One of Those Faces (30)

I glanced at my reflection again, thinking back to the way the girl’s sleek ponytail had bobbed up and down when she walked away from us.

Who is she?





CHAPTER THIRTEEN


“Are you okay?”

I blinked in the darkness, my eyes focusing on the light of the clock.

3:12 a.m.

Iann stood beside me, his hand on my shoulder. “What are you doing?”

I shivered in my borrowed shorts and oversize T-shirt, my feet trembling on the tile.

He stepped in front of me, bending down to look into my eyes when I didn’t respond. “Harper, are you okay?”

I nodded and blinked again. “What’s going on?” My voice croaked as it wrenched from my lips.

He slid his hand in mine and led me to a chair. I sank into it, shaking. “I don’t know,” he said. “You left the bed a while ago, and when I came to check on you, you were just standing here.”

I looked around. I was in the kitchen. Leo was staring up at me and panting.

“What were you doing?” he asked slowly.

“I don’t know.” I didn’t remember even getting out of bed. I didn’t remember falling asleep in the first place. “Can I get some water?” I rasped.

He left my side, and I could hear the clattering of glasses.

I opened my clenched right hand, and something fell out onto my leg. I brought it up close to my face in the darkness. It was a thick, smooth leaf. The hand I’d held it in was covered in dirt. I let the leaf fall to the floor and glanced at the front door. The dead bolt was locked. I took a deep breath and patted Leo on his soft yellow head.

Iann handed me a glass of water, and I gratefully sipped. “Thank you.”

He sat down on the chair next to me, running his hand through my hair from my temple and down my back.

“How long was I gone?” I set the glass on the countertop.

His finger lightly traced a line along my neck. “I don’t know. I woke up when you walked out of the room but then fell back asleep.” He put his arm around my shoulder. “Were you sleepwalking?”

I shivered and relaxed into his arm. He was so warm. “I don’t know.”

“Let’s go back to bed.” He stood up and offered his hand to me.

I rubbed my gritty palm with my thumb. “I’ll meet you there. Just give me a second.”

He retracted his hand and ruffled his hair until it stuck out from both sides. “Are you sure you’re okay?” He yawned.

I stood up. “Yeah, I’m good. I’ll be there in a minute.” I watched him stagger back into his room, then glanced down at Leo. He was still staring at me, but he had stopped panting. I felt my way through the kitchen to the bathroom and flicked the light on. My right hand was covered in wet brown dirt. I turned on the faucet and rubbed it away. The water seeped into the cut on my palm and stung.

Leo followed me in, leaving tracks of dirt dropping from his feet and chest. I sighed in relief. “Come here.” I called him in, and he sat in front of the sink as I wet a paper towel and wiped his fur. He must have dragged in the dirt. Hadn’t he?



I opened my eyes and lay frozen, staring at the white ceiling, the fan squeaking slightly as it rotated. The bedroom door opened, and Iann came in with his phone in hand. “Oh,” he said, closing the door behind him before sitting on the bed beside me. “When did you get up?”

My eyes were dry and aching, as if I hadn’t slept at all. I pulled his T-shirt farther down past my knees under the covers. “Just now.”

He got under the blankets next to me.

I stretched my arms above my head. “What time is it?”

“Seven o’clock.” He turned on his side toward me and brushed my hair away from my neck, his eyes darting over the jagged scar. He reached his arm around my shoulder, his shirtsleeve rolling up and exposing the bottom half of his tattoo. It was a compass with coordinates scrawled underneath.

“A bartender with a tattoo?” I lightly tapped the ink. “Isn’t that a little cliché?”

I expected a laugh, but instead I was met with silence. “Well, I got it before I started bartending,” he said after the pause, pulling his arm away from my shoulders.

“What does it mean?” I traced the coordinates with my fingers.

He stared across the room, his arm tensing under my touch.

“What’s wrong?” I settled back onto my side.

He sat up and looked down at his hands. “Nothing,” he said. “It’s, um, kind of a memorial kind of thing.”

My face grew hot. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know.”

“Yeah, uh.” He ran a hand through his hair and down the back of his neck. “There’s no way you would know.” His voice lowered. “It’s hard for me to talk about.”

My mouth dried as words caught in my throat, stopping just before my lips. I was dying to ask a thousand questions.

His eyes seemed to be following a replay of the events in the air in front of him.

I sat up next to him, but he didn’t glance my way.

He finally looked at me, his brow furrowed. “Sorry,” he said. “It was a long time ago, but I still . . . I don’t know.”

My truth bubbled in my throat, rising hot toward my lips. But I swallowed quickly before the words could come out. It was too long and awful to speak. Almost impossible to explain. I gripped his hand tighter as the words burned and then died in my chest.