The Return
Page 44
“Huh?”
A small grin appeared and those butterflies decided to invade my chest in an army of flurries. “We got to your house, but you were still sleeping, so I drove back through town,” he said, and my eyes widened. We were in Osborn? I’d slept the entire way? “We’re about a mile out now. I figured you’d want some time to get yourself together.”
That was incredibly considerate, surprisingly so, and actually kind of sweet. My lips curved into a smile. “No, I’m awake.”
“How are you feeling?”
“Okay.” I swallowed hard. “Do I look…like I’ve just gone toe-to-toe with Jaws? I don’t want my mom or my grandparents to worry.”
He looked me over. “No. Keep your hair down. It covers the tag and the sweater takes care of the rest. Your lip…it’s not that noticeable.” His gaze dropped to my mouth, and oh boy, those butterflies were turning into pterodactyls. It was silly. All of this was. But I could easily recall the way he’d stared at me when I’d walked out of the bathroom wearing his shirt, the things he’d said, and yeah, how I’d fallen asleep with him holding my hand… all the stuff before I’d almost gotten myself killed.
“You were making noises again,” he said. “Little murmurings.”
Oh my God, seriously? “I so do not like you.”
That didn’t even sound believable to me, and he grinned. “You,” he said, tapping the tip of my nose, “are a terrible liar.”
I blinked.
He slid back, shifting the car out of park and into drive. Pulling off the shoulder, he coasted back onto the road. I stared at him another moment, realizing his hair was down again, the soft-looking ends brushing his broad shoulders, softening the cut lines of his face.
God, he really was something to look at it, and I needed to focus on what was important. I was minutes from seeing my mom, from really seeing her after knowing the truth, and I needed to get my head together.
A bundle of nerves formed in my belly as we drove down the familiar country road. Sunlight filtered through the heavy branches, casting shadows across the hood of the Porsche and the windshield. What was I going to say to Mom? What could I say?
“Nervous?” Seth asked.
I glanced at him. “How can you tell?”
“You’re bouncing around in the seat like there are springs under your ass.”
Oh. Well then. I made an effort to sit still. “I don’t know what to say to her. I don’t even know if she’ll understand.”
His long fingers closed around the steering wheel as he squinted. A moment passed. “Do you need to say anything?”
At first that didn’t make sense, and then I got what he was saying. Turning my gaze to the side window as the SUV slowed, I knew I didn’t have to go into detail with her. I could just tell her that I knew, or I could just hug her and let her know that way that I understood.
“You’re a smart girl,” he said, turning down the narrow road that led to the house. I think I stopped breathing as I clenched the seatbelt. “You’ll roll with it and figure it out.”
My heart was pounding like a steel drum as the house came into view. The two-story home was well over a hundred years old and had to have been a beauty back in its glory days. Not that it was decrepit or anything, but the white paint was peeling off the exterior wooden slabs and the roof needed to be replaced, especially over the porch. But for me, it was home—beautiful in a sad, aging kind of way.
Aging? It struck me then as gravel crunched under the tires of the Porsche. Would I stop aging once my super-special powers were unleashed upon an unsuspecting world? I looked at Seth. “Do demigods age?”
His brows knit as he stopped the SUV near my granddaddy’s old Ford pickup truck. “Wow. Random. But no, they don’t. Back in the day, there was always some trial they went through, and then they were at full demigod status. Some are…they are made and they stop aging at that point.”
Whoa. I slumped back against the seat, staring at the swing on the porch that probably couldn’t hold my weight anymore. I would stop aging. Holy crap. I could be stuck between twenty and twenty-one forever. Like forever. “Do you age?”
There was a pause. “Yes, I age, but that’s not really going to be a problem.”
I looked at him sharply, not liking the way he said that. “Why?”
Seth hit the engine button, turning it off. His jaw was set as he tugged a leather band off his wrist and pulled his hair back into a short ponytail. “That is not something you need to be worried about right now, Joe. You’ve got to get inside. I hate to say this, but we don’t have a lot of time. We need to get back on the road, because we’re really pushing it stopping here. I need to get you to South Dakota.”
“So you can drop me off and leave?” The question came out before I could stop myself, and he looked at me sharply. I sucked in a breath, wondering why I had even asked that. “And stop calling me Joe.” I unbuckled my seatbelt. He had a point, but I was stalling. “When’s your birthday? You’re twenty-one, right?”
He looked at me, mouth curled at the corners, as if he didn’t know if he should smile or frown at me. “My birthday is May second. I’ll be twenty-two.”
“My birthday is October thirteenth. Sometimes it falls on Friday the thirteenth, and that’s kind of creepy, right? Like I’m a walking black cat or a living ladder no one wants to walk under.”
A small grin appeared and those butterflies decided to invade my chest in an army of flurries. “We got to your house, but you were still sleeping, so I drove back through town,” he said, and my eyes widened. We were in Osborn? I’d slept the entire way? “We’re about a mile out now. I figured you’d want some time to get yourself together.”
That was incredibly considerate, surprisingly so, and actually kind of sweet. My lips curved into a smile. “No, I’m awake.”
“How are you feeling?”
“Okay.” I swallowed hard. “Do I look…like I’ve just gone toe-to-toe with Jaws? I don’t want my mom or my grandparents to worry.”
He looked me over. “No. Keep your hair down. It covers the tag and the sweater takes care of the rest. Your lip…it’s not that noticeable.” His gaze dropped to my mouth, and oh boy, those butterflies were turning into pterodactyls. It was silly. All of this was. But I could easily recall the way he’d stared at me when I’d walked out of the bathroom wearing his shirt, the things he’d said, and yeah, how I’d fallen asleep with him holding my hand… all the stuff before I’d almost gotten myself killed.
“You were making noises again,” he said. “Little murmurings.”
Oh my God, seriously? “I so do not like you.”
That didn’t even sound believable to me, and he grinned. “You,” he said, tapping the tip of my nose, “are a terrible liar.”
I blinked.
He slid back, shifting the car out of park and into drive. Pulling off the shoulder, he coasted back onto the road. I stared at him another moment, realizing his hair was down again, the soft-looking ends brushing his broad shoulders, softening the cut lines of his face.
God, he really was something to look at it, and I needed to focus on what was important. I was minutes from seeing my mom, from really seeing her after knowing the truth, and I needed to get my head together.
A bundle of nerves formed in my belly as we drove down the familiar country road. Sunlight filtered through the heavy branches, casting shadows across the hood of the Porsche and the windshield. What was I going to say to Mom? What could I say?
“Nervous?” Seth asked.
I glanced at him. “How can you tell?”
“You’re bouncing around in the seat like there are springs under your ass.”
Oh. Well then. I made an effort to sit still. “I don’t know what to say to her. I don’t even know if she’ll understand.”
His long fingers closed around the steering wheel as he squinted. A moment passed. “Do you need to say anything?”
At first that didn’t make sense, and then I got what he was saying. Turning my gaze to the side window as the SUV slowed, I knew I didn’t have to go into detail with her. I could just tell her that I knew, or I could just hug her and let her know that way that I understood.
“You’re a smart girl,” he said, turning down the narrow road that led to the house. I think I stopped breathing as I clenched the seatbelt. “You’ll roll with it and figure it out.”
My heart was pounding like a steel drum as the house came into view. The two-story home was well over a hundred years old and had to have been a beauty back in its glory days. Not that it was decrepit or anything, but the white paint was peeling off the exterior wooden slabs and the roof needed to be replaced, especially over the porch. But for me, it was home—beautiful in a sad, aging kind of way.
Aging? It struck me then as gravel crunched under the tires of the Porsche. Would I stop aging once my super-special powers were unleashed upon an unsuspecting world? I looked at Seth. “Do demigods age?”
His brows knit as he stopped the SUV near my granddaddy’s old Ford pickup truck. “Wow. Random. But no, they don’t. Back in the day, there was always some trial they went through, and then they were at full demigod status. Some are…they are made and they stop aging at that point.”
Whoa. I slumped back against the seat, staring at the swing on the porch that probably couldn’t hold my weight anymore. I would stop aging. Holy crap. I could be stuck between twenty and twenty-one forever. Like forever. “Do you age?”
There was a pause. “Yes, I age, but that’s not really going to be a problem.”
I looked at him sharply, not liking the way he said that. “Why?”
Seth hit the engine button, turning it off. His jaw was set as he tugged a leather band off his wrist and pulled his hair back into a short ponytail. “That is not something you need to be worried about right now, Joe. You’ve got to get inside. I hate to say this, but we don’t have a lot of time. We need to get back on the road, because we’re really pushing it stopping here. I need to get you to South Dakota.”
“So you can drop me off and leave?” The question came out before I could stop myself, and he looked at me sharply. I sucked in a breath, wondering why I had even asked that. “And stop calling me Joe.” I unbuckled my seatbelt. He had a point, but I was stalling. “When’s your birthday? You’re twenty-one, right?”
He looked at me, mouth curled at the corners, as if he didn’t know if he should smile or frown at me. “My birthday is May second. I’ll be twenty-two.”
“My birthday is October thirteenth. Sometimes it falls on Friday the thirteenth, and that’s kind of creepy, right? Like I’m a walking black cat or a living ladder no one wants to walk under.”
