And I could hardly say no. Keeping Emma out of danger was my idea. I just hadn’t planned on overseeing that part of the plan personally….
I nodded grimly and clenched my keys in my fist, glaring straight at Nash so he could see the anger surely churning in my eyes.
But he only shrugged apologetically, then watched me lead her out the door and into the frigid night, headed toward my car and away from the action—and the answers I was desperate for.
“This f-f-figures,” Emma said, chattering violently as we clacked down the brick driveway. “I actually remembered to bring a change of clothes to work and I got off early. I should have known something would go wrong.” She crossed her arms over her chest in spite of the cold beer probably freezing to her bra at that very moment. “Maybe we should stay at your house tonight, so I can wash the beer out of this shirt before my mom smells it. Or Traci. Traci’s going to kill me.”
“It’s your sister’s shirt?” I rubbed my arms, trying to get rid of the chill bumps prickling my skin.
“You think my mom would let me buy something like this?” She held her arms out to show off the plunging neckline of the clingy, sparkly top.
When I had the car unlocked, Emma crawled into the backseat and pulled her shirt off while I dug in my bag for the one I’d planned to wear in the morning. It was just a T-shirt, but because I was smaller than Emma up top, it would look much better on her. Unfortunately, for that same reason, she’d either have to go braless or stay cold, wet, and smelly. My spare bra wouldn’t fit her unless she could time-travel back to age twelve.
“Does this look obscene?” Em asked, and I turned to see her pulling my snug, crimson T-shirt into place over her braless chest.
“Yes.”
“Good.” She grinned and glanced at the rearview mirror.
“Do you have a brush in there?” Em nodded at the bag I still held in my lap.
“I forgot it.” I’d packed in a hurry. “But I think Nash keeps a comb in his duffel.” I pointed to the right rear floorboard, where Nash had tossed his gym bag after school.
Emma lifted the bag onto the seat with one hand and laughed. “Not planning to do much reading over the holiday, is he?”
“Not if I can help it.” I grinned, thinking about two straight weeks with nothing to keep us apart but a few shifts at the Cinemark and what little sleep we couldn’t do without. Assuming we ever solved my current sleeping issues.
Emma unzipped the bag. “What’s this? It’s cold.” Something red and shapeless took up half of the duffel. Emma pulled it out with one hand, and her brows rose in confusion.
My next words died in my throat. I could barely breathe around them.
She held a bright red balloon, closed by a weighted black plastic clip.
No. My hand clenched around the back of the front passenger’s seat as I twisted for a better look.
“I thought Nash wasn’t into this.” The surprise in Emma’s voice was a weak echo of the denial I wanted to shout.
“He’s not,” I insisted, in spite of the traitorous voice of doubt in my head and the painful pounding of my heart.
“Everett’s balloons are black.” But that didn’t mean anything. Regardless of color, why else would Nash have a clipped, weighted party balloon in his gym bag? A very cold clipped, weighted party balloon…
It’s not his. Maybe he’d confiscated it from another teammate Doug had sold to. After all, I’d never seen Nash talking to his own shadow or twitching from withdrawal. Nor had I ever smelled Demon’s Breath on him. In fact, I’d only smelled…
Peppermint. When did Nash start chewing gum?
No. He’d helped me get rid of Scott’s first balloon, and…
I sank into the driver’s seat, devastated, as the pieces started to fall into place. I hadn’t actually seen Nash give the balloon to Tod. I’d just assumed he had because he’d said he would.
The mood swings. Aggression. Cold hands. He’d stopped me from telling my dad about Everett. Then he’d sent me outside with Emma instead of letting me confront the dealer.
Nash was using. Tears burned in my eyes. I’d wondered briefly before, then dismissed my suspicion as paranoia. I hadn’t wanted to believe it. But I couldn’t deny it now. How could I be so stupid?
“Kaylee?” Emma said, one hand on the back of my seat.
“We have to go. Now.” I started to shove my key into the ignition, then stopped when I remembered the balloon. I would not have that thing in the car with us.
My vision swimming in tears, I twisted and grabbed the balloon from her. “Stay here,” I said, then got out and slammed my door, leaving Emma to stare after me in surprise.
I’d only made it ten steps from the car, my nose already freezing and dripping, when Nash stepped out of Doug’s house and pulled the front door closed. He jogged down the steps and onto the sidewalk, shoving cold-reddened hands into his pockets, then stopped when he saw me.
I wanted to believe his eyes were swirling with something painful—regret, guilt, shame. But the truth was that it was too dark for me to tell.
“Tell me this isn’t yours.” Holding the balloon like a bomb, I stopped about eight feet from him—close enough to read his expression, but not to see his irises—and my stomach flip-flopped painfully. I took a deep breath, so cold it burned my lungs. “Tell me the truth, Nash.”
He flinched and dropped his gaze. So I tried again. “Tell me this isn’t yours.”
Nash sucked in a deep breath and met my gaze. His shoulders slumped and his throat worked furiously, like it was trying to stop whatever he intended to say.
“I can’t, Kaylee. It’s mine.”
15
NASH’S ADMISSION SHATTERED my fragile composure, splintering my thoughts like jagged shards of ice. For a moment, I could only stare at him, in shock so complete my whole body went numb—and not from the cold. Then the truth of his statement sank in. I spun around and stomped toward my car, anger and confusion raging inside me like two storm fronts about to collide.
“Kaylee, wait!” His words weren’t what stopped me. It was the anguish in his voice, the crack on the last syllable, that made my feet pause and my hands clench dangerously around the unnaturally cold balloon.
Forcing my grip to relax, I turned slowly, struggling to unclench my jaw so I could speak. “This is what nearly got me killed yesterday, Nash.” My voice was low and hoarse from both the winter air and the raw, holding-back-tears ache in my throat. “What can you possibly say to make me feel better about that? To make it okay that you’ve been taking the same shit Doug and Scott are taking, and lying to me about it?”
The bitter wind stung my face, almost as painfully cold as the balloon stiffening my fingers, and when he didn’t answer, I turned and headed for my car again. But this time his feet pounded on the sidewalk after me. “Kaylee, stop!”
Instead, I broke into a jog. Emma started to open her door, but I shook my head, telling her I was fine. And to stay in the car.
“It was an accident, Kay! Give me a chance to explain.”
I whirled on him so fast he skidded to a halt, surprised by my sudden, furious stand. “You accidentally took a lethal inhalant native to another reality? How is that even possible, Nash? You just happen to breathe in at the wrong time?”
“Yeah.” He shrugged, as if it were that simple, and I could only blink, unsure whether or not to take him seriously. Or if it even mattered. Even if he had inhaled unintentionally, what was he doing close enough to a hellion to breathe in its used air? Beyond that, what was he doing in the Netherworld in the first place?
“Can we go somewhere and talk?” Nash’s voice was steady now, though his hands trembled visibly, even when he crossed his arms over his chest.
“I’m not leaving Emma alone, with Doug inside replenishing his stock. Are you going to help me get rid of the dealer, or don’t you care if the rest of your friends wind up sharing a padded room with Scott?”