Fractured Things - Samantha Lovelock Page 0,71
stupidly stating the obvious, I pull the item in question tighter around me. He snickers and walks past me to an enclosed area a few feet behind the cluster of driftwood I’ve been sheltered by for the last half an hour. There’s a sound of splintering wood and a stomping boot, and Poe comes back around to where I’m standing. He’s carrying an armload of small kindling and some larger logs.
“Where did you get that?” I snap at him because now I feel like an ass for sitting here mildly shivering when I didn’t have to--blanket or not, I am chilly.
“Sometimes when we come out here we’ll bring an ax with us. Break up some of the fallen trees in the brush closer to the road and stack it in that little hidey-hole behind you.” Looking at me like he would a clueless child, he smirks. “So we can build a fire and not get, you know, cold.”
Blatantly ignoring me staring daggers at him, he arranges the wood in a depression just outside the makeshift shelter and slightly closer to the water. A lighter appears in his hand, and after about five minutes, he’s got a nice little fire going. Sitting down, he settles his back against the driftwood wall and pulls a beer bottle from the case at his feet, twisting the top off and offering it to me.
“I’m fine, thanks.”
Shrugging one shoulder, he tilts the bottle to his lips and takes a deep swig. Completely unnerved by both being found in what he deems his spot and by his simple proximity, I decide to leave.
“So, I’m going. Sorry for intruding.” Careful not to let the blanket dip into the fire, I lean down and pick up my empty coffee cup and the paper bag that my danish came in. Tilting his head back and staring at the night sky, he sighs tiredly.
“Star, will you just sit your ass down?” His use of the nickname he gave me, and that only he uses, causes my heart to hurt more.
“Please don’t call me that,” I whisper, staring at my feet partly because I’m uncomfortable and partly because I can’t decide if I want to kick sand at him or not.
“Okay fine. I won’t call you that if you sit down and talk to me. Or you know what? You don’t even have to talk. Just sit and listen.” He shifts his gaze away from the sky to meet my eyes, and the pleading undertone in his voice weakens my resolve and my knees. I bunch up the paper bag and remove the lid from the coffee cup just enough to stuff the crumpled paper inside while I try to decide what to do. The moment stretches out between us, and yet he never breaks eye contact with me. There is a vulnerability in his gaze I’ve never seen before, and a little voice inside of me tells me to stay--that I’ll regret it if I don’t. I loosen my grip on the blanket around me and sink back down to the same spot I occupied earlier, digging a little divot beside me and setting my cup in it.
“Okay, I’m listening.”
A small amount of the tension he’s been clinging to releases and his shoulders relax slightly.
“Thank you,” he says with another sigh, this one of relief. “I don’t know where to start.” His uncertainty is endearing, his swagger shelved for now, so I give him the only answer I have.
“Start at the beginning.” My words make the corners of his mouth turn up slightly.
“I’m sorry, Sta—Stella. So damn sorry for hurting you the way I did. Lying to you was phenomenally stupid and I see that now. Even though I told myself I was doing it to protect you, I was doing it to protect me, too.” He finishes his beer and fidgets with the empty for a few seconds before putting it back in the case. Shifting his position slightly, he sneaks a glance at my face before turning his gaze out to the ocean. “The thought of telling you about meeting Catherine and about my role in her death scared the shit out of me.” At the mention of my mother, I stop him.
“You’re right. You are stupid,” I say, and his eyes fly to my face.
“Gee, Stell, tell me what you really think.” Hurt creeps into his voice.
“Let me finish!.” I take an exasperated breath. “Lying to me like that was a bad idea. I was going to