Gates of Thread and Stone(15)

I leaned away, catching his wrist. His arm tensed. The muscles in his forearm stood out. The inside of his wrist felt smooth against my thumb. My hand looked so pale next to his.

Was I seriously ogling his wrist?

“I can do it.” I reached for the rag.

“It helps if you can see what you’re doing, and I don’t have a mirror,” he said wryly. He brushed my hand aside. “Relax. It’s not a big deal.”

I held my breath as the rag drew closer, smelling sharp with disinfectant. The cut burned on contact.

He was so close. Beneath the disinfectant, I could smell the earthy, almost spicy scent of his soap—and his own scent underneath it, fresh like a cool wind. He hadn’t trimmed his hair in months, and it had begun to grow past his ears. I almost gave in to the urge to skim my fingertips along the hair that fell across his brow. I focused instead on the black lines inked into his neck. The tattoo was completely different from Reev’s. Graceful swoops alongside jagged arcs. Since I could see only a fraction of the design, I didn’t know what it was supposed to be. Maybe something abstract.

“Good thing I don’t have a mirror. It looks worse than it is.” He spoke quietly. I wished he’d stop being so gentle.

I remained still and didn’t respond.

“You fight well,” he said.

Maybe I was mistaken. Maybe he hadn’t seen after all.

“But you still suck at conversation.”

I frowned, and he smirked at my reaction.

“Reev taught me,” I said.

“No wonder. He sucks at conversation, too.”

“I mean to fight,” I said, and then batted his hand away when his thumb smoothed over the bruise that was probably darkening my jaw.

“I know.” He capped the disinfectant and placed it on the counter. “Give me a second. There’s some food in the cupboard if you’re hungry.”

I wasn’t, so I stayed on the stool to rest my feet and watched Avan dig through his closet. I could see that he didn’t own much beyond the bare essentials, either. He pulled out a linen bag from a drawer and shoved some clothes into it.

“What are you doing?” I stood, shaking my head even though he couldn’t see with his back turned. “You’re not coming with me.”

“Looks like I am,” he said with a nod at his bag.

“No,” I said, louder. “This doesn’t have anything to do with you.”


“I saw what you did in there. When you were fighting, you . . . ” He stopped.

I rubbed my palm against my stomach, but it didn’t help ease the churning. I didn’t know how to deal with this. I wasn’t going to offer an explanation until he asked, but I hoped he wouldn’t ask because I didn’t know how to explain.

“I’m not walking away from this. Whether you like it or not, I’m involved now.” Then he glanced up at me, gaze steady. “And I’m your friend. I can’t let you do this alone.”

It wasn’t that I couldn’t use the help. But Reev was my brother, and Avan had his own responsibilities. I didn’t know exactly what was wrong with his mom because he’d never said, but everyone knew she wasn’t getting better, not with the limited care available in the North District. She never even came down to sit with Avan behind the counter anymore. The sicker she got, the less sober his dad was. What would his parents do without him to help run the shop?

“I don’t need your help.”

Avan shrugged. “But if you do, then it’s a good thing I’ll be there.”

I sighed. It sounded like a sob.

Drek. I clamped my lips shut. I covered my face and pushed past Avan. He looked away.

The washroom door slammed shut behind me, and I collapsed against it. I pressed my palms against my eyelids and forced myself to breathe. In and out. Steady.

A tear slipped out, dampening my palm. My shoulders shook. Another sob escaped my lips, and I clamped my mouth tighter.

I needed Reev. I’d never been alone before. Sure, I could take care of myself; but Reev had always, always been there. How was I supposed to do this without him?

I swallowed hard. Stop. I couldn’t cry. Not now, and definitely not with Avan in the other room, completely aware of what was happening in here. Drek, I’d embarrassed myself in front of him. Now, on top of being a freak, he probably thought I was a stupid kid with no idea what I was doing.

It scared me that maybe he was right.





CHAPTER 8




AVAN DIDN’T SAY anything after I left the washroom. He offered me some water and didn’t try to comfort me or offer empty words of reassurance. He just told me to grab my bag so we could find DJ. I was grateful.

At DJ’s house, the door was opened by a grizzled man with coppery skin and hair the color of the clouds. Not quite yellow, not quite orange, and just as unnatural.

“Avan,” he said. His smile was broad and, for lack of a better word, dirty. He lifted an eyebrow at me. “This your girlfriend?”

I did not blush. “No,” I said stiffly.

“This is Kai. Can we talk?”

DJ stepped aside and ushered us in. The place was laid out the same as Avan’s, except the walls had been painted an obscene yellow. I felt as if I’d walked into an egg yolk, except egg yolks didn’t have people making out on a bed in the corner. The couple on top of the sheets carried on, completely oblivious. I turned my back, my face hot—only to see Avan watching them. I jabbed him with my elbow. Staring was rude, even if the couple didn’t appear to notice or care.