“I know,” I said.
Rachel said, “So I told them you were at Isabel’s.”
I blinked. “You did?”
“What else was I supposed to do? Tell them you were at The Boy’s, and have them kill both of you?”
My voice came out sounding a bit more pugnacious than I intended. “They’re going to find out eventually.”
“What do you mean? Grace Brisbane, you do not mean that you’re not going back home again. Tell me that this was just because you were momentarily angry at them for grounding you. Or even tell me it’s because you could not live without The Boy’s stunning Boyfruits for another night. But don’t tell me you think it’s forever!”
Sam’s face was twisted into a weird shape at the mention of his Boyfruits. I told Rachel, “I don’t know. I hadn’t thought that far ahead. But no, I don’t really feel like going back anytime soon. Mom helpfully told me she thought that me and Sam were just a fling and that I needed to learn the difference between love and lust. And last night, Dad told me I wasn’t allowed to see him until I was eighteen.”
Sam looked stricken. I hadn’t told him that part.
“Wow. Again, the limited understanding of parental types never fails to surprise me. Especially because The Boy is…well, The Boy is clearly incredible, so what is their problem? But, anyway, what should I do? Are you going to…um. Yeah, what’s going to happen?”
“Eventually I’ll get tired of wearing the same two shirts over and over, and I’ll have to go home and confront them,” I said. “But until then, I guess…I guess I’m not talking to them.” It felt weird to say it. Yes, I was furious at them for what they’d said. But even I knew that those things weren’t really worthy, on their own, of running away. It was more like they were the tip of the iceberg, and I wasn’t so much running away as making their emotional distance from me official. They had seen no less of me today than they had most other days of my teen years.
“Wow,” Rachel said. You knew she was nonplussed when that was all she could say.
“I’m just done,” I said, and I was surprised to hear my voice waver, just a little. I hoped Sam hadn’t caught it; I made sure my voice was firm when I said, “I’m not pretending we’re a happy family anymore. I’m taking care of myself for once.”
It seemed suddenly profound, this moment, sitting in a faded little booth in Kenny’s, the napkin holder on the table reflecting an image of Sam leaning against me, and me feeling like an island floating farther and farther from shore. I could feel my brain taking a picture of this scene, the washed-out lighting, the chipped edge of the plates, the still-full coffee mug in front of me, the neutral colors of the layered T’s Sam wore.
“Wow,” Rachel said again. She paused, for a long moment. “Grace, if you’re really serious about this…be careful, okay? I mean…don’t hurt The Boy. It just seems like this is the kind of war that leaves lots of bodies behind and leaves the villages of the surrounding areas exhausted and war-weary from all the pillaging.”
“Believe me,” I said, “The Boy is the one thing in all this that I’m determined to keep.”
Rachel breathed out a huge sigh. “Okay. You know I’ll do whatever you need me to do. You probably ought to touch base with she-of-the-pointy-boots to make sure that she knows what’s going on.”
“Thanks,” I said, and Sam leaned his head on my shoulder as if he were suddenly as exhausted as I was. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”
Rachel agreed and hung up. I slid the phone back into the pocket of Sam’s cargo pants before resting my head against his head. I closed my eyes, and for a moment I just let myself inhale the scent of his hair and pretend that we were already back at Beck’s house. I just wanted to be able to curl up with him and sleep without having to worry about confronting my parents or Cole or the odor of almonds and wolf that was starting to blossom on my skin again.
“Wake up,” Sam said.
“I’m not sleeping,” I replied.
Sam just looked at me. Then he looked at my coffee. “You didn’t drink any of your liquid energy, Grace.” He didn’t wait for my answer; he simply took some bills out of his wallet and slid them underneath his own empty mug. He looked tired and older, dark circles beneath his eyes, and suddenly I was suffused with guilt. I was making things so hard on him.
My skin felt weird and tingly; I tasted copper again.
“Let’s go home.” I said.
Sam didn’t ask me which home I meant. The word meant only one place now.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
• SAM •
I should’ve known it would come to this. And maybe, in some way, I did, because I wasn’t surprised when I saw a blue SUV in Beck’s driveway, one of the glossy, huge ones that were the size of a small convenience store. The license plate said CULPEPR, and Tom Culpeper stood in front of it. He was gesturing wildly to Cole, who looked profoundly unimpressed.
I had no hard feelings about Tom Culpeper, other than those generated by him staging a hunt on the wolves and shooting me in the neck. So my stomach clenched when I saw him standing in the driveway.
“Is that Tom Culpeper?” Grace said, voice conveying all the lack of enthusiasm I felt. “Do you think he’s here about Isabel?”
As I parked on the street, an uneasy tingle shot down my limbs.
“No,” I said. “I don’t think he is.”
• COLE •
Tom Culpeper was a prick.
Being one myself, I was allowed to think such things. He’d been trying to get Beck’s whereabouts out of me for about five minutes when Sam’s little gray Volkswagen pulled up at the curb. Sam, in the driver’s seat, looked tight mouthed as he got out of the car. Clearly he had some history with this tool.