Spark Page 8

  “Do you know what the age of consent is?”

  “Dad! Oh my god.” Layne took a step forward. Her face was even redder. “We weren’t doing anything!”

  “I asked you a question, son.”

  “I’m not your son.” Now Gabriel just wanted to shove him, period. He stepped into the foyer, feeling his shoulders tighten. “And I didn’t know there was an age of consent for standing in a hallway.”

  “Don’t get smart with me, kid.”

  “Stop it,” said Layne, putting her hands up like they were going to take a swing at each other. “Look, it’s a misunderstanding—”

  “Layne.” Mr. Forrest didn’t even glance at her. “Get his things. Right now.”

  “I can get my things,” said Gabriel.

  “I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

  Layne was caught between them, flustered. She was nearly wringing her hands. “Dad, it’s not—”

  His eyes cut right. “Now, Layne.”

  She swallowed and slinked past him into the living room.

  “Don’t forget my box of condoms,” called Gabriel.

  Now her dad looked like he wished he had a shotgun. “If I find out you laid a hand on my daughter—”

  “What?” said Gabriel. “You’ll stand here and bitch about it?”

  “Stop it!” cried Layne, dragging his coat and backpack from the kitchen.

  Her dad took a step forward. “I’ll have you arrested and charged with trespassing and statutory rape.”

  “Then I’m going to need another fifteen minutes.”

  “Shut up.” Layne flung the coat at his chest, then barely gave him time to grab it before she shoved the backpack at him. Her eyes were red. Was she ready to cry?

  He felt something inside his chest loosen. “Layne—”

  “Get out of my house,” said Mr. Forrest. His words could cut ice.

  Gabriel didn’t move. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from Layne. “Hey, I’m—”

  “Go.” She wasn’t looking at him. “Just go.”

  Her dad opened the door. “Now.”

  Gabriel dug his keys out of his backpack and pushed past him.

  But on the front walk he stopped and turned.

  Before he could say a word, her father slammed the door and locked it shut, leaving Gabriel out in the cold.

  CHAPTER 10

  For the first time, Gabriel was glad Nick would be out with Quinn. Chris would probably be out with Becca, Michael would be working, and Gabriel could just hole up in his room, blast loud music, and set his math book on fire.

  But Hunter’s jeep was in the driveway, along with a little four-door sedan he didn’t recognize.

  And when Gabriel opened the front door, he was hit with the smell of a home-cooked meal. And the animated sounds of a good conversation.

  He almost stepped back on the porch to check the house number.

  Nick’s efforts notwithstanding, Gabriel couldn’t remember the last time he’d walked through the door and felt like he was walking into a home.

  It practically sounded like a dinner party was going on in the kitchen. Gabriel dropped his backpack in the foyer and headed back.

  His brothers were seated around the table, plus Hunter, Becca, and Quinn. Michael didn’t have a laptop in front of him for once. They were all laughing about something; he’d walked in too late to pick up the story. A mostly eaten lasagna was in a pan in the center of the table, plus a platter of garlic bread, the remnants of a tossed salad in a bowl, and assorted side dishes.

  His stomach was making a pretty clear case that he hadn’t eaten dinner yet.

  But he stopped in the doorway, feeling very far removed from the good times.

  “Hey,” said Nick. “Where’ve you been?”

  “Out.” Gabriel still didn’t move. “What’s all this?”

  “Becca and Quinn made dinner,” said Chris. He gave Gabriel a funny look. “That all right?”

  “Out where?” said Michael.

  Gabriel ignored him. He looked at his twin. “I thought you were going home with Quinn.”

  Nick frowned. “Yeah, and?”

  “Home meaning here, dumbass,” said Quinn. “I’ve got my mom’s car.”

  Gabriel really couldn’t stand her.

  “And I drove Becca over,” said Hunter.

  “No one asked you to stay,” said Chris. But even his remark lacked the usual acidity.

  Becca smacked him in the shoulder. “I did.”

  Gabriel didn’t move from the doorway. Everyone seemed to be getting along just fine.

  Without him.

  “You hungry?” said Michael. His voice was careful—but then maybe he was picking up on Gabriel’s mood. “There’s plenty left.”

  “Not for long,” said Quinn, and she reached out to pick up a piece of garlic bread.

  “I thought you were trying out for the cheer squad,” said Gabriel.

  Quinn took a bite. “That’s tomorrow. I didn’t know you cared.”

  “I don’t.” He gave her a significant look. “But maybe you want to lay off the carbs.”

  She stopped chewing. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

  God, what was wrong with him?

  Nick’s expression lost any shred of good humor, but he wasn’t angry—yet. “Come on. Back off.”

  Gabriel shrugged. “Hey, I guess they could put you at the bottom of the pyramid with the sturdy girls—”

  “Knock it off,” said Becca.

  “Leave her alone,” said Nick. Now they were getting closer to anger.

  “You’re an asshole,” said Quinn. She flung the bread onto the plate. Her eyes looked red.

  Great. He could make two girls cry in the span of fifteen minutes.

  “So I’ve heard,” said Gabriel. Then he turned and headed back down the hallway, hoping to god there was a protein bar in his backpack.

  A chair scraped the floor in the kitchen, the sound full of fury. Gabriel didn’t wait to see who was coming after him.

  But he felt the air change even before his twin caught him by the arm and jerked him around.

  Nick looked pissed—but puzzled, too. “What is with you?”

  “Nothing.” Gabriel shrugged out of his grip and reached to open the front door. “Jesus, Nicky, it’s not my fault she can’t take a—”

  Nick grabbed him again and shoved him against the doorjamb. The air temperature dropped another five degrees.

  Then he leaned in. “Stop.”

  Gabriel glared back at him. “Don’t start this, Nick.”

  “I didn’t start anything.” His brother’s voice was low. “What is it? Do you like her or something?”

  Gabriel snorted. “Please.” Then he jerked free and shoved Nick away.

  Nick shoved him back.

  Gabriel went still. He could count on one hand the number of times he and Nick had gotten into it—seriously gotten into it. They were more likely to gang up on Chris than fight each other.

  “Don’t start this,” he said again.

  “Leave Quinn alone,” said Nick.

  “Yeah, whatever.” Gabriel made to move away.

  “I’m serious.” His twin shoved him again, a little harder, a little rougher. “Or are you too stupid to realize that?”

  Stupid.

  Gabriel shoved him back, putting some real strength behind it. His brother half stumbled into the banister of the staircase.

  But Nick hesitated before retaliating. Gabriel could feel it, that moment of indecision before a fight turned into a fight. That moment when you could back down and lose nothing.

  “You know,” said Gabriel, hearing his voice turn cruel, “you can tell me to leave her alone, but I don’t know what you’re going to do about the guys at school. It’s not like she was the type to say no before, if you catch my drift—”

  Nick punched him in the face.

  And then they were fighting for real.

  This wasn’t like when he’d fought with Hunt
er. Nick wasn’t a fighter, not really. He got some solid hits in, but he wouldn’t fight dirty. Gabriel drove him back until he hit the wall, and he knew it wasn’t going to last long.

  But then they were being dragged apart. Someone was yelling; someone else had him by the arms, pulling him back.

  Nick had blood on his lip, and he jerked his arm free from Chris to wipe at his mouth. “Jesus, Gabriel, what? You can’t let someone else be happy for five minutes?”

  Gabriel tried to pull free from whoever had him—had to be Michael. “Sorry, Nicky. Guess everyone can’t be as perfect as you.”

  The girls were in the dining room doorway. Becca had her hands up, her expression placating. “Look, guys, just chill out.”

  “Don’t bother,” said Quinn. Her eyes weren’t red anymore, and she leveled an icy glare at Gabriel. “If he wants to act like an animal, just take him out back and shoot him.”

  “The only animal I see,” said Gabriel, “is the dog in the front hall—”

  “Cut it out!” said Michael from behind him.

  But then Gabriel couldn’t breathe.

  He didn’t quite get it at first. Was Michael holding him too tightly? Was he winded from the fight? His lungs were trying to inhale, but it was like there was nothing there.

  He found Nick’s eyes across the foyer, grim and determined and just a bit satisfied.

  Gabriel had a string of insults ready. He just couldn’t talk.

  He couldn’t inhale. This wasn’t funny anymore.

  This wasn’t fucking funny.

  His lungs were burning. He fought the hands holding him.

  Outside. He needed to get outside. He was going to drown in the middle of the hallway, without a drop of water around.

  Fighting made it worse. His vision turned spotty. Nick’s power choked the air around him, flicking at his skin, mocking him.

  His own power flared without direction, seeking fire, energy, anything it could find to draw strength and retaliate.

  The lights in the foyer exploded.

  Then the lights in the dining room.

  The girls shrieked, clinging to each other, ducking into the hallway where there weren’t lights.

  “Stop it,” yelled Michael. “Both of you. Stop!”

  Fire was in the air, fed by electricity in the walls. Nick was trying to choke it off, to steal the oxygen the fire craved. Gabriel pulled more power without trying—his element was taking over. He had to get it under control before he burned the house down.

  But he needed to breathe.

  The front porch light exploded. Glass tinkled against the front door.

  “No!” Hunter’s voice. He leapt around Michael and hit the switches on the wall, killing most of the flow of electricity to the foyer. “Where’s the breaker box?”

  “Got it,” said Chris. He let go of Nick and bolted for the basement door.

  Gabriel felt his knees hit the floor. He couldn’t figure out whether things were still exploding or if that was his oxygen-starved brain giving him his own personal light show.

  Then Hunter was there in front of him, hands clasping him around the neck.

  Like he needed another barrier to breathing.

  “Breathe,” said Hunter, and Gabriel felt his power in the space around them, different from his brothers, different from anything he’d ever felt before. “Please. Breathe.”

  Gabriel caught a breath—but that was it. It was enough to steady his control, to stop feeling like the house would explode at any minute.

  He could feel Hunter fighting Nick now, as if contact let him feel the five-pointed star that connected them all.

  Gabriel got another breath.

  He was so going to beat the shit out of Nick.

  He felt the moment Chris threw the master switch on the circuit breaker box. The power to the house just . . . died. His own power searched farther, to the lines on the street, cars on the road.

  “Don’t look for it,” said Hunter. He hadn’t let go, and Gabriel could feel his tension through his hands.

  And just like flipping that switch, Gabriel could breathe again.

  At first that’s all he could do. He jerked free of Hunter’s hands and coughed, sucking in great lungfuls of air, his forehead pressing against the floor.

  But after a while, he realized how silent the house was without power. He could hear his heartbeat, still pounding. The soft grit of glass on wood, when someone shifted their weight.

  He could hear them waiting.

  Finally, he lifted his head. He didn’t want to look at his twin, but he couldn’t help it. He expected to see his brother look smug, to find righteous vindication on his face.

  But Nick looked stricken.

  Suddenly the house felt too small, too enclosed. Each breath tasted stale. He could smell the faint odor of burned electrical wiring.

  Gabriel felt trapped.

  “Open the door,” he said, hearing his voice come out hoarse.

  No one moved.

  So he fought to his feet and grabbed the knob. October night air coursed through the doorway and cooled his face. He ran a hand across his forehead and found it damp with sweat.

  “You all right?” said Michael.

  Gabriel nodded and didn’t look at him.

  “Nick?”

  Gabriel didn’t want to hear his brother’s answer. He reached down and grabbed his backpack, slung it over his shoulder, and stepped out onto the porch.

  “Where are you going?” called Michael from the doorway.

  “Out,” said Gabriel. Thank god he still had his car keys. He flung his backpack onto the passenger seat and started the engine.

  Michael was halfway down the walk to stop him, but Gabriel hit the accelerator to power down the driveway. He couldn’t deal with them now. Just another perfect night, ruined by the resident fuckup.

  But at the end of their street, he stopped. He had no idea where to go.

  The sad thing was that he wanted to light things on fire. Despite nearly torching the house, his element was riding high, calling to him.

  This was so unfair! The rest of them could practically bask in their element. No wonder Nick had such control.

  Gabriel hadn’t even known his twin could do something like that.

  He pulled out from the stop sign, heading left, though he didn’t really have a destination in mind.

  Almost immediately, flashing red and white lights strobed from behind him, and Gabriel swore, moving to the shoulder. This would be the perfect end to his night.

  But it was just a fire truck, roaring past with a blazing siren.

  A fire truck.

  A fire truck.

  Maybe he didn’t have to start a fire to feel his element.

  Maybe he could just follow those flashing lights and find one.

  Layne pulled her blankets up to her chin and stared at the ceiling.

  She’d been trying to sleep for twenty minutes, but her body wasn’t tired and her mind wouldn’t stop raging. The sun was barely down, but she couldn’t bear the thought of sitting in the living room, pretending to watch a movie while her dad sat right there.

  Damn Gabriel Merrick. She should have slapped him. No, punched him.

  Then I’m going to need another fifteen minutes.

  To her father, of all people. Her father.

  Her door creaked open, a whisper of wood against carpeting. The hall light was off, but she could make out her father’s silhouette.

  He probably thought she was asleep. He didn’t say anything.

  “I’m still awake,” she said.

  “Are you all right?” He didn’t move from the door. “You didn’t say much at dinner.”

  God, what could she say? Her cheeks felt warm again, just remembering that little drama in the hallway. She knew better than to invite some meathead sports junkie into the house. She probably should have offered to teach him manners before math.

  At least she didn’t have to worry about Simon rambling about Gabriel.
Her brother spent dinnertime glaring at their father, refusing to communicate.

  “Are you mad at me?” her father said.

  She swung her head around. “At you? No, of course not.”

  He came the rest of the way into the room, but he hesitated by the side of her bed. Early moonlight streamed through the window and caught the strands of gray in his hair, making him look older than he was. “I thought I might have embarrassed you.”

  Layne gritted her teeth. “Well, I was embarrassed, but it wasn’t your fault.”

  “You sure?”

  She scooted back in bed, sitting up to lean against the wall. “He really did come over to study, you know.” Her cheeks flamed again. “No matter what he said.”

  “May I sit down?”

  Her father usually wasn’t this distant. Not once she had his attention, anyway. “Dad. Yes. I’m not mad.”

  He sat on the edge of the bed. “I know you’re growing up, Layne, and I know you’re going to be interested in boys. I wish your mother—”

  “Stand up. I changed my mind.”

  He smiled, but it was grim. “You’re under a lot of stress,” he said. “If it’s too much, I want you to talk to me. We can find—”

  “We’re all under a lot of stress, Dad.” She gave him a dark look. “I’m fine.”

  He didn’t flinch from the look, but then again, he sat across a table from alleged murderers every other day. “I know what high school boys are like, Layne. I don’t want you getting hurt because you’re looking for an outlet.”

  Her eyebrows went way up. “An outlet?”

  “I know you know what I mean.”

  Her cheeks were hot again. “Gabriel Merrick isn’t going to hurt me, Dad. He’s a dumb jock who can’t pass math. He’s not interested in me.” She rolled her eyes. “And I’m not looking for an outlet.”

  “You sure? Because he’s the first boy you’ve ever brought home.” He gave her a very level look, his voice taking on the first shadow of anger. “And I find it interesting that you went for someone older, someone who acts like a future felon, not two weeks after—”

  “To study,” she snapped. “He gave us a ride because we missed the late bus.”

  “If he came over to study, I would have found you in the kitchen.”

  She folded her arms across her chest, but before she could say anything else, he put a hand on her shoulder.