Games of Fire (21 page)

Sophie nodded. “Yeah, that would be great! Thanks.”

With a slow nod, he threw open his door and stepped out. He was around the trunk to her door before she had a chance to do the same.

“Thanks!” she said, slipping out of the car.

He inclined his head, slamming the door behind her. Light from the sensor above the garage door washed over his face, illuminating his pale skin, the pallor of his eyes and hair, giving him an almost ethereal glow. It took all her strength to resist the urge to do something crazy, like throw her arms around his neck and kiss him. Instead, Sophie took several careful steps towards her house and was surprised when he did the same. He followed her all the way to the door.

They stopped on the front steps and she turned to him. “I really did have a great time
tonight.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “I’m sorry for the rest.”

She shrugged, giving him a playful grin. “It’ll be a great story to tell one day.”

His laugh made her laugh. He was still smiling when he sobered. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Blondie.”

She nodded. “Better be bright and early. Otherwise the warden won’t be pleased.”

“I heard that!” Her mother stalked up the walk to join them. The keys in her hand jingled as she flipped through them for the right one. She unlocked the door and glanced back. “Goodnight, Spencer.”

She made no move to leave or give them privacy. She stood holding the door open, studying Spencer as if she had no idea why he was still there. The abrupt change in her was both baffling and humiliating.

Spencer just bobbed his head. “
Goodnight, Mrs. Valdez.” He turned to Sophie. “Night,” he told her as he turned on his heels and disappeared down the path towards his house.

Sophie faced her mother, horrified. “What. Was. That?”

“Get inside,” was all her mother said.

Still staring as if she’d never seen this woman wearing her mother’s face, Sophie slipped past her into the warmth. She turned when the door closed behind her, locking her inside with the imposter.

“That was so embarrassing!” she said.

Her mother’s neatly plucked eyebrows lifted. “That was embarrassing?” she repeated sardonically. “What do you think it was when I walked in on what you two were doing in that restaurant?”

“It was only a kiss!” Sophie protested, feeling blood fill her cheeks.

“That was not
only
a kiss, Sophia!”

“It was a kiss!” Sophie insisted, refusing to allow that beautiful memory to be tarnished. “And it will probably never happen again.”
Because the entire thing had been a fluke incident.

But her mother didn’t seem to be listening.

“Good girls don’t behave like that, Sophia. Good girls don’t—”

“Mom!” Sophie intervened before the topic drifted to the wrath of God and chastity belts. “It was only a kiss.” A seriously hot, insanely sinful kiss, but it was probably best if she didn’t add that part. “It’s never going to happen again.”

She wore gray sweats the next morning, considering them appropriate grunge clothes for cleaning a musty garage. She pounded down the stairs, twisting her hair up into a ponytail as she went. In the kitchen, her father glanced up from the toaster where the sweet scent of strawberry filling poured into the air.

“Mm!
Are there anymore left?” 

Her dad grinned, waving a box of Pop-Tarts from side to side. “I might have saved you one.”

“Make a proper breakfast!” her mother complained, never glancing up from the
Home & Life
section in the newspaper. Her free hand, the one not holding up a piece of buttered toast, stirred the brew at her elbow.

“Frosting, jam and sprinkles
… ”

“There’s nothing healthier than that,” her father chimed in where Sophie trailed off.

Their teasing went as it did every morning, with the roll of her mother’s eyes and a grumble about never being listened to.

“What’s the plan for today?” her father asked as they waited for the toaster pop.

“I’ve got prison cleaning duty,” she told him, jerking a head towards her mother. “Warden wants the cell block spotless.”

From the table, her mother huffed. “I can hear you!”

Sophie blinked. “I wasn’t trying to be quiet.”

Her father chuckled, slapping her on the shoulder. “Be nice!” His breakfast popped. He gingerly plucked the squares out of the toaster and tossed
them onto a plate.

Sophie took his place when he walked to the table. She stuffed the last remaining Pop-Tarts into the slots and pushed down the bar. While she waited, she grabbed a glass of orange juice and a granola bar for later. As an afterthought, she grabbed another
one in case Spencer did show up. Her stomach fluttered nervously, excited at the prospect.

“Complete write off,” her mother was telling her father when Sophie joined them at the table.

Her father clicked his tongue. “I hope they catch the little bastards, whoever they are.” Sophie realized they were talking about Jackie and the previous night’s events. “Will her insurance cover it? It is vandalism, after all, and if she has her police report … ”

Her mother nodded. “She’s going to call today, but I don’t foresee anything happening over the weekend. But you should have seen it, Ben. It was just terrible! I cannot believe anyone could be capable of such
… violence.”

“Do the police think it was a personal attack?”

Her mother blinked. “Well, what else could it be? Although Jackie insists that there is no one that hates her that much.” She folded the newspaper sharply and slapped it down on the other side of her coffee mug. “Personally, I think it was
her
!”

The first image that flashed through Sophie’s mind was Aimee’s face. The blonde bombshell was the only one she could think of that had anything against the family as far as she knew. But then again, she didn’t really know the Rowth family. Not really. They could be under police protection for all she knew. They could be on the run or in hiding from an underground drug ring. But was Aimee capable of doing something like that? Sophie couldn’t really picture it. The girl was too
… girly. She’d no doubt be too afraid of breaking a nail or something. But she could have hired someone to do it.

“I don’t think Aimee could do it,” Sophie piped in, taking a bite of her Pop-Tart. “She doesn’t seem capable.”

Her mother paused in the middle of taking a sip of her coffee. She set the mug down and fixed Sophie with a hard stare from across the table. “You met Aimee?”

Sophie shrugged. “Yeah. Yesterday. She came by with Jamie to
drop Suzy off and pick some stuff up.”

Her mother’s face instantly transformed. Her nostrils flared and her lips pinched thin. She huffed rudely. “Oh the nerve! That’s another one I wouldn’t mind having words with.”

Sophie blinked. “Wait, you’re not talking about Aimee? Who then?”

Her mother’s mouth opened, then she seemed to catch herself and shook her head. “Never you mind! You know how I feel about gossip. Eat your breakfast and get to work.” She snapped open the newspaper and disappeared behind it, indicating the end of the
discussion.

Ten minutes later, Sophie waved her father off and slouched into the garage. She hit the little button on the wall, propelling the door upwards, revealing yet another miserable day. The rain was coming down in sheets. She groaned at the prospect of having to trudge through that to get the garbage to the
curb. It nearly convinced her that her mother was trying to kill her. Pneumonia was no laughing matter, in her opinion. But she got to work, moving boxes and reorganizing shelves. She was picking up a pretty good rhythm by the time Spencer jogged into the garage, hood pulled low over his face.

“Hey!” she said in greeting as he shook off the rain and shrugged out of his jacket. “You made it.”

He tossed the damp material over a stack of boxes and faced her. “Yeah, I would have been here sooner, but kind of got held up.”

Sophie shrugged. “No biggie.” She gestured to the clearing she’d made. “I got most of this side stored away. If you want, you can start on that side. Just pile the garbage by the door and we’ll take them all out at once instead of making several trips.”

He tugged on the hem of his The Iron Maidens t-shirt. “Sounds good.”

They worked in silence, taking no breaks. Sophie couldn’t believe how much crap her parents had accumulated over the years until she was the one wading through it. She was partly humiliated to have Spencer see it all. But if he was disturbed, he never let on. By noon, her clothes were plastered to her, her muscles ached and she wanted a shower. Most of the boxes were neatly lined along the shelves. Those remaining on the ground were either garbage or things she wasn’t sure her parents wanted to keep. At some point, they had unearth
ed her father’s ancient bench press machine. The weights were missing and most of it was covered in grime and cobwebs, but Sophie stretched out on top of it, uncaring.

“It’ll never end!” she moaned, throwing a forearm over her eyes.

From somewhere on her right, Spencer chuckled. “Come on. We’re nearly finished.”

Whimpering, Sophie dropped her arm and searched for him, spotting him a short distance away, leaning against a row of shelves. “I call break.”

He shrugged, reaching into his back pocket. “Sounds fine by me. I’ve got nothing else to do today.” He moved towards the open doorway and pulled out a pack of cigarettes.

Sophie grimaced. “I’ll make us sandwiches,” she mumbled, not wanting to be around when he lit up.

In the kitchen, she took her time putting together two cold cut sandwiches on whole wheat. She puttered around idly, grabbing two cans of soda and a couple of bags of chips. She estimated roughly five minutes for him to finish, ten if he was really enjoying himself, so she ran upstairs and brought down her book. She set the alarm on the stove for ten minutes and read while she waited.

At the loud buzz, she closed her book, gathered her items and ventured carefully back into the garage. Spencer glanced up when she entered. He sat straddling the press bench. No cigarette in sight, she noted.

“There you are,” he said slowly. “I was beginning to think you’d forgotten about me.”

Oh if only that were an option,
she thought, sighing inwardly.

“Sorry,” she said instead, crossing over to him.
“I was giving you some privacy.”

She placed everything down on the strip of leather and sat across from him with the food between them.

“I was having a smoke, not bathing,” he said with a snicker.

Sophie didn’t comment, not trusting herself not to go into a rant worthy of her mother. It wasn’t like it was any of her business what he did with his body.

“You really don’t like it when I smoke, eh?” he observed, eyeing her.

Her shoulders jerked before she could stop them. “Not my business.”

He chuckled. “If it bothers you, say so.”

“It doesn’t bother me!” She turned her plate absentmindedly. “I just don’t like it.”

He nodded slowly. “Fair enough. I’ll make you a deal. I won’t smoke around you. How’s that?”

She would rather if he didn’t smoke at all, but really, did she have the right to make him stop?

“So, it doesn’t look like we have much left to do,” she said, changing the topic.

They talked about what needed to be done while they ate. Sophie tried not to watch his hands, not to notice how large and capable they
seemed. Her gaze roamed up his arms, tracing the tattoos encasing both arms. At first glance, no matter which way she tipped and tilted her head, she couldn’t fathom what she was looking at. The black ink swirled and knotted across his flesh in a series of interlinked chains. Amongst the thick vines, an animal was captured … a wolf? A fox? It was thin, gangly almost with a long snout and a bushy tail. It had long, sharp claws that were tearing gashes everywhere it crept. It took several more seconds of squinting before she realized the spider web of vines was actually several of those animals, their thorn infested bodies stretching around his arm as if they were snakes, peeling away strips of flesh. Beneath their suffocating hold, a rose was crushed, dripping blood that trailed down the back of his forearm.

“It’s a Celtic knot,” Spencer told her, catching her staring.

Sophie quickly dropped her gaze to the sandwich still clutched in her hands. “I’m sorry.”

“It doesn’t bother me,” he said.

Hesitantly, she lifted her eyes over his arms once more. “What are the animals?”

“Wolves,” he said, setting down his half eaten sandwich to roll up the cup of his sleeve, exposing his shoulder and the beautiful cross painted there. The wolves encircled it as if in protection. The cross had beautiful white wings that yawned wide on either side and a circular head. There were intricate vines snaking up and around the loop and down the ends.

“That’s beautiful! What is it?”