Page 70 of The Night Shift
I snatch the shovel from his hands and start digging myself. “Go get the bodies out of the trunk.”
The wind nips at my face, howling through the trees, and I start shoving out dirt to make the graves deeper. It’s not snowing anymore, but Upstate New York clings to the cold like no other place. I go on digging — sweating and shivering at the same time — and tuck my chin into my chest in a vain attempt to fight the chill.
Another icy breeze whooshes past my face and I feel a strong pair of hands over my shoulders along with a soft, warm fabric draping my body from behind.
“There you go,” Theo says, his voice vibrating against my neck, leaving a trail of goosebumps on my skin. “Much better.”
“What thehelldo you think you’re doing?”
“Making sure you’re warm,” he says as if “duh.” He kneels behind me, carefully ensuring that his coat is covering every inch of my exposed skin. His fingertips graze past my ankle and a light, feathery feeling fills my chest. For a second, I feel like I can’t breathe.
Nostrils flaring, I force the words out of my mouth, “I don’t need your stupid coat. I already have one.”
“Mm-hm. And as much as I love that flimsy excuse of a jacket you’re wearing, it’s not enough. I don’t want you waking up with a cold tomorrow. That and my mother raised a gentleman.”
I scoff. “Yeah, a gentleman whostalkspeople. And why do you even have a shovel lying randomly in your car?” I spin around, said shovel in hand, expecting to come face to chest with Theo. Instead, he's still kneeling, a smirk playing on his lips as he tilts his head. The sight sets something loose in my chest. Heat flushes my cheeks and something even hotter ignites at the pit of my stomach.
He slowly pushes himself up. Inch by agonizing inch. His eyes stay locked onto mine the entire time, as if daring me to break eye contact.
I don’t, obviously. My gaze remains fixed on him too. Unaffected.Unbothered.
The corners of his mouth pull up more, just the tiniest bit, revealing that fucking dimple again. “Firstly, I don’t stalk people, love. Just you. And secondly, given who I do stalk, I thought a shovel would be a good thing to have in case you needed it or forgot your own.”
He dusts a few snowflakes off the top of my head like everything that just came out of his mouth wasn’t completely and utterly psychotic. I swat his hand away, and as he shifts, a sliver of moonlight cuts across the inside of his coat, just near the seam. It catches on something. Two tiny, precise letters embroidered on the inside pocket: H.M.
“What does this stand for? Halfwit moron?”
Theo barely glances down. “Those are actually your initials,” he says all breezy. “H.M. Holly Moore.” It’s like he’s pointing out the weather.
My eyes widen. “You have myinitialsstitched into yourcoat?”
“It’s on all my coats. And shirts. And a few sweaters.”
I blink at him, stunned. “Why?”
He shrugs one-shouldered, effortless in his insanity. “So that a part of you is always with me. Right here.” He taps his chest, right over his heart. “Where you belong.”
For a second, my brain short-circuits. My anger stutters. The heat drains from my face. I swallow. Then I remember who I am. And where I am. And with who.
I rip the fuckass coat off my shoulders and shove it into his chest hard enough to make him stumble back a step. “You’re fucking deranged.”
His smile is like a shark’s. All charm and hidden teeth. He rewraps it around me and uses it to tug me closer. The tips of his fingers brush past my waist, sending a current through my bones. A blade of moonlight slices through the trees, falling across his face, highlighting his sharp edges and making his blue eyes look darker than they actually are. Like deep pools of glacial ice. Cold, unwavering and steely. Unrelenting. No one ever says “piercing blue eyes” in real life, but Theo’s eyes are definitely the piercing kind. The kind you can get lost in. And I guess I sort of do.
“I’m just trying to be helpful, Holly,” he says.
“I don’t need your help.”
He blinks at me. Once. Twice. Then lets out a laugh, sounding somewhat amused. Pushing my hand aside, he steps forward and kisses my nose. “You’re so weird.”
Shock glues my feet to the ground. My mouth gapes. Butterflies swarm my stomach. If I was angry before, I’mseethingnow. I’m going to kill him. This time I’m really going to kill him.
“If you want, I could teach you how to say thank you, Hollister. With a smile and everything.”
“Stopcalling me that. I hate that nickname.”
“I know, but every other nickname I have in mind is too crude to say out loud at the moment.”
I throw his coat inside one of the empty graves.
