Timepiece

“You’re trying to change the subject.” She chucked a piece of the stick toward the woods. “I don’t know why, but if you want to succeed, you’ll have to try harder.”

“One point to Lily.”

“If you don’t find Jack, and time is rewound, how do you know things wouldn’t play out the exact way they did the first time?” she asked. Too perceptive. “How do you know people wouldn’t make the same choices, live the same lives?”

“I think the people who want Jack will take him out of the picture. From what point do they take him? After he killed my dad but before he changed Emerson’s time line?”

She threw the other half, harder this time. “That sucks.”

“That sucks,” I agreed.

“If I do help…” She stopped, catching her breath, and stared over my shoulder. I turned around.

A man sat on a horse twenty feet in front of us.

“That’s… not… right,” Lily choked out from behind me.

One end of a long rope circled the man’s neck in a makeshift noose, and the other end draped over the highest branch of a black walnut tree. None of it had been there two minutes ago. His hands were tied behind his back, his feet tucked into stirrups. A shotgun came into view behind the horse he sat on, aimed at the sky.

The man attached to the gun came into view next.

“We don’t take to thieves here.” He leaned the gun against the trunk of the tree as he took the rope and tied it tightly, working it into the grooves of the bark. “Not of our livestock or our women.”

“I didn’t touch your wife.”

The sound of the shotgun pump echoed across the empty landscape. Lily’s shoulders jerked at the sound.

“I didn’t, and I’m not a thief. I thought it was my horse, I thought…” Desperation tainted the excuse. Sweat beaded on the thief’s forehead.

“I caught you red-handed with both. I took care of the woman, but you’re welcome to another turn on the horse.” The man holding the gun curled his index finger around the trigger.

“You’ll be sorry,” the thief said. “My men will make you sorry.”

“They’ll have to find me first. Enjoy the ride.”

I jumped forward, grabbing Lily’s arm. She made a sound of protest as I spun her around and pulled her into my chest.

A shot echoed through the twilight air.

The horse reared and took off at full speed, and the man jerked backward with a loud snap. His feet twitched as his face turned red, and then blue.

Lily struggled to free herself from my arms. I held her tighter. “Don’t look. Please don’t look.”

The man who shot the gun had disappeared.

“Kaleb? Lily?” A voice broke in, faint, sounding far away. I looked toward where the house was supposed to be. Em.

The three of us stood in the middle of a field, empty, except for a dead man hanging from a tree.

Em watched the man swing from side to side, not looking at his face. Her voice remained calm, but she kept swallowing as if she was trying not to throw up. “Lily?”

Lily pushed her way out of my arms before I could stop her. Her focus shifted from Em to the man hanging to the tree and back again. “What the hell…”

“You can see him?” Em whispered.

“Where are we?” Lily asked, spinning around in a complete circle. “What happened to the house?”

Em and I exchanged a look that asked a singular question. If Lily could see the full-blown rip, did that mean the rips were changing? Or did it mean Lily had the time gene?

Em turned toward the hanging man and walked the twenty feet to the trunk of the walnut tree. She tried touching it first, but nothing happened. Squeezing her eyes shut, she gingerly reached out in the direction of the man’s foot.

When she made contact, the scene in front of us melted from top to bottom.

To reveal Thomas and Dru standing on the back porch, staring at us.

Em gazed back in horror. “What are you doing?”

“Checking to see what was keeping the three of you,” Thomas said. “What are you doing?”

“Did you… did you just see that?” Em waved her hand in the direction of the place the rip had disappeared seconds before.

Thomas and Dru replied in unison.

“See what?”

Chapter 11

I was pretty sure I was awake, but if so, why was Lily Garcia sitting at my kitchen table on a Sunday morning? I rubbed my eyes with my fists.

“Did you forget your shirt?” she asked.

I blinked. Still there. I was glad I’d pulled on basketball shorts instead of coming downstairs in my boxer briefs. “No. I wasn’t expecting to see… anyone.”

“Surprise.” She waggled her fingers. Jazz hands.

I grabbed some pineapple-orange juice from the fridge. Screwing the plastic lid off, I started to drink out of the carton before I caught myself. I extended it to Lily. “Thirsty?”

“No,” she said, wrinkling her nose.

“Not to be rude, but why are you in my kitchen?”

“I’m here to see your dad. He ran over to the college to get supplies from the science department. I guess he didn’t expect me to come for testing so soon.”

Anxiety.

“For the gene,” I said.

“Yay you for keeping up. Are you going to tell me Ivy Springs isn’t a freak magnet now?”

Avoiding the question, I chugged what was left of the juice and tossed the empty container in the trash. “Did you sleep?”

“My grandmother said I called out a couple of times.” There was a hint of dark circles under her eyes.

I hadn’t slept at all. In my mind, the man swung from the tree all night. “You live with your grandmother instead of your parents?”

“We escaped from Cuba when I was little. My parents are still there.” Pain. It so often led to avoidance. “Have you always lived in Ivy Springs?”

“No. We moved here when Dad took a job at Cameron College.” I shut the refrigerator door. “But this house has been in my dad’s family for generations.”

“Nice.”

There were a couple of awkward seconds of staring-neither one of us knew where to look-but I could sense Lily trying really hard not to look at my bare chest or tattoos.

Instead of going upstairs for a shirt like a normal person, I reached for the hook magnet on the side of the fridge, grabbed my kiss the cook apron, and slid it over my head.

“Are you kidding me?” Lily’s eyebrows almost met her hairline.

“No. I’m… hungry.” Suddenly desperate to make the apron look somewhat normal, I took a coated cast-iron pan down from the rack over the kitchen island. “As for the apron, I like cooking. I like kissing. I like giving orders. About both.”

I stared at her until she blushed.

“You okay with garlic?” I snagged a bulb from the counter and held it up. A piece of papery-thin skin fluttered to the floor.

“On your breath or in my food?”