Page 12 of Where He Ended

- Chapter 5 -

Laiken

It's getting late whenI finally head back to the house. If I have any complaints about the season, it's how everything gets dark so much earlier. The short, squat lights stuck along the walkway circling the house make the cement shine like a serene lake.

The closest entrance is the kitchen one. I reach for the bronze handle, eager to get access to the warm interior. Through the glass I see people standing by the granite island. Annie, Silas, and Vahn are all gathered together. There are wine glasses in their hands, a maid setting plate after plate of breads and cheese on the island. I have no idea why Vahn is here—but I decide not to burst in on their little party.

Turning away, I jog around the house until I reach the driveway. I expect to see parked cars or maybe a security guard and his dog. But no, fate has something more sinister planned for me.

In spite of the cool weather, Dominic is doing push-ups on the pavement. It's like someone set up a trap at both entrances, just for me. I debate slipping backwards around the house. Could I go hide out in the preserve until one of my ways inside is clear?

You don't have to be afraid of him,I tell myself.

But I'mnotafraid. Maybe that's the problem.

His gray pants help him blend into the ground. The way he drops - elbows bent, nearly tasting the cement before forcing himself back up with a grunt, over and over again - is hypnotic. I watch for a fraction longer than I should. It's hard not to. The guy really is incredible looking.

A burst of cold wind buffets me. Shivering, I command myself to walk towards him and the front doors. “Hi,” I say lightly.

Dominic locks his elbows. His legs are ramrod straight behind him, his ass tight and perfect. Even dowdy gray gym pants can't disguise that. It's rare that I get to stand over him. It gives me a funny thrill, this brief, little taste of power.

Then he smiles, and I know my power is pretend.

Even if he's lying at my feet, Dominic is always in control. He's not subservient; he's a crocodile stretched on its belly in the shadows, waiting to take a bite out of me. “Did you need something?” he asks.

I hug myself tightly, shrugging. “Not really. I was just heading inside, and you're—you know, in my way. Didn't want to be rude and ignore you.”

He arches his eyebrows smugly. I'm amazed he's still holding himself in his upright push-up position. My arms would be shaking by now. “Ignore me. Huh. That's why you spent three minutes spying on me from over there?” He nods towards the side of the house.

My whole face burns with shame. “I wasn'tspying.I was . . .”

“What?” he asks, leaping smoothly to his feet. He looms over me, his cockiness insufferable and somehow exciting. “If you weren't spying, what would you call staring at me when you think I don't know you're there?”

“I was shocked! I didn't expect you to be out here in the dark and cold doing your damn push-ups.” Pulling my arms around my chest, I dig my nails into the soft fabric. “Is this really how you like spending your free time?”

He scrunches up his forehead. “You think I do this for fun?”

“Why else do it?”

“Habit.” Rolling his shoulders, he bends his neck side to side. He isn't wearing the same self-assured expression anymore. “I did drills like this every single day at school. It's one of the only things left that makes me feel—” he stops himself. “Normal.”

Shit. Why is my heart beating so fast?

It's because you know what he's feeling. You run to the preserve every single time you can because when you're there, you can pretend you're back home.

“Sorry,” I whisper.

His laugh has a razor edge. “What do you have to apologize for?”

“I wasn't trying to make you feel bad.” My eyes dart towards his, meeting them, searching them. “I understand how that is - clinging to the things that are normal. Or as close as we can get.”

His chest rises and falls in a gentle pattern. Suddenly his ribs flare, his body straining with his sour laughter. “Nothing about me will ever be normal.”

My heart breaks for him.

“But,” he whispers, his voice sliding over my skin like rich cream. “You said you didn't want to make me feel bad. Does that mean you want to make me feelgood?”

We're essentially alone on the front steps. Security guards are patrolling the perimeter, their flashlights glowing on the grass as they walk, but they're far enough away that they might as well be fireflies. The painted glass door is to our left, looking warm and safe and a thousand miles away.

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