“Jesus, Alex,” he muttered over his shoulder. “The hell did you give her?”
“I didn’t do anything, I swear,” Alex chirped, hands up. “She must be sick or something.”
Réal hissed through his teeth. He closed the passenger door and turned to Alex, raising a finger to his chest. Evie could hear the muffled shape of his voice through the glass, sharp, threatening, but he spoke too low for her to make out the words.
She had never felt so tired in her life. But it wasn’t Alex’s fault. She wanted to say that, to speak through the glass. She reached for the window button, but the car wasn’t running, and the button was dead.
It was even hotter inside the Buick, baking in the sun all afternoon like a kiln. Its sour-milk-and-oil smell knitted itself into her eye sockets. Sweat ran down her ribs, her scalp. Her bare legs burned on the hot seats.
She scratched at the door handle, shoving it open and hitting Ré in the butt. He stepped away, surprised, and both boys turned to look at her.
“I have heat stroke,” she said, guessing. “It’s not his fault.”
She struggled to get out of the car, but Ré was on her in an instant, grabbing her arms again. “Stay where you are, Evie,” he said. “I’m taking you home.”
“Ré, it’s a million degrees in here. And it stinks.”
Alex snickered, and Ré threw him a look of pure death.
“Fine,” Ré said, jaw clenched. “Let’s go.” He pointed for Alex to get in the back.
“What about Sunny?” Alex asked. “Should we wait for her?”
“I’m not a fucking limo service, Janes,” Ré snapped over his shoulder, throwing himself into the driver’s seat. He started the car and blasted the AC, but all it did was blow stale, warm air in her face. Evie pressed the window button down and fell back against the hot seat. Glancing at her, Ré snapped the AC off again with a flick of his wrist.
Twenty minutes later they pulled into Evie’s drive. No one had said a word the whole way. She felt better after the cool wind had blasted through the car, and she was especially glad it had made it too loud to talk. She didn’t want the lecture she felt Ré had in him right now. His hands on the steering wheel were tense and white, his glances brimming with irritation.
She shot out of the car without a word, and Ré followed after her, leaving Alex in the back seat. She didn’t look at either of them, just went up the steps and keyed open the front door. Ré invited himself in right behind her, and she turned, surprised. “What are you doing?” she asked.
He didn’t speak, just stepped past her into the living room and looked around. He seemed to appraise the old rug, the pictures on the wall, the red fuzzy couch, stepping out of himself, out of his anger, just for an instant.
Then he swung it all back on her again.
“What are you doing?” he said. “Seriously, Evie. Getting high? With Alex? In the middle of the day?”
“You’re not my dad,” she scoffed, chucking her backpack at the foot of the stairs. “Don’t tell me what to do.”
He shook his head, sliding his hands into his back pockets. “I’m not trying to be your dad, Ev, I’m trying to be your friend. You still haven’t told me what you’re doing about the—”
“Stop asking me!” she shouted over him, not wanting to hear the word. “I’ll figure it out on my own. I don’t need your pity party.”
His mouth closed and his eyes rounded.
“I mean it, Ré,” she continued, though she knew she shouldn’t. “You barely even looked at me before. And now all of a sudden you’re in my life, in my head. Making me feel crazy.” She choked on the words, throat closing. “I should be thinking about Shaun, because he’s dead and he loved me, but instead I can’t stop thinking about you. So just stop, okay?” She shook her head, tears spilling down her face. “Please.”
And there was a moment, a breathless one—just after the words had left her lungs, just before she breathed again. They both felt it, she knew, like a surge of lava welling up around them, squeezing them together, crushing. Réal stood there staring at her, but she could see it burning in his eyes too. Their dark brown glimmered and twitched all over her, filled with the words he wasn’t saying.
He pressed his lips closed, his jaw tight.
Her heart punched against her ribs. She wanted to take the words back, but instead she just stared at him, swallowing hard.
Then he breathed, finally, and his shoulders dropped. His eyes fell away to the floor. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “If you want me to leave you alone, I will.”
Her voice wavered. “I don’t know what I want,” she admitted. “I’m so confused.”
He laughed, low and gruff, like he knew exactly what she meant.
She watched him run his bottom lip between his teeth. He shook his head, and she followed his gaze out the front window. Alex had moved from the back seat. He was leaning against the Buick, waiting, hands stuffed in his pockets.
“I’m sorry,” Ré said again.
He stepped toward her, and her breath caught. He pushed past her in the narrow doorway; she could smell the soap of him, the skin, the salt, his jean jacket sliding across her bare arm, his body heat. All her senses pulled in his direction, a tide to the moon. He threw open the screen door and took the steps two at a time.
Alex jumped to attention when he saw Ré coming. The boys said nothing to each other as they moved to get in the car, but Alex glanced back at Evie once, his
