The Hearts We Sold(65)

James wobbled atop the ladder and Riley rushed to grab one of its legs.

“Wow,” said Gremma. “It’s like watching the world’s crappiest home improvement show.” She spotted the bottle of champagne sitting on the coffee table. There were four plastic red cups—Dee’s was untouched.

“A toast,” James had said, “to new housemates.”

Gremma took Dee’s cup without having to ask if she would drink it; Gremma knew her. She drained it in a few gulps. “So is this going to be weird?” she asked. “Your boyfriend living with another girl?”

Dee made a face. “I’m not sure which part of that statement I disagree most with. That you think James is my boyfriend, or that you think if he were my boyfriend he would be so easily swayed by another girl, or that Riley would steal my boyfriend. Which he isn’t,” she added hastily.

Gremma gave her a flat look. “You kissed him. I saw you in the car.”

“That was on the cheek.”

“I’ve seen how he looks at you.”

“He’s nice.”

“He painted you.” Gremma crossed her arms. “If that’s not interest, I don’t know what is. And you want to jump him.”

“What makes you say that?” said Dee.

Gremma looked away. “Because you trusted him with your secrets long before you trusted me.”

Dee opened her mouth, but only silence emerged. It—it was true. She had trusted James first. And part of her wanted to claim it was only solidarity, that both of them having no heart drew them together. They faced life-or-death situations together; that was sure to forge a bond.

But she hadn’t felt that way about Cal or Cora. She’d liked Cal well enough and she was wary of Cora—but James—James was—

She looked at him. He was still on that ladder, arms lifted above his head, trying to attach the curtain to the ceiling. The gesture lifted his shirt, exposed a sliver of skin along his stomach. She had one of those thoughts that simply comes to a person with no warning—what might it be like to see him without the shirt?

Oh, hell.

She did want to jump him.

“I’m sorry,” she said, turning her attention back to Gremma. “It’s nothing personal. I never not trusted you.”

Some of Gremma’s hurt seemed to slide away. “No, I get it.” She chewed on the edge of the plastic cup. “Some secrets you keep all tangled up in yourself, so tight that to pull them out is physically painful.”

And that was it. Dee had bound so much of herself up in the appearance of normalcy, hoping the mask would someday turn into the real thing.

Or maybe everyone felt this way—caught up in their own demons, trying to put on a good face for everyone else.

Riley came over, sat on the opposite couch. Even sweaty, with rumpled hair and no makeup, she was still beautiful. Between Riley and Gremma, Dee felt the tiniest bit frumpy.

“Have you heard from Cora?” called James. He was descending from the ladder, stepping back to survey his work.

“No,” said Dee. “I figure… well. She’s probably pissed at us.”

“Would the demon really have hurt her?” Riley asked.

“Daemon,” said Dee and James in unison.

“Call him the Daemon,” said Dee.

Riley’s nose crinkled. “Why?”

“Because Agathodaemon is a bit of a mouthful,” said James, unrolling the mattress. “And the one time I tried to call him Aggie, he talked about ripping out my liver.”

This comment had its intended effect—laughter rippled through the group, breaking the tension. James was smiling, content with his achievement. Dee knew that he was doing his best to fill the void Cora had left. He wasn’t a leader; if anything, he was a class clown. But he had a way of defusing a situation and making people feel comfortable, and he would use it to his best advantage.

He was trying to take care of them.

He was a far better person than she’d first thought.

When he went to the fridge to retrieve more drinks, Dee followed him. “Thank you. For doing this, I mean.”

He straightened, a bottle of water in each hand. He set the bottles on the counter, and their sides were already clouded with condensation. “For water?”

“For taking Riley in,” she said. “For trying to make this better, when you didn’t have to.”

He blinked. As if that were a strange statement to make. “It’s what anyone would do,” he said with a half shrug.

No, it wasn’t. She couldn’t imagine her father doing such a thing. Dee had grown up with a desperate need to be self-sufficient, to never rely on anyone. Accepting help made her feel awkward.

She’d never felt that around James, though. Perhaps because he didn’t make a big deal out of it; helping people was just what he did.

They stood in silence for a moment, and then he said, his voice quiet, “I’m worried about Cora.”

She drew in a breath. She had been thinking about Cora, too. “You said she was okay.”

“She was okay.” James rubbed at the creases in his forehead. “Physically. Emotionally, well, she was pretty angry. I think—I think she was pretty dead set on keeping the Daemon from making any more of us. She feels responsible somehow. Like seniority gives her the automatic mom role.”