Tomorrow's Sun (Lost Sanctuary) - By Becky Melby Page 0,28

with her hands pressed against them, she couldn’t make the room as dark as Sierra’s world.

CHAPTER 8

Jake closed his bedroom door and checked to make sure the only window was open. No matter what the temperature outside, he couldn’t sleep with it closed. The glow from a streetlamp filled the window well and he closed the shade. Black cement-block walls sucked the brightness from his bedside lamp. He’d painted the room when he was fifteen, right after his father died. It suited his shortlived Goth phase. And it suited him now, at thirty-three, back in his cave in his mommy’s basement like all the other statistics who’d failed at playing grown-up.

He hadn’t failed. But only his two closest friends knew that. He wasn’t advertising his reasons for selling the house he’d put his sweat and soul into. He wasn’t talking about why his work truck was now his only transportation. His friends just assumed the economy had sucker-punched Braden Improvements and he was hanging on by his fingernails like too many of the guys he’d known since he was a kid. None of it was true. In spite of refusing to cut corners, the business his father had started the year Jake was born was still growing. But human nature gravitated to the worst. He put up with the razzing and enjoyed his mom’s cooking.

He sat on the bed and opened his laptop. His version of Emily’s floor plan lit the room. Tomorrow would decide which one of them would cave on the two walls he was determined not to destroy. The girl was definitely falling under the house’s spell. He had that on his side.

His eyes traced the double black line encompassing the dining room and stopped at the window, at the two square feet she’d occupied when he walked in on her, saw the tear streaks on her face, and did nothing. Palms sweating, mouth turning to dust, he’d merely said good-bye and left.

But even when he played the scene over, he couldn’t make it end right. In his first do-over, he asked if there was anything wrong. She responded with a head shake and an awkward silence. The next remake featured him dropping to one knee beside her and brushing away tears with the back of his hand.

Slapping the laptop closed, he slumped against black pillows and turned off the light. In the thick blackness he couldn’t even make out the outline of the hand that acted out the sweep of tears from a soft, damp cheek.

“Like this.” Jake dropped the pencil onto the unsteady card table and dared Emily with an unblinking gaze.

“But you said you’d changed your mind about doing it my way.” She picked up the pencil and aimed the eraser at the line he’d just sketched on the floor plan she’d drawn by hand.

“You’re a very good artist.” His voice dripped with intentional patronization.

“I majored in art.” She chewed her bottom lip, until it slipped out with a quiet sucking sound. “And you majored in getting your own way.”

Jake snickered through his nose. “You’re right. I have a BS in narcissism.”

In spite of the straight line of her mouth, her eyes glittered with mirth. The pencil lowered and she closed both hands around it on the table. She leaned back. “So what I need to do is figure out how to get that ego to want what I want.”

If not for the telltale glint, she might have pulled off the coldhearted, ruthless act. “Exactly.” He followed her lead, as if the rickety table were laden with poker chips.

“So what is it that will break you, Mr. Braden? Money? Fame? Your rep—”

His phone, on the table beside him, vibrated against his watch like a swarm of yellow jackets. He looked down. Ben. Or Ben’s phone anyway. Any other number and he would have ignored it and let Emily play out her hand. “Sorry. I have to—”

“Take it. I’ll just occupy myself….” She opened her hands. The pencil rolled out. She picked it up and began erasing.

One hand lunging for the pencil, he answered the phone. “Hello?”

“Jake. Can you come get me?” Lexi was breathless, her voice hoarse, as if she’d been running and crying at the same time.

“Where are you, Lex?”

“Ben is… I locked him outside and I just need you to come and—”

“I’m on my way.” He jumped up, knocking over a chair. “Did he hurt you?” He gestured an apology to Emily as he tossed her the pencil and strode toward the