Читать книгу If I Die - Rachel Vincent - Страница 12

Sunday morning, I woke up alone. My dad had left a note on the fridge, telling me he’d be back for dinner. No explanation. But I knew what he was doing. He was looking for a way to save my life. I also knew that if he found one, he’d take it, no matter what it cost him, or anyone else.

What it cost me was obvious. Why did my father always seem to demonstrate his love for me through his own absence?

I ate a pint of Phish Food for breakfast—why worry about either calories or poor nutrition when I wouldn’t be there to suffer from either one?—then got showered and dressed on autopilot. After half an hour of flipping through TV shows I had no interest in, I picked up my phone to call Emma—then remembered that she was working. But before I could slide my cell back into my pocket, it started playing Nash’s dedicated ring tone.

I smiled and flipped the phone open.

“Hey,” Nash said into my ear, his voice deep and gruff, like he’d just woken up. “You busy?”

“Got nothin’ scheduled till sometime Thursday. Why? What’cha got in mind?”

Bedsprings groaned, and Nash’s voice got louder. “Lady’s choice. Lunch? Movie? Hell, skydiving? You name it, and I’ll do it.”

I hesitated for one heart-thudding moment. “My dad’s out. I could use some company….”

Silence, but for a single exhalation over the line. “Seriously?” he asked. But we both knew what I was really saying. “You sure you’re ready?”

“Yeah.” No. But I’d run out of time to get ready. “Bring protection.” ‘Cause I sure didn’t have any.

“Give me half an hour.”

I closed my phone and slid it into my pocket, suddenly so nervous I couldn’t even breathe properly. Every breath seemed to come too early or too late, like I was alternately suffocating and hyperventilating.

Was that normal?

Feeling clueless and stupid, I squelched the urge to call Emma for advice—she wouldn’t have her phone behind the counter at work anyway—then stood and stared around my living room like I’d never seen it before. I felt like I should do something to … prepare. But damned if I knew what.

To distract myself from the endless list of things I suddenly realized I didn’t know about sex—not the science stuff, the real stuff; stuff I’d never really contemplated, but that now seemed vital—I made my bed. Then brushed my teeth. Then changed out of my boring cotton underwear for a pair of slightly less boring cotton underwear, silently cursing the embarrassment that had kept me from buying actual grown-up clothes when Emma had dragged me into Victoria’s Secret a couple of months earlier.

When none of that helped, I glanced at the clock on the kitchen wall. T-minus nine minutes, and counting. It would take five just to boot up my laptop. So I sat on the couch and pulled out my phone. Then did the unthinkable.

I called Sabine.

The mara answered on the third ring. “School doesn’t start for another twenty-one hours, Kaylee,” she groaned. “I haven’t had a chance to talk to Beck yet.”

“I know. I, um … I need some advice.” I closed my eyes and put one hand over them, silently cursing myself.

“From me?” She couldn’t have sounded more surprised if she’d woken up bald and toothless.

“I wouldn’t have called you if I had any other options, but Emma’s at work, and my mom’s dead, and Harmony’s … well, she’s Nash’s mom, so that’s out of the question. And that only leaves you.”

Bedsprings creaked again—was I the only one who got up before lunch?—and her hand scratched the receiver as she covered it. I couldn’t make out whatever she yelled at her foster mother, but it definitely wasn’t … polite.

Then a door slammed and most of the background noise died. And Sabine was back.

“I’m assuming this is about sex. If I’m wrong, correct me now, or this conversation is going to get really weird.”

“You’re not wrong. I have questions, and I need answers, fast. Nash will be here in—” I glanced at the clock again “—seven minutes.”

“Cutting it pretty close, aren’t you?” She sounded distinctly unhappy to hear that I was minutes away from sleeping with Nash, and I choked back the sudden fear that her answers would sabotage my first—and likely only—sexual experience.

“The opportunity came up kind of fast.”

“What aspect of our relationship made you think I’d give you advice on sleeping with Nash?”

“We have a truce!” I fell back on the couch in exasperation.

“I said I wouldn’t get in your way—I never said I’d help.”

“Please, Sabine. You’re going to have him for the rest of your life, but I may only get this one shot.” When that didn’t work, I sighed and tried from another angle. “You were right. I don’t know what I’m doing. Please help me.” Even I could hear the anxiety in my voice, so I wasn’t surprised when Sabine laughed.

“Okay,” she said, and suspicion lingered on the edge of my mind. Why would she agree so easily? “But first, breathe, Kaylee. He’s not even in the room yet, and you sound like you’re about to pass out.”

“That’s your fault.” I sucked in a deep breath and held it for a couple of seconds. “You told me I wouldn’t be any good.”

“Yeah, and I also told you it wouldn’t matter.”

But it would. I stretched out on the couch with my eyes still covered. “Look, I don’t have time to get good at this and I’d like to avoid humiliating myself. Just this once. Are you going to answer my questions, or do I need to go create the most embarrassing Google search history known to womankind?” Not that there was time for that anymore.

“Fine.” I could practically see her pouting, in my head. “What do you want to know?”

Another deep breath. “Don’t laugh, but … what am I supposed to do?”

Sabine didn’t laugh, and I almost died of shock. “Anything,” she said. “Nothing. Whatever feels right.”

“That’s a nonanswer.” And it only made me more nervous.

The mara sighed. “It’s the truth. If you don’t know what to do, don’t worry about it. Nash knows what he’s doing. Trust me.”

My stomach clenched around my ice-cream breakfast. “Could you please not remind me of the two of you together?”

“Who’s asking who for help here?”

I was regretting asking already. But there was no one else. “What about my hands? What do I do with them?”

That time Sabine laughed, but she sounded genuinely amused, not cruel. It was a nice—if suspicious—change. “Touch … whatever you want to touch.”

I groaned and squeezed my eyes shut tighter. “Anything more specific?”

“Use your imagination. But really, you can’t go wrong. He’s going to want you to touch him.” I started to ask another question, but she spoke again before I could. “Fortunately for you, the process is kind of foolproof, Kaylee. The basics, anyway. People have been doing it since the beginning of time—with no instructions. Just keep it simple.”

Right. Simple.

“Do you know how the French describe an orgasm?” Sabine asked, and the familiar edge of mischief in her voice was almost a relief.

“How the hell would I know that?” Sexual euphemisms weren’t covered by Mrs. Brown’s French II class syllabus.

“They call it la petite mort. The little death. I think there’s irony in there somewhere. At least for you.”

“Wow. Thanks for that,” I snapped. “I love being reminded that I’m about to die.”

She exhaled heavily. “You know how much this sucks for me, right? I have one thing with Nash that he doesn’t have with you. One thing. And you just called me for advice about how best to take that away from me. If we hadn’t just called a truce, I’d think you were finally learning how to play the game.”

“I’m not—” But before I could finish insisting that I hadn’t meant to rub it in her face, Nash knocked on the door, and I stood so fast my head spun. “He’s here. Gotta go.”

“Swell,” Sabine said, and her voice cracked a little on that one syllable. “But call Emma when you want to talk about it afterward. I’m not that kind of friend.” She hung up and I slid my phone into my pocket. Then I wiped sweat from my palms onto my jeans and opened the door.

Nash stood on the porch, smiling. Waiting.

His smile slipped a little when he saw my face, and a thread of doubt swirled through his eyes before he could squelch it. “Are you sure about this?”

“Yeah.” I grinned nervously. “Yes. Come in.” I grabbed his hand and pulled him into the house without stepping back, so that he was pressed against me when I swung the door shut. “I want this.” It’s now or never.

“Me, too. You have no idea how badly I want this.” Nash kissed me, and I forgot to be nervous. I forgot about everything except him, and the heat between us, and everything that had seemed forbidden before but was now suddenly available, and irresistible, and … right in front of me.

I backed slowly across the living room, still kissing Nash. Breathing him. Tasting him. I let him guide us through the doorway and down the hall, one hand around my waist while mine slid around his neck. I clung to him like the safety bar on a roller coaster, hurtling down the track fast enough to steal my breath and scatter my doubts. And that was the whole point, right? To put aside fear and let myself feel something, before I’d lost that chance.

When we crossed into my room—I knew by the change in light and the feel of carpet beneath my toes—I pulled his shirt over his head and dropped it on the floor.

My pulse roared in my ears. I’d seen him shirtless a million times, but never like this. Never with such a storm of need and blatant lust churning in his eyes, so hot that smoke should’ve been rising off his skin. Never with the understanding that we weren’t going to stop there.

I was already out of breath when Nash stepped back and his scalding gaze met mine. He lifted one brow in silent question, and when I nodded, he slid his hands beneath my shirt, warm against my sides. His hands skimmed up my skin slowly, dragging the material with them, leaving chills in their wake. I raised my arms and he pulled the shirt over my head.

I didn’t see where my shirt fell because he was kissing me again, and his arms wrapped around me. My bra pulled tight for a minute, and I gasped against his lips when the material suddenly fell to the floor between us. Then we were chest to chest, skin to skin. For the first time.

At least, that I remembered …

But I pushed that thought away. So what if he’d already been this far with me before, when I wasn’t in possession of my own body? That nonmemory didn’t matter anymore, right? Thanks to my truncated lifeline, nothing mattered anymore, except how I spent the next five days. And I wasn’t going to spend them being ruled by fear.

I pulled Nash down for another kiss, the only reliable cure for encroaching panic. His hands fell away from me, and a moment later we were on the bed, and his pants were gone, though I had no memory of that happening.

I lay back on the pillow and closed my eyes, and the world was reduced to his lips, and hands, and a flood of sensations that were nothing like I’d imagined, yet somehow even better. I got lost in the feel of him—everywhere all at once—and only found myself when he unbuttoned my jeans.

Startled, in spite of my own intentions, I sat up, and his hands fell away again. Nash studied my surely churning irises, watching me closely. “You want to stop?” He would take no chances this time, and that meant the world to me.

“No.” My voice was a shaky whisper. “Don’t stop.”

He smiled—a burst of heat before the flames rolled over me—and I lay back again, staring at that crack in my ceiling as he slowly slid my pants over my hips, leaving my underwear in place. For now.

This is going to happen. My choice. I wanted it.

But when Nash’s face appeared over mine, his weight settling onto me gently, I couldn’t breathe. He was naked. Completely.

“You okay?” he whispered, kissing the sensitive skin below my left ear.

“Yeah. Yes.” I nodded, just in case I wasn’t clear, running my hands over his chest.

He kissed me again, and his knee slid slowly between mine. I listened to my heart pound in my ears, wondering if he could hear it. Wondering if he could feel it.

His lips traveled south of my collarbone and I threw my head back, and—

Someone knocked on my bedroom door.

I sucked in a cold, shocked breath. Nash rolled off me and sat up, breathing too fast. Already reaching for his pants. I flipped the edge of my comforter up to cover myself, my face flaming. Thursday be damned, my dad was going to kill me now.

Right after he killed Nash.

“Just a second!” I yelled, then I held one finger to my lips, warning Nash to be quiet. Saying I was an adult for the next five days didn’t mean my father was going to play along with my decision. Or that Nash would live long enough to see me die.

“It’s me,” a voice called from the hallway, and Nash threw his pants at the floor instead of pulling them on.

“Tod, get the hell out of here before I kill you myself,” he growled. “And this time, you won’t be coming back.”

“I need to talk to Kaylee.” Tod’s syllables were bitten off, like he was speaking through clenched teeth. “Just be glad I’m not her dad. You guys aren’t exactly stealthy.”

“We’re not in the mood to talk.” Nash sat on the edge of my bed and slid one arm around my bare back while I clutched the covers to my chest, mortified beyond speech.

“It’s important,” Tod said through the door. “Get dressed. I’m coming in.”

“Damn it!” Nash swore, pawing through the tangle of material on the floor for his boxer briefs. I stood and scanned the room for my clothes, and Nash spat profanities at his brother while I fastened my bra and pulled my shirt over my head.

“Time’s up,” Tod said, and an instant later he appeared at the foot of my bed. He glanced at me long enough to realize I wasn’t wearing pants, then turned around while I pulled them on.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Nash snapped. He bent to pick up his pants again, then straightened, his gaze narrowed on Tod in anger and suspicion. “How did you know to knock?” Nash demanded, and my cheeks flamed like hot coals when I followed his logic. “You usually just blink into the room, right? How did you know not to this time?”

I zipped my pants and Tod turned to me, dismissing his half-naked brother. “Sorry, Kay. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t important.”

“What’s wrong?” I couldn’t manage any more than that as I pushed hair back from my face, trying to pretend he hadn’t just seen me in my underwear.

“I got your reaper’s name.” He glanced at the ground for a moment before meeting my gaze again, and I felt my heart stop. “It’s him, Kaylee. The same one as before. They’re bringing in the reaper who killed your mom.”

“Does my dad know?” I stared at the kitchen floor, trying to wrap my brain around the facts. Minutes earlier, I’d been seconds away from losing my virginity and concerned with nothing else. Now I sat at the kitchen table, virginity frustratingly intact, embarrassed beyond belief, and suddenly scared of my approaching death for a whole new reason.

My mother’s reaper. Now my reaper. Again.

“No one knows, except you two.” Tod leaned against the refrigerator, watching me, probably wondering if he should have said anything at all. Knowing who would be coming for me didn’t exactly lessen the stress of my last days. But I was glad he’d told me.

“How could this even happen?” I demanded, as Nash paced back and forth between me and Tod. “This reaper—what’s his name?”

“Thane,” Tod said, watching me from across the room. “If he had a last name, it’s long gone now.”

“Thane.” Once I’d heard it, I had to say it. I had to try out the name of the man who’d taken my mother’s life out of spite when he was denied mine.

I shook my head to clear it and found both Hudson boys waiting for me to finish my thought. “Shouldn’t this bastard be on the run or something. I mean, he’s psychotic, right? He tried to kill me again while I was still in the hospital, before my mom was even buried!”

“Yeah, and if he’d actually been caught with an unauthorized soul, he’d have been fired on the spot,” Tod said. “But your dad stopped him before he could kill you again. The bright side, obviously, is that you’re still alive—at least so far. But the not-so-bright side is that Thane got away with attempted murder and potential soul trafficking because no one in the afterlife knew he’d tried it. Your dad didn’t even know he could report the incident, much less who to report it to. So, from what I can tell, Thane’s spent the past thirteen years in another district, where he continued reaping off the record, but was never caught.”

“So you’re saying the only way to keep him from killing me this time is if he’d succeeded in killing me last time?” My life had already been a nightmare. I probably shouldn’t have been surprised that my death was becoming one, too.

“Yeah.” Tod shrugged miserably.

“But there’s no proof he did anything, after he went after Kaylee, is there?” Nash said. “If there was proof, they’d have repossessed his soul and sent him on to a true death, right? So how sure are we that he’s ever even reaped off the record?”

Tod exhaled slowly, then met his brother’s gaze. “Not sure enough to openly accuse him, but sure enough to have caught Levi’s attention. Turns out he was Thane’s supervisor when Kaylee died the first time. He didn’t like Thane, but he didn’t have proof of anything, so he had him transferred out of the district. Then, when Levi saw Thane listed for your reaping the other day, he did some digging. There are no official complaints, but there are a few discrepancies in Thane’s last district. No one’s associated them with him yet, but then, they don’t know what he tried to do to you. He’s never been caught in the act, or with an unauthorized soul.”

“So, how did he wind up in line to kill Kaylee again? Legally, this time?” Nash asked, sinking into the chair next to mine. “The bastard actually got promoted?”

“Not yet. This is something like a courtesy call, if I understand correctly,” Tod explained. “Thane is up for advancement—proof positive that the system is flawed—and since Kaylee was supposed to be his kill in the first place, some idiot higher up in the chain of command has decided that she should be his test case. A chance to finish what he started and secure a promotion.”

And that’s when I truly understood why Tod had considered his news important enough to interrupt me and Nash, even knowing what we were … up to. “So, if my death is the key to Thane’s promotion, there’s no way he’s going to let my dad do anything to mess that up.”

“That’s right.” Tod’s eyes were eerily, frighteningly still, and suddenly the “grim” descriptor seemed to fit him perfectly. “And if Thane gets this promotion, he’ll be working without a regular schedule, which will leave him plenty of time and opportunity to reap souls off the record, for profit or his own amusement. And what would amuse him more than reaping the soul of a man who’s gotten in his way not once, not twice, but three times before?”

That man, of course, would be my father.

“No.” No!

“Kaylee, it’s going to be all right.” Tod started across the room toward me, but stopped when Nash scooted closer to rub my back.

“No, it’s not. He’s going to kill me. That sucks, but I could almost deal with that, because I thought that after Thursday, all my problems would be over.” Nash would have Sabine to lean on, and I wouldn’t care what they did together, because I wouldn’t even exist anymore. My dad would be sad, but he’d still be alive, and eventually he’d deal.

But Tod’s bombshell had changed everything.

Tears filled my eyes, and I scrubbed my face with my hands to hide them. But I could still hear them in my voice. “If my dad makes trouble and Thane kills him, what will he do with his soul?”

Warm hands wrapped around my wrists and gently pulled my hands away from my face. I blinked, expecting to see Nash’s hazel eyes staring into mine—but I saw blue instead. Tod knelt in front of me, holding my arms, staring straight into my eyes. “That’s not going to happen.”

“Don’t promise her things you can’t deliver,” Nash snapped from the chair to my left, and I could hear anger in his voice, just as thick as the tears were in mine. “We all know how well that worked out for Addison.”

Tod’s jaw clenched, but his attention never left me. “I can’t stop whatever’s going to happen on Thursday, Kaylee. More than anything in the world, I wish I could.” I nodded, sniffling. “But Levi said if I can get proof that Thane’s been reaping off the record, he’ll take it to his boss, and at the very least, we can get him removed from your case and held for review. And that should protect your dad. No promises …” The reaper glanced pointedly at his brother, then met my tear-blurred gaze again. “But I’ll do what I can.”

“Thank you.” I wiped away more tears, trying to balance overwhelming fear and frustration with the bone of hope he’d just tossed me.

“How do you know all this already?” Nash’s gaze narrowed on his brother when the reaper finally stood and stepped back. “You popped in here like you had urgent news, but if it was so urgent in the first place, how did you and Levi have time to work this out?”

I glanced at Nash, surprised by his anger. “He’s just trying to help,” I insisted, sliding my hand into his.

“Don’t you think his timing is a little convenient?”

Tod actually laughed. “Little brother, the last thing I was trying to be was convenient.”

Something silent passed between them. Some kind of unspoken challenge that made my stomach pitch. “What am I missing?” They’d never been best friends, but I’d rarely seen them openly hostile.

Nash never even glanced at me. “You’ve delivered your news. Now go deliver some pizza.”

I glanced at him in surprise. “What’s wrong with you?”

But when Nash didn’t answer, Tod did, his eyes darker than usual, but still steady. “He wants to pick up where the two of you left off.”

I could feel myself flush, and Nash’s hand tightened around mine. But he was watching his brother again. “Do you have a problem with that, Tod?”

That sick feeling in my stomach grew stronger, and I looked up to find the reaper watching me, like he was waiting for some kind of signal. And when I didn’t give him one—when I couldn’t even fully understand the words they were saying, much less the ones they weren’t—he exhaled heavily, holding my gaze. “Not if that’s what she wants. At least this time she’s actually in there and able to speak for herself.” He tapped his head to illustrate his point, and I struggled to breathe through a complicated mix of embarrassment and squirming discomfort.

I didn’t like the reminder that he knew what had happened. What Nash had let happen when he was high. I didn’t want to think about it, and I didn’t want to know that anyone else ever thought about it.

Nash went stiff at my side, and I could practically feel his temper rolling off him in waves. “Get. Out.”

Tod watched me for another second, while I tried desperately to calm the storm of confusion battering my heart from all sides. Then he disappeared.

“I can’t believe he said that to you.” Nash pulled me up by the hand he still held, and I let him tug me toward the living room.

“He was talking to you,” I said softly, as I sank onto the couch next to him, and Nash went very, very still.

It was the thing we didn’t talk about. It had happened, more than once, and it had broken us up for a while, but he felt horrible about it, and the whole thing was behind us now. And I was fine as long as I didn’t think about it. About what was said and seen and done while I wasn’t in control of my own body.

Nash looked straight into my eyes with an intensity and sincerity that made me catch my breath. “It’s never going to happen again. Not even if you lived to be a thousand. You know that, right?”

“You’re here, aren’t you?” I said at last. Wasn’t that proof enough that I was trying to move past it?

But I couldn’t get Tod’s expression out of my head. There’d been just a flash of motion in his irises—a swirl of blue too quick to interpret.

I closed my eyes and tried to clear my head. Tried to get back to the place Nash and I had been an hour before, alone, in my room, where thoughts didn’t matter—it was all about feeling. But when I met Nash’s gaze, I knew the moment was over. He was still mad at Tod, and hurt by the reminder of things we’d put behind us. And maybe I was, too.

“He did this on purpose.” Nash let his head fall against the back of the couch. “He dredged up old problems to start new trouble.” And this time I couldn’t argue.

As it turns out, there’s no greater impediment to la petite mort—the little death—than a visit from the real thing.