Spark

CHAPTER 29

Monday morning, Layne dug the currycomb into her horse’s coat, rubbing in circular motions until her biceps ached. Brisk morning air nipped at her cheeks, but she didn’t care. She’d already done this twice and could see the shine on her horse’s coat under the dust and hair she was bringing up. But she’d do it a fourth time, and a fifth, too, if she could get away with it.

Anything to stay out of the house until her father left for work. Even if she had to wear this getup to school.

Even if she had to skip school.

Saturday night, the house had felt like a war zone. At first, they’d gone to different rooms, doors closed, only silence beyond. She’d finally crept out at seven to make dinner, hoping baked chicken and mashed potatoes—her father’s favorite—would be enough to pull him out of his study.

But she’d knocked, and he’d answered, and he’d told her to feed Simon and go to bed.

Then he’d come back out, for one reason only: to confiscate her cell phone.

Sunday was worse, only because her father showed his face. Every word was clipped, every motion sharp. Layne expected him to yell, to ground her, to issue restrictions. But he didn’t mention Gabriel. He barely spoke to Simon—not like there was any change there.

She’d been relieved when a client called with an emergency, and her father had to leave.

But the tension in the house had made her completely forget the events of Friday night. Since she didn’t have her backpack, she turned on the computer and loaded her e-mail, hoping to e-mail a classmate to get the weekend assignment for Honors English.

And then she’d been shocked by the onslaught.

At first, she thought her account had been hacked. She had over fifty e-mails.

Then she’d started recognizing the names of fellow students. Taylor. Heather. A few others, all from that crowd.

Her throat still felt tight, thinking about it. She’d clicked on one.

It was a picture of her, pinned on that chaise lounge, but the photo had been doctored. Now it looked like she was completely naked.

Bad enough. But the next one was from Ryan Stacey. The subject line said, Bring back memories?

She expected another dirty picture, but it was a link to a newspaper article about a fire Saturday night, at some town house community across town. Four homes, destroyed. Almost everyone had gotten out without injuries, but a young woman had been trapped and badly burned before she was rescued.

There was a picture.

Layne clicked for the next e-mail, before her brain could register the damage.

The next e-mail had obviously been passed around before coming to her account, because she had to scroll through numerous LOLs before getting to another photo of herself on the chaise lounge. But she was on fire, her face a Photoshopped image of a charred dog’s head.

And in the e-mail chain, a message from Kara, saying how hysterical it was.

Layne had yanked the computer plug out of the wall.

And then she’d run to the bathroom to throw up.

The horse sidestepped away from the brush, and Layne snapped back to the present. She’d been pressing too hard.

She abandoned the currycomb for a bristle brush, flicking the dirt and loose hairs into the aisle, making the animal’s red coat truly shine.

A knock sounded against the wood planks at the end of the aisle, and she jumped, then placed a hand on her horse’s shoulder to steady him when he snorted. No one ever came out this early. It was barely six in the morning.

A figure stood at the other end of the barn, in the wide doorway, backed by sunshine, so she couldn’t make out who it was.

She set down the brush. “Hello?” she called. “Can I help you?”

“Layne?”

Her step faltered—and then the clouds shifted, just a little, enough so she could recognize Gabriel standing at the end of the barn.

It sent her heart dancing with a skip and a flutter. She hadn’t heard from him since Saturday, of course, because she’d practically been on house arrest. Really, she hadn’t been sure how she’d face him, after the things her father had said.

But now, seeing him here, she almost fell over her own feet trying to get down the aisle. He was wearing running shoes again. Shorts and a dark hoodie. His face was a bit flushed, his eyes dark with the sun at his back.

It wasn’t just that he was here. He’d run. How many miles had he said? Four?

But then she realized he wasn’t coming toward her. He wasn’t smiling. He was just standing there, that tense, inscrutable expression on his face.

She stopped short, trying to get her breath and heartbeat to settle into a steady rhythm. She stared up at him, wondering if he hated her now, if her father’s words had ruined everything, if she’d be starting school today without a single ally. Or maybe it was those e-mails.

Maybe he’d seen. Maybe he’d reconsidered.

She was a freak.

An outcast.

Only now, she wasn’t hidden. Her secrets were out there, for the whole world to see.

For a horrifying moment, she worried she was going to throw up again.

And then she did something worse.

She started sobbing.

Huge, choking sobs that made her shoulders shake and her body tremble. Her hands were over her eyes, and her legs couldn’t carry her weight on top of this onslaught of emotion.

Then his hands caught her shoulders, drawing her in against his chest. “Layne. Layne, please.”

“They put it all over the Internet. I knew . . . I knew it would be bad—” She choked again.

“I’m sorry.” She felt his breath on her hair. “Layne, I’m sorry.”

“Even Kara . . . Kara was e-mailing with them.”

“Your friend is a bitch. And she doesn’t deserve you.”

“She was my only friend.”

“No. She wasn’t.”

Her hiccupping breaths abated enough for her to look up at him, but he didn’t let her go. His arms were around her back. Strong, supportive, doing the job her knees just couldn’t. He smelled like sweat and sunshine and the woods, and she loved it.

She pressed her face against his shoulder. “I was worried you hated me.”

“Then we have that in common.”

Confused, she lifted her head. His eyes were close, blue sparked with sunlight.

“I was worried you hated me,” he said. “After what your father said—”

“That was my fault.”

“No.” His voice hardened. “That was his fault.” He paused to brush a strand of hair from her forehead.

“I don’t hate you,” she whispered.

“You sure?” There was no relief in his eyes, just wary exhaustion. “You wouldn’t be alone.”

“What does that mean?”

“Nothing. I’m being stupid. It’s been a long weekend.” His hands were stroking along her back.

She gave a choked laugh; it sounded strangled. “Tell me about it.”

Gabriel paused, and now he seemed hesitant. “I was worried you wouldn’t want to see me.”

“Are you kidding?” She looked up at him. “You’re the only person I want to see right now.”

He leaned in, his expression softer now, more sure. “So crying when you see me is a good thing. Got it.”

She punched him in the shoulder. “I can’t believe you ran all the way here.”

“I told Hunter I’d run a marathon with him next month.” He paused. “So I’ll need to do lots of running in the morning.”

She picked up on the wry note in his voice. “Funny how I do lots of riding in the morning.”

“That’s what I figured.” He looked up, past her. “Is it always this deserted?”

“Just me and the horses. Plenty of privacy.” She flushed, realizing how that sounded. “I mean—”

His hands found her waist, hard through the thin material of her jacket. “I know exactly what you mean.”

She sucked in a breath, but then he was kissing her.

When his lips touched hers, it was like lighting a match: a quick flare of heat, a burst of light, and then a slow burn. Her body melted into his, letting him support her again. His hands slid under the edge of her jacket, and even though there was a turtleneck there, she froze anyway.

His hands stopped—but his kisses didn’t. They slowed, his mouth drawing at hers carefully, his tongue brushing hers until he’d coaxed small noises from her throat and the heat in her body was everywhere, not just near his hands or his mouth. This time, when his hands slid under her jacket, she let him, even when she knew he had to be feeling the scars beneath the fabric.

She didn’t realize they were moving until her back hit the wall of the stable, until she felt his weight against her. Everything accelerated, a pace of desperation. Her pulse, her breathing. The way her jacket was just suddenly gone before she even felt him pull at the zipper. The way his hoodie was a puddle on the concrete floor, before her hands recognized the bare muscles of his arms. His kisses were wild, crazy, addictive.

Layne reached up to find his face, her thumbs tracing the stubble along his jaw. She took a chance and bit at his lip, feeling raw and animalistic and shy, all at once. But he made a small sound, a good sound, and she did it again, more sure.

Then he did it back, and her body lit like a live wire. She wished he didn’t have a T-shirt. She wished she didn’t have a turtleneck. When his hands slid along her waist and found an inch of bare skin, she didn’t flinch. And her indrawn breath meant nothing bad.

Until she heard the roar of a diesel engine, the crunch of truck tires on the gravel road leading to the barn.

Gabriel snapped back. He looked almost panicked.

“The barn manager,” Layne said. “She checks the lower barn first. We have a minute.”

“Hmm.” He looked rueful. “And she probably shouldn’t know I’m here.”

Her cheeks flamed. “No. She’d tell—”

“I get it.” But he smiled and gave her another quick kiss, before dropping to fish his sweatshirt off the ground. “I’ll see you in school.”

Her entire body felt flushed. Her lips felt raw, swollen. Anyone would know she’d been making out.

Right?

She didn’t want him to leave, but her body felt like gelatin.

Gabriel kissed her again, and she caught his face in her hands, holding him there.

He laughed, softly, gently, a sound just for her. “I don’t want you to get banned from the farm,” he whispered.

Layne nodded. He drew back.

But then he stopped. “I forgot. I actually came to thank you.”

“You mean there’s more?”

Now he laughed for real, and she loved how it stole the tension from his eyes. “Later. No, seriously. For this.” He dug a piece of folded notebook paper from his sweatshirt pocket, and she took it.

Then he was sprinting out of the barn, yanking his hoodie over his head as he went.

Layne touched a finger to her lips. She unfolded the notebook paper, wondering what he’d written. Her heart fluttered again. A note?

No, better. His math homework. He’d done the last two questions. Struggled, clearly, based on the eraser marks.

But he’d done them.

And he’d gotten them both right.

Gabriel shoveled cafeteria macaroni and cheese into his mouth, but he didn’t really taste it.

Hunter was watching him with a disgusted expression. They were the only two people at the table. “I don’t know how you can eat that crap.”

“I’m hungry.”

Hunter sliced into the piece of grilled chicken in front of him. He was the only guy Gabriel had ever seen use a plastic knife in the cafeteria. “And you can slow down. I promise I’m not going to steal it from you.”

“Are you going to bitch at me for talking with my mouth full next?”

“I just don’t get what the big rush is.” Hunter speared a piece of broccoli. Gabriel hadn’t even known the cafeteria sold broccoli.

“I promised Layne I’d meet her after this period.” Theoretically, so they could go to the library and work on today’s math assignment. Really, so she could walk through the halls without getting hassled. Gabriel had found her hiding in the back corner of the library this morning, her face pale. Even then, he hadn’t realized how bad it was, until trig, when Taylor started in on her.

Gabriel had put a stop to it, real quick.

“That Ryan Stacey guy is in my first period chem class,” said Hunter. “I didn’t know who he was until he showed up looking like he’d gotten hit in the face by a pickup truck.”

Gabriel stabbed at the congealed mass of noodles. “If he lays a hand on her again, that might happen.”

Hunter was quiet for a moment. “Does she know?” he asked quietly. “About you?”

“No.” Gabriel watched Hunter push at the chicken on his tray and wondered if he was really that transparent. “Did you ever tell anyone?”

“Just Becca, but she already knew.” A shrug. “Someone said Layne was caught in a fire when she was young, that she’s got scars—”

“She does.” Gabriel glared at him. “So what?”

“You don’t think there’s something . . . interesting about a girl with burn scars getting involved with a guy who can control—”

“Control.” What a joke. Gabriel snorted and shoveled more food into his mouth. “I’m not sure we can call it control yet.”

“We’re getting better.” Hunter paused. “Do you feel it?”

“Not good enough.” They’d almost gotten caught Saturday night. Four homes in a row, fully engulfed. Gabriel was in and out of fire so many times that he’d started to lose track of which house he was in, of how many people were left to save.

By the time he got to the last woman, they’d been there for hours. He’d been exhausted, disoriented from inhaling so much smoke. She’d been unconscious, and he’d nearly dropped her in the middle of her flaming living room.

Michael had shown him her picture in the paper the next morning, bandaged and sedated in some generic hospital. Michael’s brown eyes had been rock hard as he demanded answers Gabriel couldn’t give.

“I can’t believe they’re no closer to catching this guy,” said Hunter. “We’re losing time, waiting for the fires to turn up on the police scanner.”

“Mike’s been going out with the fire marshal’s daughter.” Gabriel still thought it was a dick move. “She says they have no conclusive leads.”

“Except you.”

Gabriel rolled his eyes. “Yeah, well. We both know I’m not the one starting fires.”

“Who’s starting fires?” Calla Dean dropped onto the bench beside Hunter. Actually, she straddled it. The blue streaks in her hair were gone, replaced with fluorescent pink ones. She’d braided a small section and tied off the end with a yellow feather.

“We’re talking about the ones on the news,” Hunter said smoothly.

Calla picked up a piece of Hunter’s broccoli and popped it into her mouth. Hunter watched this with a bemused expression on his face, but didn’t stop her.

“The arson stuff?” she said. “Someone’s got a fire fetish, huh?”

Gabriel reached out and turned her wrist over, exposing the flame tattoos. “Go figure.”

She snorted. “I got those to piss off my aunt. Did you know the first fire was right next door to my house?” Without waiting for an answer, she took another piece of broccoli and made a face. “What, you couldn’t add some butter?”

“I didn’t realize I’d be sharing.”

“Mind if I eat with you?” She took a third piece.

“Looks like you’re already doing that,” said Gabriel.

“I don’t mind,” said Hunter. He pushed the tray her way.

“Ugh. No way. I need salt. I’ll be back.”

Then she unfolded from the bench to weave through the tables toward the lunch line.

Hunter pulled his tray back and sliced another piece of chicken.

Gabriel watched him for a moment. “What the hell was that? You two have a thing now?”

“No.” Hunter paused. “Maybe. I can’t get a read.”

“A girl doesn’t steal your food if she’s not into you.”

“She’s unusual.”

“Dude, no offense, but you’re unusual.”

Hunter smiled briefly—but then sobered. “We talked for a long time Friday night. Her father is serving in Afghanistan, so she lives with her aunt and uncle. I think she’s lonely.”

Gabriel looked for Calla in the lunch line. Punk hair notwithstanding, she had a good six inches on most of the girls around her, and she helped the effect by wearing a shirt that revealed a long stretch of tan midriff. “Calla Dean is the captain of the girls’ volleyball team. She could probably snap her fingers and have guys bringing her lunch on their knees. She is not lonely.”

“I don’t think that’s the kind of attention she’s looking for.”

Gabriel shoveled another mouthful of macaroni into his mouth. “Oh, you mean you didn’t spend the whole evening showing her your Arabic tattoo collection?”

“Farsi. And I don’t have a collection. Just this one.” He pointed to the inside of his elbow.

“What’s it say?”

“Nothing important.” Hunter nodded toward Calla, who must have grabbed something easy, because she was already paying. “What do you want to do about the fires?”

Gabriel scowled. It was easier talking girls. “I don’t know.”

Hunter’s voice was careful. “Do you want to stop?”

“No.” Gabriel glanced across the cafeteria, at where his brothers were sitting. Chris and Becca, Nick and Quinn. He hadn’t spoken to any of them since he’d spent Sunday sleeping off the effects of Saturday’s fire. “For the first time, I feel like I’m doing something right.”