my pocket and stared at them, trying to avoid Nash’s gaze until I knew what I was going to say.

He’d seen me at my worst, and rather than flipping out or making fun, he’d helped me regain control. We’d connected in a way I wouldn’t have thought possible an hour earlier, especially with someone like Nash, whose one-track mind was a thing of legends. Still, I couldn’t fight the certainty that this evening’s dream would end in tomorrow’s nightmare. That daylight would bring him to his senses, and he’d wonder what he was doing with me in the first place.

I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. My keys jangled, the ring dangling from my index finger, and he frowned when his gaze settled on them.

“You okay to drive?” He grinned, and my pulse jumped in response. “I could take you home and walk from there. You live in the Parkview complex, right? That’s just a couple of minutes from me.”

He knew where I lived? I must have looked suspicious, because he rushed to explain. “I gave your sister a ride once. Last month.”

My jaw tightened, and I felt my expression darken. “She’s my cousin.” Nash had given Sophie a ride? Please don’t let that be a euphemism…

He frowned and shook his head in answer to my unspoken question. “Scott Carter asked me to give her a lift.”

Oh. Good. I nodded, and he shrugged. “So you want me to take you guys home?” He held his hand out for my keys.

“That’s okay, I’m good to drive.” And I wasn’t in the habit of letting people I barely knew behind the wheel of my car. Especially really hot guys who—rumor had it—had gotten two speeding tickets in his ex’s Firebird.

Nash flashed a deep set of stubbly dimples and shrugged. “Then can I have a lift? I rode with Carter, and he won’t be ready to go for hours.”

My pulse jumped into my throat. Was he leaving early just so he could ride with me? Or had I ruined his evening with my freak-tastic hysterics?

“Um…yeah.” My car was a mess, but it was too late to worry about that. “But you’ll have to flip Emma for shotgun.”

Fortunately, that turned out to be unnecessary. Em took the back, shooting me a meaningful glance and pointing at Nash as she slid across the seat, swiping a corn-chip bag onto the floor. I dropped her off first, a full hour and a half before her curfew, which had to be some kind of record.

As I pulled out of Emma’s driveway, Nash twisted in the passenger seat to face me, his expression somber, and my heart beat so hard it almost hurt. It was time for the easy letdown. He was too cool to say it in front of Emma, and even with her gone, he’d probably be really nice about it. But the bottom line was the same; he wasn’t interested in me. At least, not after my public meltdown.

“So you’ve had these panic attacks before?”

What? My hands clenched the wheel in surprise as I took a left at the end of the street.

“A couple of times.” Half a dozen, at least. I couldn’t purge suspicion from my voice. My “issues” should have driven him screaming into the night, and instead he wanted details? Why?

“Do your parents know?”

I shifted in my seat, as if a new position might make me more comfortable with the question. But it would take much more than that. “My mom died when I was little, and my dad couldn’t handle me on his own. He moved to Ireland, and I’ve been with my aunt and uncle ever since.”

Nash blinked and nodded for me to go on. He gave me none of the awkward sympathy or compulsive, I’m-not-sure-what-to-say throat-clearing I usually got when people found out I’d been half-orphaned, then wholly abandoned. I liked him for that, even if I didn’t like where his questions were heading.

“So your aunt and uncle know?”

Yeah. They think I’m one egg shy of a dozen. But the truth hurt too much to say out loud.

I turned to see him watching me closely, and my suspicion flared again, settling to burn deep in my gut. Why did he care what my family knew about my not-so-private misery? Unless he was planning to laugh with his friends later about what a freak I was.