in places he’d be seen, remembered, gave him an opportunity to get to know me. It’s why I’d chosen him. Just as the story finishes, he locks eyes with me and the smile drops from his lips. “I thought I finally convinced her to take pity on a street urchin but I guess she wanted me on her couch in case someone came after her. Turns out I was nothing more than a guard dog.”
The sudden, “Smart girl,” from Talia doesn’t break the hold Ploy and I have on each other, both of our faces expressionless. I search his eyes for more. His cheekbone wears the last smudge of the bruise he got protecting me. What do you want from me? I think. What’re you after if not the blood I already gave you? “I thought we were over that, Ploy,” I say. The name comes out in some terrible hybrid of a plea and a sneer.
He blinks once, twice, and the spell is broken. “We’re over it,” he says quietly.
From the driver’s side, Talia lets out a laugh. “If you’re not dating you’re at least sleeping together.”
“We aren’t,” Ploy and I answer in tandem. In any other situation, it would be comical. He flicks his gaze toward Talia for a split second and then his lips hit mine. Before I can react, he deepens the kiss, leaning closer.
As suddenly as he started it, he drops back against the seat. “We’re over it,” he says again and a dozen questions I don’t dare ask blossom behind my tingling lips.
Talia cuts the lights before she pulls into the driveway. “Listen,” she says. “My mom’s a little overprotective. She and my dad don’t carry the gene. I got it from my biological mother,” she explains to Ploy and then turns to me. “Are they in danger? My parents?”
“I don’t know,” I answer truthfully.
“Yeah, well,” she says, shutting down the engine. “I feel better being here with reinforcements, for them and me. It’s best if they don’t know what’s up.” Talia is an expert at lying. “Ditch the sleeping bag. Take your pack. I’m in the in-law suite around back, so with any luck, we won’t run into them at all. If Mom decides to stop by, which she does from time to time, we’re having an old fashioned sleepover. Completely innocent. Are we understood?”
Ploy slides out of his seat and opens my door for me.
Talia leads the way to the garage. A staircase up the side stops at a door. “No place like home,” she says as she unlocks it. Now that we’re in the light, she takes us in. “Jesus,” she whispers. “You guys look like hell.”
Somewhere between the restaurant and here, Ploy seemed to get his second wind. I, however, am fading fast. There’s a mirror in the entryway. When I catch my reflection I can’t believe we were even allowed in the restaurant. Dark streaks of what looks like a mix of blood and mud fade from my temple into my hairline. My blond hair is tied back, but a few strands have come loose, stringy and coated in dirt and gore. The dark circles under my eyes have actual weight. The lids are puffy and red. In short, I look how I feel.
“Let me see the wound,” Talia says.
I lift the side of my shirt enough to show her. She bends down and runs her finger along the now scarred skin. “He gave you a couple stitches?” she asks and I nod. “Not bad.”
“Yeah, the boy learns fast,” I say. The exhaustion in my voice is almost tangible.
“Go take a shower and wash the gunk off,” she says. “Towels are in the hall closet.”
The clothes I dig out of my bag are wrinkly, but I can’t be bothered to care. I make my way down the hall. I need this one moment of calm. I need to think.
The shower feels glorious. The hot water cascades over me, washing away more than dirt and dried blood. My muscles unknot for the first time in days. It’s not until then I realize how much tension I’ve been carrying around. I wonder if I should cry, let the spray clear everything away, but the tears won’t come. As much as I want to, I don’t linger. In the living room, Ploy’s waiting for his turn and I need the time alone with Talia to talk.
I come out carrying an armful of dirty clothes, my hair wrapped in a towel. “All yours,”