Page 16 of The Killer Card

They. Suddenly the cigarette isn’t doing its only fucking job which is to stimulate my brain in other directions of thought. They means Cristian didn’t arrive alone and I know only one other person we were waiting to fly in.

Rowan clears his throat. “Cristian is a welcome distraction for them both, I think.”

Sucking at my teeth I ask, “You saw his last game?” In an attempt to put the conversation back into safe territory.

“Of course. I watch all of them.”

I nod in agreement. “That last goal was sick.” I take another long drag.

“He’s really making a name for himself.” Rowan’s fingers make the leather squeal.

Silence permeates the air. I take another inhale, exhale a cloud of smoke. Fuck, I have to ask. “She got in last night too, didn’t she?” I murmur in Spanish.

The sigh that leaves Rowan is deeper than he is tall. “Yeah. Eli got them on the same flight.”

“And both arrived alive?” I smoke down the remainder of my cigarette, tossing the butt out the window. “Shocker”

“I believe Poppy already wrote both of their eulogies.”

“How unfortunate they’ll go to waste.”

I can feel Rowan’s eyes on the side of my face, but I refuse to meet his silent prying. He doesn’t have to say it. We both know I don’t mean a word. I fight the urge to light another cigarette as the quiet grows invasively louder. Unfortunately, the question Rowan chooses to break the silence with is the one I’d prefer not to think on too long.

“How long has it been?”

Sucking at my teeth I mutter, “Since your wedding.” Rowan winces and I avert my gaze out the window to avoid his pity. I don’t want it nor do I deserve it. “And we’re not talking about it.”

The best quality Rowan possesses is that he knows when to just shut the fuck up even when he’s dying to check in, to make sure I’m not spiraling into dangerous territory.

Which I’m not. Spiraling, that is. I’ve never been more uninterested in my life. I don’t have a single goddamn care in the entire world as I light another cigarette and track the sun in beyond the mountain peaks.

We enjoy the remainder of the scenic drive in silence, separately surveying the rolling hills of the Vermont countryside. It’s pretty, I’ll give them that. The trees and the wildflowers and the quaint little towns we drive through are all postcard perfect. They don’t compare to Spain or Portugal this time of year, but it does what I expect Eli wanted for this week. It’s a sweet escape, a place as far from all their woes as he was willing to make his family travel. Even Rowan appears to breathe easier with every mile we gather.

I stretch out my legs to stop my knee from bouncing.

You’re here for Eli, I remind myself. Suck it the fuck up.

The truth is, I don’t do well in middle of nowhere, nothing to do places. I don’t exactly do great in big cities either but for very different reasons. Thanks to Eli and Rowan I kind of found my niche in Lightning Cove and the surrounding South Florida mainland. No drama, plenty of distractions, a countless number of hobbies. Where can I go python hunting way out here in the sticks?

We drive through another little town where some store owners are starting to open up shop, and I make what I think is an obvious observation.

“Are we the most exotic people to ever set foot in this county?”

Rowan snorts. “We?”

I glance between my hand and his. Okay, fair point. “What even made him think of this place?”

“I think Poppy used to come skiing here as a kid.”

Clutching my metaphorical pearls I gasp, “They didn’t go to Aspen?”

“Of course they did,” Rowan smirks. “The Winchesters have a resort, remember?”

How could I forget? The first-year Cristian told his dad he was going to learn to snowboard, Elias had rented out three rooms in my name just so he could be close by incase the kid broke his neck. He didn’t- it was just his wrist- but for three days we’d holed up in those rooms, avoiding the Winchesters and watching the slopes through the best binoculars money could buy. I was bored out of my mind. Rowan almost handcuffed me to the bed I was getting so antsy. I’m typically not opposed to a little bondage, but Rowan is aggressively not my type. Too needy.

Mr. Cling pulls up along the side of the final cabin on a long, winding path to nowhere- seriously, whose idea was this- and pops the trunk. The house, admittedly, is nicer than I expected. Two stories with a wrap-around porch overlooking a lake encircled by towering trees. There’s a firepit at the bottom of the sloping lawn surrounded by Adirondack chairs. Two blankets are thrown over the backs. Not a single ripple disturbs the lake’s surface and in the distance…

“Was that a fucking falcon?!”