Almost Midnight (Shadow Falls: After Dark #3.5)(99)

“I know you’re upset. I forgive you for lashing out.”

He forgives me?

He.

Forgives.

Me?

She pulled back. “I don’t … need to be forgiven, Cary. You do.”

“What?” His eyes brightened again.

She shook her head and the reality of what they’d had these past few months—and what they hadn’t had—sank in.

“Forget it,” she said. “Forget this.” She waved a hand between them. “Forget us.” She turned to leave.

He caught her by her arm. The one with scars, and his grip was just the slightest bit too tight.

“Don’t act childish,” he said.

She felt her own eyes grow bright. “Childish?” She wanted to call him a self-absorbed, history-loving dog and to tell him to mind his paws, but she didn’t. Because that would have proved him right.

With pride, the kind that came with being a were—a were who already had shame to hide—she lifted her chin and met his eyes directly. “I tell you my dad died and you say it’s not a big deal? I came here needing … something, support or just understanding, but you obviously don’t know how to offer that.” She inhaled. “See you in class on Monday, Mr. Cannon.”





Chapter Three


The next morning Fredericka parked in front of the soon-to-be gallery. After she’d left Cary’s last night, she’d decided against coming today. She’d wanted to curl up in a little ball and forget everything. Her heart and spirit were just too broken, but at a quarter to nine this morning, her spirit raised its ugly head and refused to give up without at least trying.

Fredericka Lakota wasn’t a quitter.

She ran to the office to get another key from Holiday then ran to gather her things. When she grabbed the display board and saw her nickname, her heart took another dip. She almost didn’t bring it. Then because the black backdrop gave her work a more professional flare, she grabbed it anyway. She wasn’t going in half-ass. Screw the pain! If she let it overtake her, she’d drown in it.

If she was going—and she was—she was going in to win this, to convince Brandon Hart that she deserved a spot in his gallery.

Now, staring at the old house on Main Street, she noted the place looked a little run-down. Or maybe not so run-down as abandoned. The lawn needed cutting and the property needed something to make it look inviting, or maybe commercial. Several of the older homes on the street had been turned into shops, but this place still looked like a residence—an empty residence.

According to the flyer Holiday had given her, he planned on opening in two weeks. The guy had better get his ass in gear.

She cut her engine off. Her phone dinged with a text. At least the dang thing was still working. Reaching onto the seat where she’d left it, she read the message.

I’m sorry. Come see me, please. It was from Cary.

Her chest tightened. Should she give the guy another chance?

Her gut said no. Her heart said yes. But was her heart just lonely? Oh, hell, now wasn’t the time to think about that.

Getting out of the school’s car Holiday had been so kind as to loan to her, she reached into the backseat to pull out the small suitcase on wheels that held her display board and jewelry. Feeling nervous, she walked up to the porch. The sound of suitcase wheels bumping and rolling behind her seemed too loud, as if the whole world held its breath with her.

A cold breeze stirred her hair as she stepped up onto the porch. The door, left slightly ajar, creaked, reminding her of the sound effects for some scary movie. She inched closer. Should she knock or just walk in? Now a bit closer, she peered inside. Several glass display cases had been set up and the walls were lined with shelves—a perfect place to exhibit art. But she didn’t see Brandon Hart. Then again, she was early.

She considered going back and sitting in the car, but then after a second glance around the room she spotted a woman looking out the back window. How had she missed her? Could Brandon be a woman?

Fredericka stuck her head in a little. “Hello?”

The woman, around thirty years of age, with long sandy-blond hair, turned around so fast her hair spun in the air. Surprise widened her bright green eyes.

“I’m sorry. I’m Fredericka. I … was supposed to meet Brandon Hart here at ten? The door was open.”

The woman stood silently for several long, uncomfortable seconds before she found her voice. “That’s my brother. He … he’s in the backyard working on his art.”

“Should I come back in fifteen minutes?” Fredericka asked.

“No. Come in. I’m … Linda.”

Fredericka picked up her case and eased in, looking around as she moved. In the corner of one room were eight wind chimes hanging from the ceiling. One of the artists’, Fredericka assumed.

The chimes started moving and the soft ringing sounds filled the room.

For all the gallery lacked on the outside, the inside looked good. Fresh paint brightened the walls and the floor had been polished. The shelves against the wall appeared new. The refurbishing smells hung in the air, stinging Fredericka’s sinuses.

“Should I set up my stuff for him to see?” Fredericka motioned to the top of one of the glass display cases.

“Sure.” Linda twisted her hands together as if nervous, which didn’t make sense, since Fredericka was the one about to be judged.