Kill Switch (Devil’s Night Book 3)

Present

I came out of the shower, dressed and drying my hair with a towel as I heard the motors of heavy trucks and a jackhammer outside again.

What were they doing? It had been going on since yesterday morning, but I tried not to care at first, and then I just thought it was more installations from the new security. They’d been installing an alarm system and changing locks, but this sounded like serious construction.

I walked to the end of the hall, past my bedroom, and stood at the window, the warning beeps of a truck moving in reverse sounding off outside and workers calling out to one another. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, though.

Damon had disappeared again after the fight in my bedroom, and I hadn’t talked to him or heard him in the house for almost two days.

Two days of freedom, rehearsing at the studio, practicing more at home, planning with Rika and Alex and brainstorming ideas for how to get me on some show bills or into outdoor festivals.

Someone climbed the stairs behind me, and I recognized the footfalls. Crane had this way of falling into his steps, almost like skidding, on the hardwood.

“What’s the noise outside?” I asked over my shoulder.

I felt him approach and waited.

“Mr. Torrance is having the ‘stupid, gaudy, fucking fountain’ removed, he said.”

I almost wanted to laugh at the way he repeated Damon’s words, throwing shade.

But then they sank in.

“Removed,” I mumbled.

He was taking out the fountain in front of my house. Throwing it away. Getting rid of it.

Like he didn’t want any reminder of the past or what he fell in love with about us as a boy.

He wanted to kill it.

I stopped drying my hair, holding the towel in my hands. “Is he here?” I asked.

“He’s close.”

Close. What does that mean? Was he always close? Even when he left?

“Do you need something?” Crane inquired. “I don’t expect him back to the house today, but I can get a message to him.”

I didn’t even know where to start. I wanted to say things to him, but everything in my head was still a hodgepodge of feelings contradicting facts.

I didn’t want to talk, but I wanted to feel him in the house.

Turning around, I followed the wall past Crane, without answering him, and slipped into my bedroom, closing the door.

I’d tried hard not to think about everything he said night before last—keeping busy with choreography and planning—but if I slowed for a second, he was there again, sitting against the wall in my room, and whispering nightmares I’d never seen and confessing secrets he’d tried hard to keep hidden for so long.

Should I forget everything he did? Was it all suddenly okay just because his feelings had been real?

I moved around my room, putting away clothes and cleaning up. Yesterday morning, after Damon’s tantrum, Crane came in and picked up everything his boss shoved onto the floor the night before and replaced my mirror. When I came home later, he’d brought in a contractor who replaced my door. The room was almost back in order. I wished he cleaned up all his messes as quickly.

There is a reason why all things are as they are.

I laid on my bed, hearing the trucks and workers still moving about outside, and closed my eyes, feeling my body relax but not my mind.

The pull of him was everywhere. I remembered so well the feel of teasing each other, laughing through a kiss, the heat of his arms around me, and the way his body craved mine. The way he wanted and the way I’ve always ached for his roughness and danger, his whispers and him.

The way I always saw Damon Torrance’s raven eyes in my head, even before I knew my ghost was Damon Torrance.

“Come on,” he says, pulling me through the maze. “You’ll like it.”

“What is it?”

I breathed hard, stumbling to keep up as he races through the other side of the maze and beyond the hedges.

He wants to show me something, but I really just want to stay in the fountain. It’s fun in there—so secret.

But he’s so happy now, and I’m kind of curious.

I can’t stop smiling. My belly has flutters in it.

We run deep into the backyard, our clothes wet and cold as we near the forest line, and I see it right away. I shoot my eyes up, taking in the long trail of wooden boards nailed to the tree trunk, and at the top sits a treehouse disguised above a line of branches and leaves.

Sort of.

It doesn’t look completed, but there’s a really big floor and a railing around the outside. It sits between a split in the tree, two trunks locking it in and surrounded by green. You aren’t just in a treehouse. You’re in the tree.

I let go of his hand. “Wow. You’re so lucky.”

He stands next to me, looking up at it. “You like it?”

I nod, not taking my eyes off it.

I wonder if he did it himself or if someone helped. It didn’t look all fancy like some others I’ve seen, and his dad doesn’t seem like the type to build treehouses, either.

“You go up first,” he tells me. “In case you slip, I’ll be behind you.”

I dart my eyes over to him, his dark ones looking at me under black eyelashes. A somersault hits my stomach, and I turn away.

Why am I nervous all of a sudden? Am I scared? It’s a tall tree, isn’t it?

“I think my parents might get mad,” I tell him. I’ve never been that high before.

His face falls a little, and after a moment, he just nods, looking disappointed. “Okay.”

I feel bad. I want to go up. I want to do things with him. He’s so fun. He’s not calling me ‘chicken’ or getting mad at me or anything.

I like him.

“You won’t let me fall?” I ask, making sure.

He looks down at me, smiling and excited again. He takes my hand and we run for the ladder, him letting me step up first, the boards still looking new and nailed in tight. My heart starts to pound, because if I slip or lose my grip, I’ll fall.

But I feel him right behind me, and I swallow the lump in my throat and start to climb.

One step after the other, one at a time, I scale the tree, refusing to look down and keeping my eyes above me on the door in the floor of the treehouse that I can spot through the leaves.

My tutu brushes against the trunk, the netting getting stuck on the bark, and I tighten my hands on each board as I pull it off and keep going.

A breeze blows across my legs, chilling my wet clothes even more, and before I can stop myself, I glance down, seeing how high we are. I gasp and wrap my arms around the board in front of me.

“I’m scared,” I tell him. “It’s high.”

He climbs up behind me, setting his feet outside of mine and his hands on the boards around me.

“It’s okay. I have you,” he says. “I promise.”

I squeeze my fists one time and then start to pull away from the tree a little. I look over my shoulder, meeting his eyes, and he’s right there, staring at me, almost nose to nose.

Something fills my chest, and he’s so close, it makes me feel so weird. Like something is pulling me.

I can’t look away, and he holds my eyes, too, and it’s like I can’t stop it. The pull.

His lips touch mine, and I feel like I’m on a roller coaster.

It makes me stop breathing as tickles hit me everywhere, and then I pull away.

I clutch the board tighter, heat rising to my face. “Why did you do that?”

“I didn’t do it. You did it,” he charges.

“I did not.”

God, I’m so embarrassed.

I glance back at him, trying to see if he’s mad, but he looks just as embarrassed as me.

I didn’t kiss him, did I? It was him.

Or both of us. Ughhhh…

He nudges me. “Hurry. Come on.”

And although I’m still mortified, I breathe easier knowing he still wants to go up in the tree.

Cool. Let’s just forget about it then.

I climb to the top and stop, waiting for him to catch up behind me and push open the door. He does, and it flies up and tips over, hitting the floor.

I smile, relieved. I scurry the rest of the way and crawl up onto the floor of the treehouse, pulling myself to a standing position.

I rise, the wind blowing against me and the leaves of the tree rustling all around.

“Whoa,” I breathe out.

It’s like another world.

I turn in a circle, the space kind of an odd-shaped circle but so big, and I can see out over some of the trees, finding the clock tower in town and the roofs of some of the estates in the area.

I point, smiling. “I see the ocean!”

Through the branches, out beyond the forest, lays the silver water spanning all the way to the horizon, and I tip my head back, looking up into the clutter of leaves over our heads and the branches within reach in case we want to climb farther.

He’s so lucky. This is the best. I wish I had this at my house. I’d never leave.

He lets me take it all in as he puts his hands in his pockets and walks around me. I scan the treehouse floor, seeing a lantern, a sleeping bag, some drawings, and empty chip bags, and soda cans.

I look at him. “Why do you hide in the fountain when you have this place?”

“Because they know about this place.”

He’s quick to answer, so he must know from experience. How often does he hide? Is he always alone when he does? He shouldn’t always be alone.

I walk to the railing facing Damon’s house and see some of the party going on, but I’m too far away to recognize anyone or hear any of the music.

He comes up to my side. “Why are you named Winter?”

“It’s a poem by Walter de la Mare,” I tell him, still taking in the vast scenery as I recite part of it. “‘Thick draws the dark, And spark by spark, The frost-fires kindle, and soon, Over that sea of frozen foam, Floats the white moon.’”

I have the whole thing memorized, but he’s probably not interested in hearing it. Any of my classmates who ask aren’t interested, either.

“It describes winter,” I explain. “My mom said the poem made a cold and bitter season seem pretty. She said the beauty in life is what we live for, and it’s everywhere. You just have to look closer.”

He just stares out beyond the railing, looking thoughtful.

“I’m not sure why she named me that, but I like it,” I add.

He sits down, dangling his legs over the sides, and props his arms up over the wooden board nailed across to keep people from falling, and I hesitate for about three seconds before I join. I plant myself down next to him, hang my legs over the side and laugh at the butterflies taking off in my stomach.

I peer over the side, my head feeling a little dizzy, so I draw back.

We sit there, quiet, and observing the view, but I notice my head ache and start to rub at my hair.

“It hurts,” I say out loud, shifting my bun. “My scalp…”

It always happens when my hair is in a tight style all day. It feels so good to let it out.

I pull out a barrette—the only other one in my hair that I didn’t leave in the fountain—and start pulling out the pins in my bun.

“Can you help me?” I ask. “Make sure they’re all out?”

He reaches behind and feels my hair, pulling out a few more pins, and then he helps me unwrap the twist, my hair coming down. I slide my hands underneath it, rubbing my scalp and sighing, because it feels so good.

I look over at him, and he’s just looking at me, his eyes moving over my face.

My skin under my costume starts to get too warm.

He turns away and lets out a breath as he stares ahead. “I might kiss you again when we’re older,” he says. “Just so you know.”

My mouth falls open a little, and I want to make some sound in disgust, just in case he’s kidding or teasing me, but…

Is he telling the truth?

I fold my lips between my teeth to keep from smiling. I don’t know why I want to smile, but I can’t help it.

He puts his hand down next to mine on the floor of the treehouse, and my heart beats so loud.

Is he gonna hold it?

“Winter!”

A shout pierces the air, and I jump.

Searching the ground, I see my father and mother storm up toward the treehouse, their gazes fixed on us.

“Why would you run off without telling your mom where you were going?” he barks.

“Dad,” I breathe out, suddenly scared I did something wrong.

Why is he here? He wasn’t here earlier. He looks upset.

“Come down, honey,” my mom calls, smoothing her clothes. “It’s time to leave.”

“You shut up,” Dad says. “She and Arion are not to come here again. You’ll be lucky if I don’t sue you for custody.”

Custody? Why is he mad at her?

“What’s going on?” I look up at Damon.

Did we do something wrong?

He shakes his head, scooting back and pulling me with him. “I don’t know.”

We move out of sight and stand up, feeling the floor vibrate under us like someone is coming up the ladder.

He’s rigid next to me, but he looks just as confused. I should’ve told my mom where I was going, but she was with Mr. Torrance, and it just happened.

Is that why he’s mad?

My father comes up through the door in the floor, his lips tight, and his suit wrinkled.

He stands up, scowling at us both.

“Get away from her,” he orders Damon.

Damon and I exchange looks, both of us scared.

My father charges over, and Damon steps in front of me.

“Did he hurt you?” my dad asks.

But Damon just shakes his head. “I didn’t.”

It sounds like a plea. Why is my father so worried?

“Move.” He pushes Damon out of the way.

My dad grabs my hand and pulls me. I stumble, letting out a cry.

“You don’t speak to him, and you are never allowed back at this house,” he growls. “If Mom brings you, you tell me. Do you understand?”

“But I want her to come back,” Damon says. “Please.”

“What did we do?” I ask my dad.

He just ignores me, flexing his jaw and squeezing my hand as he yanks me toward the door.

I look back at Damon but stumble when Dad nudges me toward the hole in the floor. I spin back around, looking down to the ground far below and shake my head. My knees shake, and I feel like I’m going to pee my pants.

“I’m scared,” I start to cry.

I can’t see the steps going down like I could coming up.

“Now!” he snaps.

I jump.

Shaking and tears streaming, I crouch down by the hole, knowing I’m going to slip. My foot will slip. I know it. I won’t be able to see the steps underneath me.

But Damon rushes over and takes my hand, pulling me away from the hole and putting himself in front of me again.

“Leave her alone!” he fights. “I’ll help her! I’ll do it!”

My father charges for him, Damon steps back, digging into my foot, and I cry out.

“Just get out of here!” Damon yells. “I’ll bring her down!”

He backs up more, scared, and I’m stumbling, step after step, and we’re falling back, and I can’t catch myself.

“You little shit…” my dad growls.

“Just leave her alone!” Damon cries out.

I look back, see us heading straight for the railing, and he’s not paying attention.

“Damon!” I beg.

He falls into me, our weight snapping the small wooden beam, and I fall backward, crying out and grappling for anything.

“Ah, oh, my God!” I hear my mother scream from below.

I catch the edge of the floor, losing my grip and spilling over, but a hand catches me, and I suck in air, bile rising up my throat as my legs dangle.

I look up, tears filling my eyes as Damon lies on his stomach, struggling to keep hold of me, but I feel so heavy, like I’m being pulled down. My father comes down and grabs for me, but Damon and I can’t hold, and I flail, slipping out of his fingers. His eyes meet mine, time freezes for a split second as we stare at each other, knowing I’m gone.

I slip, scream, and fall, his face the last thing I see before I see nothing at all.

I blinked my eyes awake, sweat coating my brow as warmth spilled through my bedroom window. The memory—the panic—still raced through my body as if I went over that treehouse edge yesterday.

That was the first time I recalled so many details my eight-year-old mind had buried away. He was so different. Rika was right.

I sat up in bed, wiping my eyes but still tired.

Tired of worry and hate and anger.

But also tired of feeling like I always lost.

That was my dilemma with Damon. That accident wasn’t his fault. I knew now that my father wasn’t upset with me or Damon that day. He’d discovered my mother and Mr. Torrance together and lost his temper.

Everything got out of hand, and Damon got scared. We were just kids. He didn’t mean to push me over. I knew that now.

But still…

I just never seemed to come out of anything with him unscathed, did I? In body or in mind.

Rising from the bed, I left my room, the house still silent as I walked down the stairs and into the ballroom. I fell asleep so early I missed dinner last night, and I needed some coffee, but I needed to stretch. I started my playlist and walked over to the wall, moving the curtain aside and lifting the first window to breathe in some fresh air.

But as I did, I stopped, hearing the rush of water outside.

A lot of water, and not like rain.

I thought he got rid of the fountain.

I couldn’t hear the workers anymore—no trucks or machinery. Did they bust a pipe or something? What was that sound?

Leaving the ballroom, I walked toward the front door, punching in the code Crane had given me and disarming the house.

I opened the door, the sound of water filling the air as I stepped outside.

Inching across the driveway in my bare feet, I held out my hands and went slow, careful for any equipment or cars.

But as I walked, I felt the draft and spray of what felt like waterfalls, and then suddenly, the pavement changed to something else under my toes, and I stopped. Dipping my foot out a little more, I felt water spill onto my feet and a granite floor underneath—no bowl or pool where the fountain was collecting. Simply a massive slab of ground. Maybe with drains?

I stepped in, my heart pounding as I held out my fingers, grazing the towers of water around me.

My mouth went dry, trying to puzzle this together. What was this?

I stepped on a spout, the water spraying everywhere and splashing me, and I sucked in a breath, getting a little wet.

But I kept going, tracing the spouts with my toes as I walked and finding a path. I kept my arms out at my sides, my fingers tracing the water and where it created walls and turns, coming to dead ends and veering around corners. The water shot up well above my head, and as I rounded the paths, finding little alcoves and hiding places, my sleep shorts and top stuck to my body and my hair grew cold and wet down my back.

I closed my eyes, my throat swelling as I mapped the water, gauging the huge circle and all the spouts inside creating this intricate wonderland of nooks and avenues, and I…

Oh, my God.

Tears pooled, realizing. He hadn’t taken away the fountain. He’d replaced it.

My eyes stung.

It was a fountain maze.

I stood there in the center, towers of water shooting up and spilling around me as the tears started to fall. Hiding me in a world within a world.

Just like his fountain growing up.

Just like the treehouse.

Damon, what did you do?

My head fell back, and everything crumbled. My heart, my head, my hate, and my grudge, and I just wanted to see him. To feel him and put his forehead to mine and feel him breathe. To have him pick me up and hold me in here, where the water and the walls were high enough to hide us.

I loved him. I still loved him.

Goddamn him.

I cried, the music inside the ballroom drifting out through the window, and I ran my hand through my hair, everything inside just wanting out. I was tired of stopping myself. Of spending more time resenting than getting on with it.

I wanted to fight and scream and laugh and smile and kiss and taste and wrap my arms around him more than I could stomach never feeling him again.

I closed my eyes, starting to spin as Lana Del Rey’s “Dark Paradise” drifted out of the ballroom through the open window, and I swept my leg, arched my back, and shot up on the ball of my foot, dancing and twirling as the music filled me up and took me over. My arms sliced through the water, splashing and whipping the spray, and I danced and danced and danced, running my hand over my stomach, my drenched hair flying around me and sticking to my face and body.

To dive and fall.

To have a lifetime of searching for something.

Or to have five minutes of everything.

I slowed as the music ended and stopped, the chill of the water seeping into my bones, but I felt awake for the first time in years. I was alive.

I wanted it. I wanted it all.

I pushed my hair out of my face and over the top of my head, breathing in so deep, because my lungs felt so much bigger all of a sudden.

“Winter?” someone called.

Crane.

I walked across the fountain maze, smiling through the towers of water and smoothing back my hair as I made my way to the edge, following his voice.

“Where is he?” I asked.

Crane was silent a moment, and then said, “Occupied at the moment. Would you like me to give him a message?”

Occupied.

Okay. If he wanted to play, let him come find me then.

I was ready.

“Let him know that I’ll be going to the Throwback at The Cove tonight with some friends,” I told Crane. “So he doesn’t send out the hounds.”

“And you’ll be home by eleven?” he demanded more than asked.

But I just cocked my head, unable to hide the small smile he had to know was pure mischief. “Of course.”

Throwback Night was organized by some of Thunder Prep’s alumni as one last hoorah at The Cove before it was sold off, rumors flying for a while now that several investors were interested in redeveloping the property. Back in the day, this was a theme park—rides, roller coasters, fun houses, and games—and mostly everything still stood here, abandoned for years, having been dark since we were kids. I remember coming here once when it was still active.

The sea air breezed through the park as the music blasted and partygoers laughed and shouted, their excitement to go back to when we were high schoolers palpable. Most of them were in college or beyond now, although there were some current students of Thunder Bay about tonight, and I kind of dug feeling the old uniform on me again, not having worn it since I was sixteen. Before I fled town to go back to Montreal.

As part of the party theme, we were requested to don our uniforms in keeping with the school spirit. Unfortunately, my body has grown and developed a bit more since then, so I’d asked Rika if she had an extra skirt and shirt from her senior year, still able to use my old necktie with no problem.

“Come on, dance!” Alex pulled my arm.

I laughed, taking hers instead and letting her lead me out to the dance area where the DJ spun music up off to my right. Michael and Erika were here somewhere, Kai and Banks were on their way, Will had said, and I hadn’t heard from Damon, although I left my phone in Will’s car, so I wouldn’t know if he’d tried to call anyway.

People bumped into me, and I couldn’t see the space around me, so I kind of just stood there, unsure about this kind of dancing in front of others. I’d slow danced at school events before, but this was different.

“I can’t dance with a crowd,” I shouted over the music. “I’ll smack someone in the face.”

“I gotcha,” Will came in behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist and swaying both of us back and forth. “You can dance with me.”

Which I’m sure was just an excuse to put his hands on something.

I reached behind me, patting him on the cheek. “A true knight.”

“See, she gets it,” he joked, probably to Alex.

I heard her laugh.

I felt a little more confident with him holding onto me, and we moved, our bodies in sync to the beat of the music.

“Misha!” I heard him call to someone. “Hell yeah. Didn’t think you’d be here.”

“Hey, man,” another guy said, approaching.

Will stopped dancing but still held onto me, reaching over my shoulder for one of those handshake-hug things men did.

“Wow, you look like shit,” Will told him.

“They said to wear school clothes,” the guy retorted. “I was always out of uniform back then, so this is it.”

Will’s chest shook at my back.

“Winter, this is my cousin Misha Lare,” he said. “A couple years behind you in school, I think.”

I held out both my hands, taking his and shaking it. I knew the name. He was younger, though, so we didn’t cross paths.

“And his girlfriend, Ryen,” Will introduced her like she was an annoying little sister.

“Hi, Winter,” she said.

I smiled, following her voice. “Hi.”

“Come on, Ryen,” Will prodded. “Wouldn’t you have loved to see Misha in his uniform tonight?”

“You look like all the frat boys I’ll warn my daughters about when they go to college,” she griped.

Misha snorted, and Will laughed.

“You guys dating?” Misha asked, and I guessed he was talking to Will and me.

“No, man. She’s Damon’s.”

“Damon Torrance’s?” Misha said it like he was spitting out food.

Will tightened his hold. “I know, right?”

“I’m not Damon’s.” I shook my head.

“Yeah, she is,” Will shot back.

I didn’t want to be talked about like I was property. That kind of conversation was fine in private, but Misha’s tone definitely relayed that he had an opinion about Damon. And not a positive one. He didn’t know me. I didn’t want him drawing conclusions.

“Who’s Damon?” Ryen asked. “Have I met him?”

“God, no,” Misha blurted out. “Let’s get some beers before he shows up. Later, man.”

“Bye,” Will called out as they left.

I let out a sigh, reminded that a lot more people than just me had a past or perception of Damon. He had his work cut out for him if he wanted a future in this town. That was, if he cared about what anyone thought, anyway.

“To be fair,” Will said, setting his chin on my shoulder. “Misha hates everyone.”

“You don’t have to sugarcoat it,” I said. “If anyone knows what I’m getting myself into, it’s me.”

He breathed out a laugh.

And then he stood up straight, still holding me tight. “Having Damon around was the only time I ever felt solid in my life,” he told me. “He’s powerful. But painful.”

The corner of my mouth turned up in a small smile, knowing exactly what he was talking about. The highs with Damon reached the sun.

But our kind of fun had a price.

He pulled away from me, leaving my back, and I stood there as everyone danced around me, wondering where he just went. I moved my hands around my sides to feel for him. Did he leave?

“Alex,” I called.

Where did they go?

And then someone was at my back, the height and broad shoulders covering every inch of me, the cloves drifted on the air, and I knew it was him.

His hand reached around my neck, cupping my face and turning my head, as I closed my eyes and felt him come down, pressing his forehead to mine.

Damon.

His other hand came around my stomach, touching me and pressing me into his body, his chest rising and falling behind me. He felt like five years ago. Like seven years ago.

And I wanted it.

“You’re supposed to be wearing your uniform,” I whispered, feeling the jeans and brushing the hoodie with my hand as I reached up to touch his face.

“This is how you knew me then.”

I appreciated he wanted to be who I fell for in high school.

But they were always the same person.

“As long as you’re Damon Torrance, I don’t care what you wear,” I told him.

He kissed me, melting his mouth into mine and tipping my head back, cradling it in his arm so he could deepen the kiss and sink his tongue into my mouth.

A swirl of excitement spun all the way down to between my thighs, and I was already panting as his heat just made me want so much more right now.

A bed. A whole night. Just him.

“Did you like it?” he asked against my mouth.

“Huh?”

Did I like the kiss? Wasn’t it obvious? My body was a puddle in his hands.

“The fountain?” he clarified when I didn’t respond.

He turned me around and lifted me up, and I could feel the draft under my skirt, so I knew it was riding up, but I didn’t care.

Just take me home.

“It was incredible,” I told him, wrapping my arms around his neck. “Perfect for sitting.”

Just like we liked to do.

We kissed again, harder and deeper, and I gripped the hair at the back of his head, forcing us to go slow every time he wanted to speed up. I hovered, teasing him, and dipped in for a kiss only to pull away again.

“Winter,” he growled low.

We stayed there, nose to nose and breathing each other in, not wanting to pull away for a moment, even to get out of here and find a bed.

But he put me down and took my hand, leading me off. “Follow me.”

We walked through the crowds of people dancing and hanging out, the music pounding and the smell of grilled food hanging in the air, and I trailed close, holding his hand and his arm, too.

I still wasn’t sure how to feel about a lot of what had happened and what was happening now. What was prison like for him? Did I feel badly about any of it?

What about Arion? What were his intentions with both of us, and what about my father? Did I resent that Damon was the one who exposed him?

I gripped his arm, overwhelmed with just the need for him, and I couldn’t care about the rest right now. Just hide with me. Just hide us away.

We wound deeper into the park, passing some voices here and there, but the music and hustle and bustle of the party were far behind, leaving us on our own the farther we went.

He stopped and rose up. “Steps,” he told me.

I followed him, still holding his hand and arm as I followed him up a small flight of five metal stairs.

We took a few steps, and he paused again, telling me, “The Midnight Maze.”

I smiled curiously, cocking my head. I didn’t remember this, but my pulse quickened at the thought of another maze.

He let me go first, the mobile structure sounding quiet and feeling still. We must be the only ones out here.

Putting my hands out like I did with the fountain this morning, I touched the plastic panels on both sides, hearing them shake as we both walked inside and began down a path. The walls ended here and there, showing me how the maze diverted into different trails, and I stepped quietly in my Chucks, smiling about how silent I could be and getting an idea.

“Marco,” I called.

After a moment, he answered behind me. “Polo.”

I spun around, and he grabbed for me, slipping his hands up my short skirt, but I pushed them back down again, touching his face.

“Close your eyes,” I told him, making sure his lids were closed. “Keep them closed and find me.”

“And if I find you?”

I grinned at his loaded tone and backed away, getting a head start.

“You won’t,” I teased, immediately finding a diversion in the path and slipping off to the left.

I moved slowly, careful of my steps and knocking into the plastic panels, which I assumed were clear, since it felt exactly like the funhouses I’d been in at carnivals when I was younger. He’d better not cheat. He could see me through the panels. I couldn’t see him.

Traipsing down a path, heel to toe in soft steps, I felt the wall end, and I turned right this time, slipping through the narrow opening.

I didn’t know if Damon was moving, but I heard his voice after a few moments. “Marco?” he called, and I heard his voice echo from off to the right.

“Polo,” I replied, trying not to laugh.

I crept along the path, darting into another lane and accidently hitting the toe of my shoe on a panel.

It made a noise, rocking between its screws, and I froze, putting my hand over my mouth.

Shit.

His heavy footsteps made the floors creak, but since this thing was on a trailer, the whole damn floor whined, so I couldn’t gauge where the hell he was coming from.

Until he said, “Marco?” And I gasped, hearing him right on the other side of the panel in front of me.

I winced, squeaking, “Polo.”

A slam hit the panels, and I jumped, knowing he knew exactly where I was and dashing away as fast as I could, not caring that I was loud and clumsy.

“Marcooooo?” he sing-songed, hitting the panels and taunting me as he got caught up in the hunt.

Jesus. Even blind, he was a lion.

“Polo,” I said quickly, slipping into another avenue, unable to control my giggling.

“Marcooooo,” he threatened from somewhere behind me.

Oh, my God. I stepped quickly, banging my hands all over the panels and searching for my way out, but I couldn’t find it.

Where is it?

“Marco!” he called again.

Where is it? Where is it? I searched, flailing my hands and patting the walls.

Finding an opening, I slid through, relief washing over me and finally answering, “Polo.”

But then he was there, snatching me up and wrapping his arms around me. I screamed.

“What’s my prize?” he teased in my ear.

I shook, caught between laughing and fighting to breathe.

“What do you want?” I shot back.

“A piece of clothing.”

I shook my head, but he pushed me back against one of the plastic walls and knelt down, reaching under my skirt and peeling my panties off. He pulled them down my legs, the rough fabric of the plaid skirt now rubbing against my sensitive skin, and lifted up my feet, sliding the underwear off.

The cool air caressed me, and being bare and exposed made me extra aware and crave him even more. I started to run, but he caught me and pushed me back again, lifting my knee and pressing it back against the wall at my side, opening me up for his mouth as he came down on me, sucking on my clit.

Fireworks went off in my thighs and belly, spreading down my legs as I gasped and whimpered.

“Damon…” I half-moaned and half-protested. He couldn’t do this to me here.

But God, it felt so good. He kissed and massaged it with his tongue, and I tipped my head back, unable to not groan, and I didn’t care who heard me.

I finally pulled away, stumbling off to the side, and I heard him breathing hard.

“Marco,” I panted, digging my nails into the walls.

“Polo,” he growled back.

I stepped backward more. “Marco.”

“Polo.”

“Marc—”

But he grabbed me by my necktie and yanked me into his body.

I sucked in a breath, slamming into him.

He got in my face, still holding me by my tie and asking, “What do I get now?”

“You cheated,” I argued. “You opened your eyes.”

There was no way he would’ve found me that fast.

But he ignored my protest. “I want your bra.”

Cute. I’d have to take off my shirt, then, too. Clever.

But I was way ahead of him. “I’m not wearing one.”

He exhaled hard, wrapping an arm around me and walking us backward, deeper into the maze.

Setting me down, he forced me back up to a wall and ripped open my white uniform blouse, the night air hitting my bare skin as the buttons flew, hitting the walls and floor.

He pressed his body into mine, reaching under and lifting my leg to nudge himself between my thighs. “Winter,” he murmured.

I kissed him, caressing his tongue with mine, and letting him know, with every breath, moan, and rub of my hips that I wanted him right now.

He slid his hand farther under my skirt, and I held his bottom lip between my teeth, as I reached down and slid my hand inside his jeans.

I took his cock in my hand, hard and hot muscle filling my fist, and I started stroking him, making it harder and harder.

“Now,” I breathed out. “I want you now, Damon.”

He sucked in air between his teeth. “Say that again. With my name.”

“I want you now, Damon.”

He lost it. He gripped my jaw, sinking his mouth into mine for a hard, rough kiss, and then he pulled away to unfasten his belt and jeans while still holding me against the wall.

I leaned back, my shirt ripped open but my tie still hanging from my neck down the center of my chest. I felt him pull his cock out, fit himself at my entrance as I held onto his shoulders, and thrust his hips, pushing himself deep inside me.

Yes.

He hauled me up into his arms, my legs circling his waist as he propped me up against the wall, and I tipped my head back, moaning as he pumped his hips into me again and again. His cock slid out and back in, deep and fast, his hips pounding between my legs and making the whole funhouse shake. I brought my head back down, forehead to forehead as he fucked me, starting to roll my hips in little movements, meeting his thrusts.

“Yeah,” I whimpered. “You feel so good.”

“Winter,” he said like a prayer, and I could hear the pleasure-pain in his voice.

I kissed him again, dying to feel his skin and have all these clothes off, but there was no way I could stop.

We heard a throat clear off somewhere near, and I hid my face on the other side of Damon’s, mortified even as need built deep inside me.

Please, no.

But Damon wouldn’t stop. He just kept riding me, rolling his hips into my body, the rhythm and pace staying steady.

“Sir, your father is calling, demanding to speak to you,” Mr. Crane said.

I squeezed my eyes shut, wanting to tell Damon to stop, but my orgasm was coming, and all I could do was hold on.

“Watch the door,” he bit out to Crane. “No one comes in.”

“Yes, sir.”

His father must be pissed if Crane came in here to bear witness to this. Shit.

Damon held my face with one hand, my body with the other, and my eyes started to tear up, feeling him drive deep and fill me up. And then it was coming.

“Damon,” I whimpered, my chest caving again and again.

“Say it again,” he growled.

I gasped. “Damon.”

“Who’s fucking you?”

Oh, God, I was coming. “Damon Torrance,” I breathed out.

And then my body convulsed, I held my breath, and I froze, letting Damon finish me as my orgasm exploded all over my body.

My head floated off, heat raced under my skin, and I cried out, feeling my body get wetter as he kept going.

Every limb weakened, and I felt like I was going to fall as exhaustion took over.

He put me down, spun me around, and shoved me into the partition, my breasts crushed against the clear plastic as he reached around and spread my thighs wide, thrusting back inside of me from behind.

He dug his fingers in the inside of my leg, holding me open, with his other hand wrapped around the front of my neck and bending it back to meet his mouth.

He fucked me, pressing me into the wall. “Mine,” he said against my lips. “Don’t ever leave my body.”

His hand on my neck scaled down, squeezing my breast and running over my stomach, and came back up to my neck, holding me tight.

“Don’t ever leave my body,” he chanted again.

“I won’t,” I whispered.

“Say you love me.”

I swallowed, my throat so dry.

“Say you love me,” he demanded.

“I love you,” I told him, surprised by how easily it came. “I love you, Damon.”

And he wrapped his arms around me, holding me tight, and this was it. Right here. Everything I wanted to feel that brought me even more happiness than dancing did.

He was still the boy, promising to kiss me again someday, and I was still her, never wanting to leave whatever little private world we created when we were together.

Later, after he held me and touched me and kissed me some more, we made our way out of the park, toward the lot where Mr. Crane was parked. Damon had given me his hoodie to cover up my ripped shirt—or Rika’s ripped shirt, actually—and he held my hand, leading me past the crowds, the music, and his friends who were smart enough to know to leave us alone when he ignored their calls for him.

We approached the car, and I felt sprinkles of rain hit my hand as he held the door open, and I climbed in.

“Just drive,” I heard him tell Crane.

Thunder cracked overhead and rolled over the sky, and I heard shouts of excitement coming from the park as heavier drops hit the roof of the car.

He climbed into the backseat next to me, and I laid my head down on his lap, my eyes heavy and my body already feeling the residual ache of what we did against that wall.

I slid one of my hands in the center pocket of his sweatshirt, feeling my panties and smiled lazily.

I was glad he didn’t leave them on the floor in there.

Mr. Crane drove, and I reached up with my other hand, running the back of it over Damon’s cheek and neck, caressing his ear, too.

The gravel under the tires crackled, we jostled as he pulled onto the road, and then the pavement turned smooth as he coasted down the late-night highway.

I told him I loved him. But he hadn’t said it back.

It was okay. I didn’t need to hear it yet. He seemed to need to hear it himself, though. Like in the treehouse when we were kids. Desperate to keep me safe and by his side.

I got the impression from his friends that he was possessive with more than just me. If he found something good, he fought to keep it.

It could be a scary thing.

But it also meant he knew what was important. He worked to keep what he valued. Would he be so devoted to a wife?

His children?

I continued touching him, just savoring the feel of his skin and the feeling of peace at just lying here with him.

“What’s your tattoo?” I asked quietly, remembering how my friend noticed he had one.

He didn’t say anything for a moment, or ask how I knew, but then he answered, “A decaying snowflake.”

I raised my eyebrows. A decaying…

“Why?” I asked.

“Because of Winter by Walter de la Mare,” he replied softly. “Something still beautiful, even after what I did to her.”

Her. Me. The snowflake represented winter.

My throat tightened, and I kind of smiled and teared up at the same time. How did he do it? How did he always break my heart, especially in ways I loved?

“I wish you could see the sea,” he suddenly said, changing the subject. “The choppy waves and moonlight on the whitewash. The rain spilling from the dark clouds under a sliver of moonlight.”

I pictured it, what he was seeing, and I wondered if he felt guilty about what happened to me and all the things I could no longer see.

“I hear it,” I told him in a quiet voice as I listened to everything around me. “The drops on the roof, heavier or lighter in certain areas, because the trees are catching some of it not hitting us.” I caressed his neck, finding his ear lobe with my fingers as I listened for more. “The storm drains we pass every minute or so, because the tires are hitting where the water pools as it flows into the underground.” And then I smiled, telling him, “And the rhythm of the wipers and how they sound like We Will Rock You when the two in front go and then the one in the back does, and it’s like “swipe, swipe, SWIPE”.” I imitated the beat of the song and how the wipers mimicked it.

I heard him laugh under his breath.

I continued. “The way I know he’s driving over the speed limit, because it wasn’t windy tonight, but the rain sounds torrential as it hits the windows.” I wetted my lips, feeling his hand move to my hair and smooth it over and over again. “There’s more thunder over the sea than there is over the forest,” I said, analyzing more sounds in my head, “and it’s getting closer to us.”

I brought my hand down, tucking both in the pocket again to keep warm.

“How, with everything going on out there,” I went on, “I feel like I’m wrapped in a blanket in here—warm, dry, and safe. And all the world living and breathing and raging outside makes where I am seem like a world within a world. Like a fountain in a maze.” I paused, musing, “Like a home.”

Everything with him was like home.

“I hear so much more than when I could see,” I said, my voice turning to a whisper. “I don’t think I’d ever want to not hear all that now.”

I missed not seeing things and enjoying the world the way so many others did, but…I also saw the world so much more differently now. One kind of beauty was replaced with another.

I rested my head to the side and closed my eyes, lulled by all the little sounds and hoping that tomorrow would be more of this with no doubt between us.

“I do love you,” I told him again before I drifted off.

Just so he knew.

I woke the next morning in Damon’s bed, naked under the sheets, everything from last night slowly coming back to me. The party. The maze. The drive in the car.

The whole lot of extra energy he had in bed throughout the night when we got home.

I broke out in a smile, blissfully exhausted but more awake than I’d felt in a long time.

Reaching over, I didn’t feel him in bed, though. Patting his sheets and pillow, I landed on a piece of paper, it crinkling under my hand.

He wasn’t dumb enough to leave me a note, was he?

I picked it up, noticing the little pokes in the paper, and I laid it in my palm, running my fingers over the raised dots and instantly recognizing the Braille.

Moving left to right, over the cells, I deciphered the message.

Stay in bed. I’ll be back for breakfast. Then after breakfast, we’ll eat.

I snorted, realizing the breakfast he’d be back for was me.

P.S. Your phone is on the nightstand.

I crashed back on the bed, feeling my body tingle all over. He wrote me a note. I’d never gotten a love letter before, and that was totally one.

I couldn’t believe he had a Braille printer? Nice. With audiobooks and VoiceOver, I rarely read anything in Braille anymore, but if only to get little notes from him, I loved it.

What time was it? We were up so late, and if he wasn’t back yet, it must still be early. Didn’t he ever sleep?

My phone rang, and I reached over and grabbed it, hoping it was him.

“Hello?” I answered, sitting up and keeping the sheet wrapped around me.

“Winter?” Ethan blurted out. “What’s going on?”

I stilled, my smile falling. Why was he calling me?

I kind of wanted to have it out with him about those pictures, but I wasn’t in the mood yet.

“I can’t talk right now,” I told him. “I’ll call you later, though.”

“Why are there pictures of you online?” he barked, cutting me off. “Pictures of you with him?”

“What are you talking about?”

“At the Throwback last night!” he yelled. “There’s footage of you two kissing! People were taking pictures! Did he make you do it?”

What? Pictures… I don’t…

And then I remembered Will and I were dancing, Damon came up behind me, we started…

People were everywhere. All around us.

And my shoulders fell.

Winter Ashby sent Damon Torrance to jail for statutory rape, and now she’s crawling in bed with him, of age, and here was proof she was totally willing this time.

“How could I be so stupid?” I murmured.

In front of everyone.

But it was going to happen anyway, right? It was a small town. Eventually people would know we were together, and we’d have to deal with reactions, given our past.

“What is the matter with you?” he snapped like I was a child. “You had to know people were watching! You sent him to jail for rape. People were going to remember that. And now you’re making out with him? It makes you look…”

Like a liar. Yeah, I knew exactly how it made me look.

Sometimes I longed for the time where everything wasn’t recorded and broadcast for the world to see. Of course it looked bad.

And now the people who always maintained his innocence were emboldened more.

“He knew what he was doing,” Ethan continued. “How could you fall for it? Why would you let him touch you? Did you not know it was him again?”

I could hear the disbelief in his voice now.

Again.

“Some people were willing to believe you the first time, but now…” he said. “They’ll never believe he fooled you twice. I knew he was smart. I just didn’t think you were so dumb.”

I hung up on him, refusing to listen to it anymore. I didn’t do anything wrong. We didn’t do anything wrong.

We had a fucked-up start years ago, and we both spent years paying for it, but we were doing this. We wanted this.

I loved him.

And Damon didn’t plan that last night. He didn’t know they would take pictures. He wouldn’t have done that.

But part of me wondered.

Part of me doubted. He wouldn’t have done that, right?

He hadn’t said he loved me? He got me to say it. Twice.

Why hadn’t he said it back?