“Not going to happen.”

He groaned. “Do you know—do you even care how disappointed he was in me? What that meant to me?”

My head jerked up. “What? You didn’t tell him you knew about the stuff in the locker, did you? I told him I didn’t tell anyone, Hayden. Oh, God.”

“He didn’t appreciate the fact that I’d been hiding what was happening.”

“Then why did you tell him?”

“I needed to tell him the truth, Ember!” he said, equally frustrated. “It’s bad enough that I’ve been lying to him about helping you.”

“I never made you help me! You pushed it on me!”

He stared at me for what seemed like forever. “My father was on the phone with every contact he has ever made in the last ten years after he reamed my ass out last night. He sent Kurt to find out who’s behind the stuff in your locker.”

That meant nothing. I’d do the same thing if I was guilty and wanted people to believe I wasn’t, but the look on his face stopped me from letting those words get past my lips.

“And I know none of that means anything to you.”

I flushed. There was no point in denying it. I folded my arms and glared at him.

“But I wish it did. Then you could see that my family isn’t against you.” He stepped forward, catching the edge of my sleeve. Only the tips of his fingers brushed my skin, but it felt like a thousand touches in one. “They’ve been watching over you for so long. My father wants to help you. He’ll do everything and anything to keep you and your sister safe.”

I unfolded my arms, and Hayden let go. He didn’t step back. My hands found the sleeve of his shirt. Mimicking his early movements, the tips of my fingers brushed the skin of his wrist. I closed my eyes, but I could tell the shadows in the room were breaking apart as the sun started to rise over the mountain.

“Please. Ember, you have to trust him. Trust me.”

The moment I opened my eyes, Hayden knew. Neither of us spoke. There was just too much that pointed at Cromwell for me to ever trust the man, and Hayden would always remain loyal to him.

Our eyes connected for the briefest moment. Then he left without saying a word. I turned to the balcony. The sun had crested the mountain, casting an orange, fiery glow over the woods, and in that second, everything burned.

* * *

“I spoke to Principal Hawkes,” Mr. Theo said, eyeing two students in the hallway who had their tongues shoved down each other’s throats. For a teacher, he didn’t seem to mind the PDA like every other adult did. “She said everything is being taken care, and you shouldn’t have any more problems.”

Feeling a strange pain in my chest, I pulled my gaze from the couple. The ache transferred to my temples. “Yeah.”

He looked at me sharply. “You don’t sound too convinced of that.”

I squeezed the coin between my fingers, wondering how things had gone from Hayden almost kissing me this morning to not even speaking to me. We’d argued before, but they’d been different. “I’m just tired.”

Mr. Theo turned and faced me. “You left school early yesterday. Was it because you wanted to, or were you made to?”

His question caught me off-guard, and between the pain in my head and lack of sleep, my brain wasn’t up for the challenge of lying or talking in general. I just wanted to finish this day and go to sleep.

“Ember?”

I blinked. “No. I think I’m coming down with something.”

“Well, at least you have Thanksgiving break to rest up and feel better.”

Yeah. A whole week of being stuck in the house with people who hated me sounded like a restful experience. “I hope you have a nice break.” I could hear the emptiness in my own voice. No emotion. I was that tired. Or maybe it was something else. I pushed away, swinging the bag onto my shoulder.

“Ember?” he called out. I’d gotten about a yard away before twisting back around. “Take care of yourself.”

Chapter 21

I stared down at my cup of hot chocolate, watching the darker chocolate swirl. She might be an evil child-stealer, but Aunt Liz could make some kick-ass hot chocolate. Setting the mug aside, I picked up the pad of paper and turned to a blank page. My mind wandered as I started etching lines across the paper.

Liz had taken Olivia to the library after lunch and they had yet to return. I’d been invited to go, but I’d turned them down. Stupid. I needed a new copy of Catcher in the Rye. And since Olivia was the only living thing in this house who wanted to be around me, I should’ve gone.

So I sat outside on the porch, huddled down in a corner so the chilly breeze couldn’t reach me, waiting for Olivia to come back. Or, at least, I kept telling myself it was because of Olivia. I was totally not waiting for Hayden to come home, hoping to catch him. I’d seen him leave with Phoebe and Gabe a little after noon. I hadn’t been invited.

The pencil slid over the page, a line here, a stronger line there.

The breeze picked up, scattering the dull brown and yellow leaves across the porch. They came to a rest around my sneakers. My mind wandered away from Hayden, right back to another string of thoughts that started a low burn in my stomach.

There wasn’t a part of me that doubted that someone in this house had something to do with the “gifts” in my locker. Pressure built in my chest when I thought about the possibility I could be living with the person responsible for the accident.

I stopped drawing, pushing back a wayward curl as I stared down at my sketch. The marks were unmistakable. He stared back at me, a lopsided grin on lips that were fuller on the bottom. I let out a disgusted groan and slammed the sketchpad shut just as the front door swung open.

Parker.

He stopped at the top of the steps and turned, his gaze settling on me. Sunlight sliced across his face, but it didn’t warm his expression.

I tucked the pencil inside the sketchpad and started to stand, but what was I trying to run from? Parker knew everything.

He let out a sigh as he glanced down at the keys in his hand. “I’m sorry about that night in the cabin.”

Struck dumb, I simply stared. Parker never talked to me. Ever.

Clenching the keys in his hand, he inched away from the steps and stopped a good six feet from me. “Sometimes when I read people, I get sucked in. I can’t stop.” He stared off into the woods while he spoke. “And you were especially hard to read. There’s a lot going on in your head.”

I wasn’t sure how to respond to that. Should I apologize? But that didn’t seem right, so I said nothing.

Parker appeared okay with that. “It’s hard to block people like you out. People whose brains are always working at something, their emotions always on broadcast.” He paused, finally looking at me. “Phoebe told me you saw.”

“Oh,” I said, knowing he meant the cuts Phoebe had made along her thighs.

“It’s hard for her to block you out, to block out Hayden. It gets to her.”

Somehow, I knew Parker was apologizing for Phoebe’s behavior, explaining why she hurt herself. “I understand it’s hard for her, but she shouldn’t be hurting herself. Someone should do something. Get her help.”

He tipped his head to the side. “Phoebe’s fine.”

“People who are fine don’t cut themselves.”

“Most people don’t believe they’re soulless,” Parker raised his brows. “Nor do they believe they actually want to hurt people. Do you think you’re fine?”

My jaw hit the floor.

“Isn’t that how you deal with your gift? You believe you can’t help it, that your touch is beyond your control. So you’ve convinced yourself that you are soulless, evil. In a way, it takes the responsibility off you.”

“That’s not true.”

“Phoebe cuts to distract herself from other people’s emotions. I stay away from people so I’m not tempted to get in their heads.” Almost like he needed to prove his words, he took a step back. “Gabe is the lucky one; he doesn’t have to deal like we do.”

“What about Hayden?” I asked before I could stop myself.

A cynical smile twisted his lips. “Hayden’s learned to be comfortable with his gifts. Out of all of us, he knew how to deal. He did deal.”

“You say that like he doesn’t deal anymore. I don’t believe that. He’s so… strong.”

Parker shook his head. “Hayden shows you what he wants you to see. You don’t know Hayden. He’s never in control, not when he’s around you.”

* * *

You don’t know Hayden.

With my sketchpad and lukewarm mug of hot chocolate in hand, I went back inside after Parker left. I shivered in spite of the toasty warmth of the house. Why was I even thinking about Hayden? We weren’t even friends anymore. And besides, according to Phoebe, he had a thing for lost and broken people.

That didn’t flatter me.

I didn’t need him to help me get control of my touch. I didn’t need him to believe that his father had anything to do with the accident. But what about all the other stuff—the things we shared that had nothing to do with my touch or the accident? His friendship, the way he could get me to talk about almost anything? Or the way he looked at me, the way I felt around him?

Coming to a stop in the foyer, I wanted to kick myself. I hadn’t needed any of that stuff for two years. Surely, I didn’t need it now. What I needed to do was forget about Hayden, because right now, he wasn’t important. Finding out who’d been behind the car crash was.

The more I thought about it, the more I wondered why someone would want Olivia badly enough to kill. And come on, kill me, too? When I’d been just a kid? Or maybe they’d planned to wipe my mind—erase all of our memories of Olivia—but when she brought me back with a new “gift,” they changed their plans. Maybe they wanted to see what I could do, see how I progressed on my own.

I just couldn’t figure out the “why” behind it all.

Tucking my sketchpad under my arm, I rubbed my temples. Ugh. Lack of sleep mixed in with learning someone might’ve wanted me dead could cause one hell of a headache.

I headed into the kitchen to dump my hot chocolate and found Cromwell at the table, several newspapers spread in front of him. I couldn’t make a hasty retreat before his gaze flicked up from the papers.

“Hello, Ember.”

“Hey.” I ambled over to the sink and dumped the mug, feeling his heavy stare on my back the whole time. It took everything in me to not fling accusations at him. When I turned around, Cromwell leaned back in the chair. “Can I ask you something?”

He nodded. “You can ask me anything.”

“Is it possible my parents knew about Olivia’s gift? Before she did anything?”

Cromwell glanced down at one of the papers. “It’s possible, especially if Olivia wasn’t the first one in the family to have a gift.”

“You’re saying someone else could’ve had the gift? In my family?”

“The ability to have gifts hasn’t been proven to be hereditary, but there’ve been several instances in which more than one member of a family has shown a gift. Just like Phoebe and Parker.”