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“You’re leaving tomorrow.”
His mouth twitches, humor alighting his amber eyes. “And I’ll be back in a week.”
I frown.
“See ya, Mase Face,” he says teasingly, walking backward toward the house. “Don’t burn the town down while we’re gone.”
Scowling, I roll my eyes and wave him off. “Funny, JJ. Very funny.”
Chuckling, he turns away, and jogs the remaining distance to the porch. Bag swinging behind him, and bouncing off his?—
I quickly force my eyes away, chest heaving. My gaze immediately cuts up to the second story before I even realize what I’m doing. And the air gusts out of me when I see the curtains to Izzy’s room still drawn. No movement.
I swallow tightly, and look around, chest pounding.
What the fuck. What the fuck.
Clearing my throat, I pull my keys out of my pocket, quickly rounding the hood of the Jeep. Distantly, I hear the front door open and close behind Jeremy, and all I can think is:
What the actual fucking fuck?
Followed by, Is that it?
What else did you expect? A hug goodbye? A kiss???
Shoving away the ridiculous thoughts swirling around my head, I climb in behind the wheel, remembering at the last possible second to not slam the door. This thing is fragile enough as it is.
“Please turn on, please turn on,” I mumble, turning the key into the ignition. “Oh thank you, Jesus.” Throwing my head back against the seat, I stare up at the soft top of my Jeep, and breathe in and out carefully.
“Okay,” I murmur, reaching over for the radio, kicking it on. And?—
I blink blankly at the driveway, watching the little gnats flutter around my headlights.
Shouldn’t they be, like, hibernating?
From the radio, Pearl Jam screams about dads not giving affection and moms who weren’t there, and all I can do is bark out a short, rusty laugh.
Seriously?
“King Jeremy the wicked,” I murmur faintly along with the lyrics. My vision wobbles.
What the hell is happening to me?
Jamming a finger on the tuner, I switch stations.
Releasing a sigh, when I hear a radio host introducing the next band—Three Days Grace—I crack my neck, and set my foot on the clutch, shifting into gear.
The Jeep creaks, protesting, and I grit my teeth, sending another silent prayer.
“Time of Dying” starts playing, and I crank the volume up when I turn onto the street, kicking up my speed as far as my Jeep can take it without risking blowing something.
Drumming my hands on the wheel, I sing along at the top of my lungs, feeling that familiar chill of adrenaline I always get when I’m able to hit every note, racing through my veins.
Invisible. You’re invisible.
Nothing can touch you.
Nothing else exists.
