Wynter's Horizon (5 page)

Halfway through the game, one of the other girls called to her, motioning about smoking. She nodded in answer, taking her time to finish a shot before grabbing her jacket and exiting. I had turned my attention back to Quinn and another game on the telly when I heard the yell. Faint and high pitched. I met Quinn’s eyes. It came again, and instantly we moved. I called to Jim as I pushed the door open, a muffled scream reverberating.

All I could see was a stocky body with a mess of red hair and girl’s arms flailing behind. He had someone pinned against the hood of a car. My gaze roved the parking lot: two still lit and smoking cigarettes lay abandoned on the ground. Where was she? The blond came out from behind a car, lacrosse stick in her hand.
It whistled through the air as she swung. The first smacked across his back. He turned, and the second swing connected with his knee. His leg buckled and he yelled in agony, “Son of a bitch.”

She jumped away but not quick enough. He captured her ankle, bringing her down. She hit the pavement and immediately started crawling away. Clinging to her leg, he dragged her backward, even as her other foot kicked wildly. Her arms swept wide and long, scraping along the ground.

Shouts and screams echoed behind me. I reached them just as her fingers grasped a beer bottle on the ground. She slammed it against the ground, glass tinkling as she gave one last kick, connecting with his face and freeing herself. Clambering to her feet, chest heaving, she poised in defense, glaring at him. The look in her eyes stopped me for a moment. The drunk righted and swayed, the leg she’d hit, poised at a weird angle.

“You fucking whore.”

An expression crossed her face, and she muttered a reply.

“I’m going to rip your arms off,” he bellowed.

“Try it,” she answered, her voice layered with venom. He advanced a step, and I grabbed him from behind, choke holding him. He threw his weight against me. My right leg buckled. I shifted onto my left and held him. He was short but well built. It didn’t matter, his actions were futile. Even with my less-than-perfect leg, I could have snapped his neck in an instant. The benefit of super human strength. Barely controlling my anger, I tossed him backward into Quinn, who chuckled and swung him around, pinning his arms behind him. Jim appeared, gesturing wildly, bat in hand, directing them back into the bar. Quinn dragged the hobbling drunk after him. Wynter’s friends descended on us, encasing her in hugs. She dropped the broken beer bottle and reaching up wiped the pavement dirt off her cheek. I retreated to the car, listening to their repeated questions of how she was and her assurances that she was fine. Picking up the fallen lacrosse stick, I inspected it. Written on the side were the words
Abigail Mackie
. Her friends pulled her by, still crowing about her triumph and bravery.

I held the stick out. “This is yours.”

She stopped and looked up at me. Her eyes were green, with flecks of gray. Smoky green. I smiled, and she returned it. There was a pull in my gut, and my blood rushed downward.

“Where’d you learn the trick with the beer bottle?”

“My brothers taught me.” She pushed her hair back over her shoulder, and a smell of vanilla and baby powder washed over me. My blood flowed faster.

“Why didn’t you hit him in the bar?”

She shrugged. “No reason. It was a harmless pick up.” Harmless to lethal.

“You could have been hurt. You’re a good friend.”

Her gaze dropped. “Yeah, I rule.” Grabbing the stick, she quickly left, returning to her friends where they congregated around an open car trunk. She pitched the stick into the trunk and slammed it shut with a thud. There was a brief conversation about who could still drive, and then one of them called a cab and they piled in. I watched it pull out of the parking lot.

“Well, that was exciting. Way better than our usual boring nights,” Quinn commented, appearing at my side. I picked up the broken beer bottle and dropped it into the garbage. He handed me my half-drunk beer, and I polished it off as we stood there.

“She was pretty tough, huh?” Quinn surmised. “I had her pinned for more of the country club type.” I nodded in agreement, picturing her face-off with the drunk.
Where had I seen her?
Her scent still faintly wafted in the air.

“He could have
pummeled her. He was drunk but still double her weight.” I pictured her eyes, the cold way she had looked at him.

“I don’t think she cared.”

“She cared enough to save her friend. Put herself in danger while she was at it.” I thought about what she had mumbled.

Quinn drained the rest of his beer and grabbed my empty glass. He disappeared inside momentarily then returned empty-handed. “Let’s get out of here.”

We didn’t talk as I turned the Jeep onto the highway. I could hear him humming to a Rolling Stones song as I drove and knew he was watching me out of the corner of his eye.

Finally, I could take it no more. “What?”

He shook his head and smiled slightly. “I was just wondering if you wanted to retract your statement about the whole not-wanting-to-get-laid thing.”

“Very funny.”

He kept going as if I didn’t understand. “She definitely knew her elbow from her ass.”

“Shut up,” I growled. He didn’t press me further, but I could see him smiling broadly now, knowing he had found a sore spot. He kept glancing at me then back out the window. I didn’t want to discuss it. She had made my heart jump a little, my stomach tighten, my jaw clench with desire—but these were things I could ignore. I was better alone. Always had been, and some blond wouldn’t make me lose my way now.

***

The road twisted and turned. We were one of the few cars out, and I made the most of it by flying down the highway, cutting the trip’s time in half. I turned down the gravel driveway and coasted to a stop. I had inherited this house years ago from an uncle on my mother’s side—a two-bedroom cape on the outskirts of Newport. It was built at the end of a long, mostly deserted road and an even longer driveway. The house sat on three acres, but the adjoining preserve had over one hundred. At the south end, it connected with the beach and ocean. Weathered and worn from years of wind and salt water, the house’s clapboard shingles were a faded gray, and what had once been white trim was now a dingy yellow. I didn’t care what it looked like from the outside. It gave me privacy and put me close to the water. Two things I loved.

I could hear the waves lapping at the beach. I headed inside to drop my stuff from the trip. I’d remodeled it after I’d been discharged, putting in a third bedroom and bathroom in the basement along with a pool table and new large flat screen. I had meant it for me, assuming Quinn would move back with Sara. Near-death experiences had the effect of giving one perspective, but Quinn, in true form, surprised me and stayed. I let him have it so he and Sara could have privacy when she came to visit. It was hardly a sacrifice since the upstairs bedrooms were just as roomy and nice.

The first floor was my favorite with its rustic kitchen, open living room, and deck that overlooked the woods. I had been coming here for years whenever I got leave. It was the only place I called home.

I paused in front of the dresser to unload my pockets, including the bulging envelope of money. Quinn had been right. There was no point in brooding. I had turned a good profit in two days, despite being out of commission for several months. The bar had been different, but change was good and we thrived on it. That was our profession, killing bad guys, rescuing people, overturning corrupt governments, and us, supernatural beings, moving through chaos and trying to make sense of it all.

I spread my change on the dresser, picking up the coin when I found it. Though the edges were a bit bruised and bent, the writing was still clear. I knew a coin collector would give me decent money for it, but I couldn’t part with it. It was the one thing I had from that night so long ago. I flipped it through my fingers and thought about the blond, Wynter. There was something about her, something more that I was missing, but like turning a doorknob with oil on your hands, I couldn’t get it to stop slipping away. Screw it. I went to find Quinn to have a nightcap on the deck.

Chapter Eight

Wynter—Campus

The taxi pulled up to the dorm, and we all piled out in a drunken mass of legs, arms, phones, and jackets. Hailey swayed into me and almost knocked me over as we decided where to go.

We headed off to south campus where most of the late night parties happened. I fought the urge to turn around and go to bed, thinking of my warm fluffy plaid comforter under which I could snuggle. My body ached in a few spots from my run-in with the drunk, especially my shoulder. I pushed the pain out of my mind and wondered if I might see Jason out. In person always went better than texts or phone calls.

It was a nice fall night, chilly but clear and bright with stars. I pulled my leather jacket around me tighter, wishing I had worn a heavier sweater. Water bordered the campus on the south side, and the wind liked to pick up and whip across the athletic fields between the dorms where we headed.

Hailey laughed with Galen and Julia about something that happened at the bar. I turned around, trying to distract myself from the cold. “What are you guys talking about?” I asked.

Julia grinned. “The two guys who came outside after you and Missy. Hailey thinks the tall one was hot.”

“He was,” I called over my shoulder, trying to clutch the two ends of my jacket closed. I grimaced. My palms were rough from hitting the pavement and made it almost impossible to keep a grip.

“I think he looked like Zac Ephron.” Galen offered.

Julia half shrieked, stumbling a little but catching herself before really losing her balance. “Seriously? He’s way taller and bigger than him. More like … that new James Bond.”

“Yes, but he has the dark hair and the blue eyes. Always an excellent combination,” Annie chimed in.

“He had gorgeous eyes,” Julia added. I thought about the other guy, the one who had given me back Abby’s stick. He was good looking in a kind of reserved and rugged way, medium build maybe six foot, with dirty blond hair. I had caught him watching me more than once from across the bar.

“The other one was hot, too.” I heard Hailey say. I jolted as if she had read my mind.

“Yeah,” Sophie chimed in. “Epic. In a kind of Ryan Reynolds way.”

“Ryan Reynolds? I think tougher than that. Someone who’d save you in an alley,” added Hailey.

“Or a parking lot.” interjected Sophie “Like Taylor Kitsch or Beckham.”

“I love Tim Riggins.” Julia giggled as she sidestepped off the pavement into the grass.

“I think he looked like the guy in Terminator,” I suggested, trying not to sound too interested.

“Ah-nold?” Annie piped up, her voice disguised in a thick Austrian accent.

“No, not him, the other one. The one that Linda what’s-her-name slept with. That guy. He was hot,” I explained.

“You need to stop watching movies your brothers bring home. Try watching ones made in this century,” Julia answered dismissively as she pulled open the door to the dorm. We had thankfully reached our destination, as my hands were minutes from becoming ice blocks. I ignored her comments. She was teasing me, I knew, for being the baby in the family by so much time. I thought of the way that guy had looked at me, how he smiled, with one side up and one side down, like he had some secret he wanted to share. My stomach jumped just recalling it.

“Well, whoever he looked like doesn’t matter. I wouldn’t kick any of them out of my bed.” added Sophie. The conversation broke up as the music from the party drowned us out. I headed for the keg, scanning the room for Jason, but he was nowhere to be seen. Two beers later, and too many drunk freshmen, I was more than ready for bed. Jason hadn’t shown up, and I’d heard someone say he left with some sophomore named Leslie. The thought turned my stomach.

Annie and I headed home, leaving Julia behind with Brian, her boyfriend, and dropping Sophie, Galen, and Hailey at their dorm along the way. The wind was just as brutal on the walk home and we took the steps of our dorm two at a time, whipping the front door open as fast as we could. We split up in the stairwell. Annie’s room was on the fourth floor, and I lived on the third next to Julia, when she wasn’t staying at Brian’s.

I opened the door to my room, instantly feeling lonely. As an upperclassman, I was guaranteed a single room—great for studying and privacy, but having a single and no boyfriend to sleep over hammered home the fact I
was
alone. I plopped on the bed, dragging my comforter around me. That guy had called me a whore. I shivered.
Did I show it?

I
checked my phone, but I had no new emails or texts. I wondered what Jason was doing. I knew I needed to get over him, but every time I tried, Jason returned, promising things would be different, telling me I was the only other one who got what he had been through and reminding me that
he
was the only one who understood me. Only
he
knew what happened. I kept thinking that our past, our friendship, and the fact that we could screw like no others, would convince him to stay with me. And if I could keep him, then maybe the hole that felt like it might eat me up would go away.

I pulled a bottled water from my small fridge, swallowing Tylenol from the giant economy-sized bottle on my dresser. I dropped my clothes on the floor, threw on my nightshirt and shorts, and hoped my hangover wouldn’t be too bad in the morning.