A Want So Wicked (A Need So Beautiful #2)(8)

“They did. I stayed an extra minute to call my dad, but my phone was dead. Then the woman came up to my window and I thought she wanted money—”

“And you gave it to her?” He laughs. “Elise, didn’t your mom teach you not to talk to strangers?”

“My mom is dead.”

“Oh. I’m sorry, I didn’t—”

“It’s okay. And yes, my dad did teach me that, but I was being nice. I didn’t expect her to—”

“Hey,” Abe interrupts. “You don’t have to dismiss the subject like that. My mother died last year.”

I look sideways at Abe, struck with sudden grief. He shrugs, as if acknowledging that we’re both in the dead-parent club. And it’s not really an awesome place to be.

“What happened to her?” I ask. “Was she sick?”

Abe exhales, reclining the seat back and stretching his long legs in front of him like he’s settling in. “No. It was an accident. Yours?”

My mother had never smoked a day in her life, but that didn’t matter when she was diagnosed with lung cancer at the age of thirty-five. I’d been eight years old. I can still remember the small things, but I’ve spent longer with a grieving father. So it seems that my time with her will always be overshadowed by my time without her. “She had cancer,” I say, checking over my scratches as a way of distraction. “I was just a kid, though.”

“I see. And how long have you been here, Elise? In Thistle?”

“A month. We moved from Colorado when my dad got a job at Mission Church. He thought my sister and I could use the change of scenery.”

“I bet. Too much beauty in all those mountains up there. You needed more dry air and sand in your life.” He smiles. “And your sister? Is she like you?”

“What—a victim of random attacks? No, Lucy is her own sort of trouble. She’s the risk-taker of our little tribe.”

“I bet she’s not as pretty.”

My cheeks heat as I blush, but I pretend like I didn’t hear his compliment. Abe makes me feel unsteady, out of my comfort zone. But at the same time, he seems to be genuinely interested in me, and that in itself is appealing.

“What about you?” I ask. “Any brothers or sisters?”

Booming thunder fills the air, followed by blue streaks of lightning across the dark desert sky. The universe seems to open up and pour rain all around us.

“Good thing you offered the ride,” Abe says. “My walk home would have been treacherous.”

“I didn’t actually offer,” I tease him, starting the car as I shift into reverse.

“Details.”

Following Abe’s directions, we drive slowly, the rain making visibility zero. Lucy’s car is a piece of crap, so I don’t push my luck with its tire treads on the slick pavement.

“It’s amazing that I was here, really,” Abe says. “If I hadn’t shown up at that exact moment, she might have dragged you out of the window and gobbled you up.”

“That’s comforting. You should consider a job in law enforcement, talking people down from ledges.”

“I will consider it. Thanks!”

I slow to a stop at a red light, worrying when I notice it’s after curfew. My father is probably having a coronary right about now. But I had to give Abe a ride home. It’s the least I can do.

“Do you usually walk to work?” I ask when the signal changes.

“Yeah. I like the fresh air. Well, that and the fact that I don’t have a car.”

“How do you get places?”

“I go around saving attractive girls,” he says. “Obviously.”

I park at the curb in front of Abe’s house. It’s a small, stucco home with bright yellow paint and rocky landscaping with a few weeds popping through. The windows are dark and I wonder why no one is waiting up for him.

“It was fantastic meeting you,” Abe says, sounding sincere. “Thank you for the lift.”

“Anytime.”

Abe smiles to himself. “I hope so.”

I wait as he walks to his house, unlocking the door before slipping inside. I think then about the old woman, the visions she showed me. They were nothing like what I saw with Diego, the bright light surrounding us. The woman was sharing something else entirely. And she had a warning: Watch out for the Shadows.

Whatever they are.

After dropping Abe off, I head home. Our neighborhood is a community of tract homes, variations of the same style all within the desert color scheme—tan. When I pull into the driveway, I let Lucy’s car idle for a moment, feeling safer now that I’m here.

The front door opens, spilling light onto the porch. My father stands there, leaning against the frame with his head cocked at a “you are so late and I can’t wait to hear why” angle.

“You probably won’t believe it,” I say when I climb out of the car. “But I have an explanation.”

“I’m sure you do.” As I get closer, my father snaps his gum like a football coach on the sideline of a big game. He says he used to smoke when he was younger, and the gum-chewing replaced the habit. But now he only does it when he’s frustrated. Behind his glasses his blue eyes are tired, his tall frame sagging with exhaustion. I think he’s lost weight since moving here, but he blames it on the stress of having two teenage daughters.