Wrath

“What?” she asked, forcing herself to stay focused on her bent knees and straight posture and not on Kane’s reedy voice or laughing eyes.

“This, here. All of it.”

Miranda suspected he’d have no trouble getting most any girl in school out on the court, especially if it meant some physical contact with Haven High’s resident Greek god. But all she said was, “I’m not most girls.”

“Tell me about it,” he said as she launched the ball into the air, holding her breath as it sailed closer and closer to the basket… and bounced off the rim.

“Told you I suck.” She rolled her eyes and began walking toward the sidelines, but he grabbed her, drew her back to the center of the court.

“Okay, you do suck,” he agreed, retrieving the ball and slipping it back into her hands.

“Nice. Very nice.”

“But you’ve got a great teacher.” He moved behind her again, and this time, as he grabbed her arms, she leaned back, ever so slightly, so that her shoulders grazed against his chest. She could feel him breathing. “See? That was only your first try and you hit the rim. It’s a start.’

Of what? she wanted to ask, playfully but meaningfully. Of course she didn’t have the nerve. So she closed her eyes, feeling his chest rise and fall, his voice soft in her ear, and let him guide her body into position. It didn’t mean anything, she knew that. He didn’t realize what it felt like, his fingers wrapped loosely around her forearms, caressing her hips, her lower back, her thighs-for him, this was just another day on the court.

But even though she knew it was silly, Miranda allowed herself a moment of let’s pretend: What if he spun her around and pulled her into his arms, for real? What if this was all just foreplay, and the real game was about to begin? What if he wanted an excuse to touch her just as much as she longed to be touched?

And then he let go again and, perfectly lined up for the shot, she let the ball fly off the tips of her fingers. It sailed toward the basket, rolled around the edge of the rim, again and again, before finally tipping away and toppling to the ground.

She’d missed. Again.

But it was a start.

It was pitch black inside the mine. But Reed didn’t need to explore. When he was a kid, he’d spent hours blundering around in the dark, holding a flashlight up to his head like an old-time miner. He could’ve gotten himself killed.

This time, he just stepped far enough inside the darkness to make everything disappear, then sat down, his back pressed against the cool, dank wall.

What did she want from him?

Why did he even care?

His father wanted him to confess, and had already made it clear that he’d throw Reed out of the house if he got expelled.

Then what?

Reed wished he could light up a joint, since that was the best way to drive the questions away. A few puffs and he could sink into the worry free zone and forget it all. But you didn’t sneak into an old mine and light a match-not if you cared about staying alive.

There were other ways to forget. Reed closed his eyes-though there was no light to shut out-and leaned his head back against the wall. He could almost hear the sounds of an earlier time: pumping, clanging, chugging, grunting, rhythmic grinding of steel on steel. That was why he liked it here: The place was full of ghosts, and it was easy to imagine you were one of them, fading into the past, all your problems long solved, your decisions made, your life lived.

Reed knew he’d eventually have to get up, walk out, and do something. He couldn’t just hide there in the dark, waiting for his problems to pass. But it was tempting to imagine the possibility, just for a while.

He’d never been afraid of the dark, just like he’d never been afraid of dying. As far as he was concerned, darkness was easy. Leaving it all behind was a piece of cake. The hard part came when you turned on the lights and had to face the day.

Chapter 11

Kaia wasn’t sure she owed Powell an apology, and she hadn’t decided whether she wanted to give him another chance or whether the time had come to make a clean break from both of the men in her life. All she knew was that she needed to see him, and didn’t know why.

The uncertainty had driven her straight to his doorstep.

“Kaia, ma cherie.” He swung the door open before she had a chance to knock. “I’ve been expecting you.”

The last time Kaia had been in the cramped bachelor pad-every time, in fact-she’d headed straight for the bedroom, which was large enough to fit Powell’s sagging mattress and not much else. This time, she sat on the futon. It was burnt orange, inherited from the previous tenant. Powell squeezed in next to her, and Kaia willed herself not to inch away.

There was one question answered: She didn’t want him back. His pathetic threats had twisted Kaia’s attraction into an instinctive repulsion.

“I knew you’d be back,” he leered, fondling a strand of her hair.

She slapped his hand away. “I didn’t come here for that,” she informed him.

“What, then?”

“It’s over,” she told him. She was certain now of what she wanted, but uncertain about too many other things- like why she’d felt so safe with Reed, even knowing what she knew, and why, sitting here on this familiar futon with her horny but harmless ex, she felt a shiver of danger.

Powell sighed. “Haven’t we danced to this song before?”

“Don’t be-”

“Cute. I know.” He tried to put an arm around her, and she jumped up off the futon, unsure why she felt so jittery, but willing to trust her instincts. “What? Are you still going on about that stalking thing? I told you, not my style.”

“No, I know it wasn’t you…”

“And you can’t seriously still think the Sawyer boy is a reasonable option-not after what happened yesterday.”

“How do you know about-”

Powell shook his head, his eyes twinkling. “I was there when they tossed him out of school. Very sad case, that. So tragic to see a young man just throw his life away, and all on a nasty little prank.”

Now Kaia sat back down again, taking Powell’s hands in her own and trying to smile. This had all worked out a little too well, especially for him. “Jack, tell me something.” She raised a hand to his temple and wound a finger around one of his chestnut hairs, curling it idly as she spoke. “How did you know about me and Reed, really?”

“I told you, ma cherie, I just knew. I could tell.”

She leaned toward him, brushing her lips lightly against his cheek, trying not to gag on the overpowering scent of his cologne. “You were watching, weren’t you? It’s okay, you can tell me. It’s kind of a turn-on.”

“Well, since you put it that way…” Powell traced his fingers down the side of her face and began lightly massaging her neck. Kaia tried not to jerk away. Then his fingers closed down on her skin, pinching her shoulder. He pushed her away from him, holding her in place like a vise. “What kind of an idiot do you take me for? ‘Oh, Jack,’” he simpered in imitation, “‘tell me all about how you love to watch me when I’m alone, how you’ve been following me, how you love to see me weak and scared. Tell me everything, Jack, it’s such a turn-on.’ If you want to know something, Kaia, just ask.”