Secret. Brigid Kemmerer

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      You’re going to break my heart. I can feel it.

      God, repeating it to himself now, it felt like such a line.

      “Yowch!” Quinn said, sitting up straight and yanking her arm away. “Holy crap, Nick!”

      “Sorry,” he muttered. “Here. I’ll be more careful.”

      “No—actually—I think it’s fine.” She held her wrist out, running a finger along the smooth skin. “You’re amazing.”

      “Amazing,” he echoed. “Yeah. Right.”

      “What’s wrong?”

      “Am I being an idiot, Quinn?”

      He could feel her studying him in the darkness. “I think I need more information.”

      “With Adam.”

      She was quiet for a minute. He pulled up the driveway to his house and killed the engine. They couldn’t sit here too long, but they could never finish this conversation in the house, so he waited with the keys in his hand, his eyes on the darkened dash.

      Quinn let out a slow breath. “You really like him,” she said softly. “Like, full on hearts in your eyes, doodling your last name with his, making up—”

      “Quinn.”

      She pulled her legs up on the bench to sit cross-legged. “Did you go back to his place?”

      He winced, feeling like he was admitting something he shouldn’t. “Yes.”

      “Was there more kissing or more talking?”

      His face felt warm again, and he fiddled with the keys in his lap. Was this how girls felt? He didn’t like it. “Dead even.”

      “Did anyone’s clothes come off?”

      “No!” Thank god. But now he was imagining it.

      God, this was so confusing. He shouldn’t have thrown away the cup sleeve with Courtnie’s number. That he knew how to handle.

      But another part of him railed against the idea, like he’d cracked a door and his subconscious had wedged an arm into the opening.

      Quinn was quiet for a while. “I’ve known Adam for a long time,” she finally said. “But that doesn’t mean I know him well. He doesn’t bring a lot of guys around the studio or anything—but he never seems lonely, either. Are you going to see him again?”

      “I don’t know. You called, and I left in a hurry. He said he’d text me later.” Nick checked his phone. No new messages from Adam. Not even to ask how Quinn was.

      “Sucks being the girl, doesn’t it?” said Quinn.

      “Shut up.” But yes. It did.

      Nick tried to be quiet when he snuck Quinn into the house, but Hunter stirred and ran a hand across his face when they crept into the bedroom.

      His eyes widened fractionally when he saw Quinn, but he took it in stride. “You guys want me to crash on the couch?”

      “She’s sleeping here, that’s all,” said Nick.

      Hunter yawned and rolled over, turning his back on them. “Yeah, okay. Let me know if you change your mind.”

      Nick usually slept in a T-shirt and boxers, but out of deference to Quinn’s presence in his bed, he pulled on a pair of threadbare sweatpants. They changed in the dark, and then he drew back the blankets.

      Quinn slid in beside him. She offered his modesty no deference. His hand brushed bare thigh, but before he could react to that, she was pressed up against him, her leg slung over his.

      “What are you doing?” he whispered, controlling the air so the sound waves of their conversation wouldn’t carry to Hunter.

      “Come on,” she breathed. “If I’m caught here, it should at least look like we’re sleeping together.”

      Nick didn’t say anything, torn between protesting and thinking she had a pretty good point.

      Quinn snuggled more closely, resting her head on his shoulder. “It’s not like you care, right? If you want me to move, I will.”

      “No.” He hesitated. “I guess it’s okay.”

      “Can you still fix my face?” Her voice was sleepy.

      “Sure,” he murmured. At least her sleeping position made that easy. He turned his head and eased a breath along her cheek.

      She relaxed into him, so he fished for information. “You never told me how you ended up with Tyler.”

      “I walked to the 7-Eleven. He was there.”

      “You walked there alone?”

      “I walk there all the time. Stop being such a mother hen.”

      “Why did Tyler start hassling you?” For an instant, he wondered if Quinn had walked up and started hassling Tyler. She wasn’t exactly subtle.

      “He wants to know what happened at the carnival. He said something about the Guides.” She paused. “The news said those explosions at the carnival were due to poor wiring.”

      “No. That was Calla Dean. She started those.”

      “Calla Dean!”

      “Shh. Yeah. She was behind the arson attacks, too.”

      Quinn’s house had burned down in one of those arson attacks—it was the whole reason they were living in that damned apartment. “I thought that was Rick Stacey!”

      “He helped, but she was the mastermind.”

      Quinn was silent for a minute. She knew Calla Dean from school—but she didn’t know her well. Calla had been one of the students who’d disappeared after the carnival, and everyone thought she was dead. There was still a memorial of notes and pictures taped all over her locker.

      It seemed ridiculous, but all Quinn could think was, I always liked her highlights. “I thought she was one of the students who died in the carnival explosions.”

      “We don’t know what happened to her. When Silver came after us, we found the middle school Elementals, but not her.” He shrugged. “Maybe she ran.”

      “And Silver is one of the Guides that are trying to kill you guys, right?”

      “Right. But he’s in prison.”

      “When will they send a new one?”

      “Eventually.” He brushed a finger across her cheek. “How’s that feel?”

      Her eyes, normally СКАЧАТЬ