Hitting the Target Read online

  “Better, thanks.”

  “That’s good,” I said, biting my tongue before I asked him when he was going to return to coaching. I mean, he hadn’t even returned to school or even officially being on campus, so he obviously wasn’t about to return to his job. “So. Uh, I don’t want to be a rude houseguest...er...bunkerguest, but I shouldn’t be out of the dorm too long. It’s already later than I should be out, but the girls made me a cake and I...” I broke off and shrugged, realizing I didn’t have to explain and that I was just babbling.

  He nodded and turned toward the big vault door. “Come in here for a second.”

  I followed him nervously, hysterical laughter threatening to bubble up inside me. So instead of letting that happen, I tried a joke. “You’re not using my birthday as a ruse to get me alone in what has to be the best make-out shed there has ever been, are you?”

  He stopped dead and his whole body stiffened at that. I instantly regretted my joke.

  “Sorry,” I said, my throat dry, the word barely a croak.

  He turned back toward me. “That’s not what this is about,” he said. But he was looking at my mouth. Maybe he hadn’t been thinking about kissing me, but I would have bet a million dollars he was now.

  His eyes flicked up to mine and I repeated my apology. He exhaled and raked his fingers through his hair before he frowned. So much for the neatly brushed look. “How do you know about this place, anyway? Students aren’t supposed to know it exists.”

  It was an opening. But could I take it? How much could I tell him? Should I admit everything about my father and who he is—or was—and how I’d left campus because of a threat on my life? I wasn’t in (as much) danger now that Dad had retired from that job, but that I was here was still classified information and I was supposed to keep my real backstory as much on the DL as I could.

  Did I trust Brady? I did, but the more people that knew, the higher the risk. And when it came right down to it, I hated admitting that I’d been lying to him this whole time. We weren’t going to be dating, so did the whole truth really matter?

  We need to make our decisions based on the greater good, my father always said.

  So as Brady stood there staring at me with his intense amber eyes, I completely and totally chickened out. “My brother told me about it.”

  He narrowed his eyes and looked at me sideways as he crossed his arms. “And set you up with the eye scanner?”

  Crap. “In case of zombie apocalypse?” I tried.

  He lifted a very unamused eyebrow.

  I sighed. “He’s very safety-conscious.” Which was at least the truth. “He knew he wasn’t supposed to show me, but he’s my brother.” I shrugged, like the whole sibling thing explained it.

  I realized then that I had no idea if Brady had any siblings. It didn’t feel like the right time to ask, either, not while he was looking at me like that.

  Despite the chill down in the concrete vestibule, a bead of sweat slid down my spine that had nothing to do with the temperature and everything to do with the guy standing in front of me.

  “Listen,” I said, breaking the silence. “My guess is that you aren’t supposed to be here either, but here you are and you invited company over, so neither of us is blameless.”

  He blinked at me and let out a breath, doing the fingers through the hair thing again as his eyes darted away. “You’re right,” he said, his eyes returning to bore into mine. “I’m sorry for being a dick. Come on.”

  He motioned me into the bunker ahead of him and I stepped past him and inside. It still looked clean and quiet like when Robert had brought me down, but now it looked lived-in and not quite as sterile.

  “How long are you going to live down here?” I asked, looking over my shoulder and watching as he closed the big door. Which caused my heart to kick it up a few notches. “Why are you closing that?”

  He glanced back at the door and then to me. “Zombie apocalypse?”

  “Why, Coach Fleming, did you just make a joke?”

  His mouth quirked up at first, but then he said, “I’m not your coach anymore.”

  And there it is. “For now,” I corrected.

  He took a breath, his eyes serious again. “I don’t know...”

  “What do you mean? You’re not quitting coaching, are you?” I asked, sounding a lot more panicked than I would have liked.

  He looked over at the kitchen and I followed his gaze to the wrapped gift sitting on the counter. “I don’t know if I can do it, Brooklyn.”

  “Brady,” I said, stepping closer and deliberately using his first name because I’d been the one to mess everything up by calling him Coach Fleming. “Your ankle will get better. You’ll go back to training. I know it seems like being around the horses is a horrible reminder of your lost training, but...”

  He cut me off with a dry laugh as his eyes returned to mine. “You think that’s what it’s about?”

  “I...”

  He stepped toward me, his eyes stopping me from coherent thought, let alone words. “It’s you,” he said. “I can’t be around you. I can’t seem to...” he laughed without humor again and looked away.

  “What is it?” I asked. “You can’t seem to what?”

  He chewed on his words before returning his gaze to me. “I can’t seem to stay away from you. I can’t stop thinking about you, no matter how much I try. That night at the dance in that supply room...”

  My lips parted as my lungs demanded more air. I’d thought about that night a million times, had known he’d been affected by the kiss, too. Which made it that much worse.

  “But then you left me to go be with someone else.”

  I winced. “Brady...”

  He was a breath away now and his finger pressed to my lips, stopping me from telling him I wasn’t with anyone else now and that he was the main reason why.

  He shook his head. “I don’t blame you. I’m not saying that. I know we can’t do anything. I know that. But I can’t seem to help myself. Do you know how much I think about you?”

  All I could do was shake my head.

  His hand moved from my lips to beside my ear, his touch making me shiver. “You changed your hair,” he said.

  “In London,” I said and then added, trying to sound casual to cover up the whole being in disguise thing, “I felt like I needed a change.”

  He nodded. “I like it.” His fingers twined through my hair, tugging gently, and it took every ounce of willpower not to lean into his touch. “But I like it long, too. I...” he trailed off, the gentle tug of him playing with my hair completely mesmerizing.

  “Brady,” I whispered.

  He seemed not to hear, his gaze focused on where his fingers were on me. “I didn’t recognize you. It’s so different.”

  With every ounce of strength I could muster, I stepped back away from his touch. “Brady. You can’t...we can’t do this again.”

  He swung his gaze back to my eyes and dropped his hand as though I’d burned him.

  “You know we can’t,” I said, tucking my hands into the pockets of my hoodie to resist the urge to reach out to him. “You promised.”

  I wondered if he regretted that promise as much as I hated holding him to it.

  “Right, Davidson.”

  I should have told him I wasn’t with Dave. But it felt easier to have that thing between us that would keep him at a distance. Because if it was up to me, I wasn’t sure I could hold him off. I wasn’t sure I wanted to. So instead, I gave him a small nod that I pretended wasn’t a total lie by omission.

  Lips pursed, he gave me a decisive nod. “Friends.”

  I felt my shoulders relax. “Friends.”

  “So how was your Christmas and New Year’s?” he asked in what I presumed was his attempt at inconsequential small talk.

  But it was hardly inconsequential when I thought about Tristan and what had happened between us in London. I cursed the inevitable blush that flushed my whole body. “Fine,” I said, hoping he didn
’t notice.

  Of course he did, though. He frowned and cocked his head. “You okay?”

  I nodded. “Fine. Just...” what could I say? I couldn’t tell him what had happened with Tristan. Not because of what I’d done with him (well, that, too), but more because of how it had felt so pivotal, making me realize how I felt about him, the boy standing in front of me.

  “Brooklyn?” he bent over a little to look up at my downturned eyes. “What’s wrong? What’s going on?”

  Avoiding his eyes, I lifted my head, but looked away. “I can’t...”

  He cursed angrily and for a half a second, I thought he was mad at me. But then as I looked at him and watched him shake his head, he said, “I’m sorry. Of course you would be upset about your dad being ill. That was really insensitive of me to ask about your holiday when all that was going on, I’m sorry.”

  I opened my mouth to tell him it wasn’t about that at all, but chickened out and just nodded. Again.

  “He’s going to be okay, though?”

  “Yes,” I said. “He’s fine.” Finally, a truth!

  “Good.”

  “What about your holiday?” I asked, needing to change the subject.

  He looked around the bunker. “Cozy. Maybe a bit lonely.”

  I had known this already. He’d told me he had come here after leaving Sacramento, but it hadn’t really sunk in that he’d spent the holidays completely alone. “You were here all by yourself?”

  He nodded.

  “Christmas and New Year’s.”

  He nodded again. I stared at him for a while, not really sure what to do with that information, but he cracked first, turning and grabbing the wrapped gift. “Anyway, it’s not much, but I saw this and I thought about you.

  Please don’t let it be jewelry or something really personal, I prayed silently as I looked at the red and green paper and the big red bow. Because I wasn’t sure I’d be able to maintain my resolve if he got me something really intimate. “Thank you,” I said, taking it from his hand, careful not to touch his skin.

  “You haven’t opened it yet,” he said. “You can’t thank me until you know if you like it.”

  Like there was any doubt I would like something he gave me? Still... “Thank you for thinking of me.”

  He exhaled loudly through his nose and I knew what it meant. That he was always thinking about me, the same way I was always thinking about him. But that we were Friends meant he couldn’t say it out loud.

  But I knew. I was living it myself.

  “Go on,” he said, gesturing toward the package.

  A little bit terrified of what it could be, I tentatively unwrapped the gift and saw right away that it was a book. Relived, but only slightly, my heart still pounded as I pulled the rest of the paper off to reveal what it was.

  It was an old book with a navy blue cloth cover. I turned it over to read the title and couldn’t help the gasp that came out of my mouth. I looked up at Brady. “You got me a copy of Misty of Chincoteague?”

  “It’s a first edition. Have you read it?” he asked, actually looking nervous. Like I wouldn’t like it or something.

  “Yes,” I said, returning my gaze to the book, the one that had begun my childhood horse obsession. I couldn’t remember ever telling him I’d read it over and over as a kid, often holding it in my arms like it was a stuffed toy—I loved it that much. But it was like somehow he knew.

  I looked up at him, shocked to see him looking so unsure. “Did you get this for me for Christmas?”

  He bit his lip and nodded.

  I both loved and hated that he’d bought me a Christmas present, also feeling guilty that I hadn’t thought to get him anything, especially when he’d bought me a first freaking edition of Misty of Chincoteague. Although maybe I would have gotten him something if I’d been on campus. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here.”

  He shrugged. “Do you like it?”

  How could you even ask? Can’t you see that I’m basically speechless from emotion? “Of course I like it.”

  Brady swallowed, the movement visible in my peripheral vision as his eyes held mine. I could get lost in you, I thought. If I don’t get out of here, I just might.

  “I should go,” I croaked out suddenly. “Thank you for this.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  I took a few steps toward the door before I turned to find him right behind me, so close I almost bashed into him.

  “Sorry,” he said, taking a step back. “I was going to get the door for you.”

  “You should go back to school,” I blurted out. “Even if you can’t return to the training. You should get out of here and stop...”

  His eyebrow went up as the unfinished sentence hung between us. “Stop what?”

  “...living down here,” I said, my eyes darting from his.

  The corner of his mouth twisted up in a knowing smile. “You were going to say ‘wallowing in self-pity’, weren’t you?”

  “I...” I exhaled, shaking my head. I was about to deny it, but he already knew; there was no point in trying. “Those aren’t the exact words that came to mind.”

  “And those exact words were?”

  I gave him an apologetic look before I said, “Uh, pouting?”

  He cringed but didn’t look mad. “You’re right,” he said, shoving his fingers through his hair and I seriously wondered if he had any idea just how sexy it was when he did that. Probably not, and the more his hair stood out from his fingers, the better he looked.

  “These stairs are killing me anyway,” he added, bringing my focus back to his face.

  “Probably not good for your recovery.”

  “No, not at all. But the self-pity thing is getting a bit old. I’m actually quite sick of myself, to be honest.” He snorted and said, “Not to mention my mother would kill me if she knew I was down here. I’ve been pushing my luck being down here for so long.”

  “What would she do if she knew you were on campus at Christmas?” I asked as I stepped closer to the door, reminded that I was taking a risk being down there at all, let alone with him.

  “She wasn’t here. She went on a holiday with her boyfriend.”

  “Boyfriend?”

  I don’t know why it felt weird that he was talking to me about the dean’s boyfriend. Especially when we’d all accused her of keeping Brady as her boy-toy before we found out he’s her son.

  “Yeah. His name’s Fred. Good guy. Works in town.” He frowned. “I probably shouldn’t have told you that, though. She hates students knowing about her personal life.”

  “I won’t tell anyone, least of all her,” I said. “Considering I’m down here with you, my best plan of action is to avoid any and all conversations with the dean so as not to have to avoid any potentially awkward ones.”

  A slow smile spread across his lips. “I like that you’re a bad liar.”

  I almost laughed at that. Because I was actually the best liar when it came to some things and he had no idea. “Good night, Brady,” I said. “Thank you for the gift.”

  His eyes dropped to my lips as he reached toward me and I had a second of sheer panic (and thrill, because I can’t lie about that) that he was going to grab me and pull me to him for a scorching kiss. But he just grabbed the door and gave it a mighty pull to open it for me. “You’re welcome. Happy birthday, Brooklyn.”

  He held the door handle and kept his distance like a gentleman. Which is exactly what I’d said I wanted. So without another word between us, I took my gift and my unkissed lips and left the bunker.

  Talent Has Nothing to Do with It

  The dean may as well cancel classes on the days that the schools get together, for all the attention anyone pays to anything even remotely academic. There had been a hum of excitement rippling through the Rosewood student body all day as everyone looked forward to tonight’s talent show.

  And seeing the boys. Yeah, mostly because of the boys.

  By the time Celia and I had found our seats in the mid
dle of the auditorium, the buzz around us had reached a fever pitch as we waited for the Westwood busses to roll in and deposit all the boys at the front doors.

  I wasn’t quite as excited for that reason, but I was looking forward to the show and seeing my friends up on stage. It was going to be a great way to get my mind off Brady, at least for a night. Unless he showed up for the show, but I seriously doubted it; even if he had left the bunker, a goofy talent show didn’t really seem like his kind of thing. Maybe if we were dating and it was an excuse for him to sit with me in the auditorium where we could twine our fingers together and...

  Whoa, easy there, Brooklyn, I thought, telling myself to back up the truck.

  Emmie came down from the stage and joined us; I moved over to make room between myself and Celia.

  “All set. They don’t need me back there. Mr. Stratton’s running things with Kaylee.”

  I turned to her. “So where’s Danny tonight?”

  She sighed and rubbed absently at the faded anchor drawn on her wrist. “At home. He’s picking me up tomorrow and we’re going to the food bank to sort hampers.”

  “You two are so good,” Celia said from the other side of Emmie.

  “Yeah we are,” Emmie said with a grin.

  “Don’t kid yourself,” I said, leaning forward. “It’s just an excuse for them to get together and make out.”

  Emmie rolled her eyes. “Of course we will make out like crazy. But we’re doing good at the same time so everyone wins.”

  “Always concerned with others,” Celia said with a big smile, shaking her head.

  We chatted for several more minutes until the guys arrived, filtering into the auditorium and finding seats among the girls. Jenks and Hunter came and sat with us on the other side of Celia.

  “Where’s Dave?” I asked, knowing that Declan, Miles and Abe would have gone backstage to get ready for the show.

  Jenks smiled at me over the girls’ heads and jutted his head toward the stage. “He’s performing.”

  “Oh,” I said, glancing at Emmie, looking for her reaction.

  “Good,” she said with a smile that was uncomplicated and genuine. I had no doubts that she was completely and totally in love with Danny, and any fondness she had for Dave now was based on friendship. “I wonder what he’ll play.”