The Alignment (23 page)

“That’s it.” I stand and pull my shirt off. “You don’t need any help from my clothes.”

“No fair. I’m taking mine off too.”

“Absolutely not.” I take her arms and flip her onto the mat, and she manages to bring me down with her. I try to get her in a choke hold, but she’s too slippery. I end up on top of her, holding her down with my body weight.

She fakes a cough. “Oh my god, get off, you’re killing me.” She giggles. It sends a pulse through me.

She slides her knees up, trying to press me off her, and I bear down with more weight.

“Okay okay I give up!” she gasps, out of breath.

I let her up and she clocks me straight in the jaw. Both hands cover her mouth in surprise.

I can’t restrain my laughter. “That’s going to leave a mark.”

“I didn’t mean to do that!” She reaches for me and I take her hands and hold them down.

“It’s okay, it’s a good reflex to have.” I can’t help but feel a little proud. She is amazing.

“What’s your weapon of choice?”

“Bare hands,” I answer without thinking. “You?”

She looks away thoughtfully. “I don’t know. My feminine wiles?”

I’m too familiar with the power of her weapon of choice. It disarms me every time.

As I help her stand, she looks up at me. “That stuff must be wearing off. You’re coming back.”

I drop her hands. “I need water.” I head for the kitchen, fill a glass and gulp it down. I fill it again and hand it to her as she enters the room.

“You’re holding back on me. You could snap me in half if you wanted to.”

I shrug. “Probably. But it wouldn’t be easy. You’d probably get away from me before I had the chance.”

She takes a long drink and hands the glass back to me.

“What are we going to do?” she asks.

I know exactly what she’s referring to, and I have no idea how to answer.

Chapter 28

Liv

I
awaken in a
body that belongs to someone else. Sore muscles twitch, strain tugs on every joint. I swing my legs over the edge of the bed and stand, waiting for the soreness to turn to pain. It’s not as bad as I thought it would be, but I definitely overdid it yesterday.

Sounds in the kitchen tell me Trey is already up. I manage to first shower and dress before joining him in the kitchen. As soon as I see his face I know. “Please tell me you didn’t take more of those capsules.” I’m aware of the anger in my voice but it’s too late to control it.

His answering look is all I need to know he did.

“Goddamn it, Trey!” I look around for the bag. He must have it around here somewhere.

“Don’t even bother,” he mumbles. “I can always make more.”

My blood boils. Raw anger has invaded a mind not used to housing it. I walk to the window, struggling to collect my thoughts There is a solution to this. I need to think. And then it comes to me.

He’s already seated at the table. I lift his arm from the tabletop, and slide my leg over his lap to straddle him. He freezes. I’ve caught him by surprise. I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him like I did that first night. My passion for him swells. Freed.

His reaction is automatic, his defense delayed, so I get a decent kiss before he pushes his chair back from the table, jerking my arms from around his neck and yanking me up to standing. My aching muscles spasm, but it was worth it.

“What the hell!” The sudden loose rage in his face should scare me, but it doesn’t.

“Get used to it. As long as you are taking those, I’m going to be all over you.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Try it.” His teeth are half clenched—he can barely get the words out. His features congeal into the likeness of someone unrecognizable to me.

“I just did, and it worked beautifully. And when you least expect it, I’ll do it again. And again, and again.” My audible calm contradicts the twisting anger inside me. Maybe if I screamed at him he’d understand.

His only response is a look of pure, primal viciousness. He’s gone too still, like something’s building up. It’s obvious he’s at a loss for words.

“Oh, and if I can’t be physical? I’ll talk. Like, remember that night I came home late, and we shared some ice cream, and then—”

“Stop it.” His eyes turn wild.

If I didn’t have my new skills, I’d probably be afraid of him right now. I’m not just swimming with a great white shark, I’m provoking it. This may be stupid, but I can’t stop it.

“And that morning, when we woke up in bed together? Your lips—”

He swings, punching the wall. Drywall crumbles and scatters on the floor.

“Oh, how mature.” I cross my arms over my chest. He’s acting out because he knows I have him.

He gives me a last feral look and storms out of the room. I hear him yanking on his boots, the laces slapping leather as he ties them, then the front door slams. With the sound comes a bone-chilling shame. That’s the most childish thing I’ve ever done.

So this is how it’s going to play out. My acceptance of this new spin on reality that features magic and bloodlines and corpses disappearing in the woods won’t be won by some delayed panic I’m forced to confront and deal with rationally. I’m simply going to crack.

I squeeze my eyes shut. When I open them I’m looking straight at his uneaten breakfast, and I cover my mouth in an effort to hold in a gasp. A hot flush to my eyes, a sob in my throat. I don’t know why I didn’t wait until after he had eaten his breakfast.

Several deep breaths stabilize me without satisfying the pressure in my chest. He’ll grab some breakfast out. He’s not going to starve. His empty stomach is one of those minor details that has a free pass into the heart, to unleash grief of a disproportionate scale. Like a teddy bear abandoned in triage, or a car accident victim’s missing shoes—images sure to haunt me forever when I might not even remember the patients’ names. The real source of my distress is our confrontation and I can’t help but feel guilty. He’s the asshole but I started it. I could have just let it go. But I can’t stand by and watch him turn himself into a zombie.

I pack up his uneaten breakfast. I can’t bear the thought of eating the food he made for me when he didn’t get to eat his own, so I pack mine up as well and put it all in the refrigerator. My stomach has turned upside down anyway.

The driveway’s gravel has been scarred with deep tire tracks where his truck peeled out. I give myself a pep talk all the way to work. I can’t give in, no matter how much it hurts me to fight with him. He won’t listen to me otherwise. He’s too strong-willed and he’ll continue taking those capsules to dull his brain because he thinks it’s what’s best for us. He doesn’t trust that I can help him, that we have the power to control ourselves. Screw that prophecy. We’re in charge here.

The confrontation follows me around all day at work. Every sentence of our exchange repeats over and over in pitiless distraction. That rash, irrational woman was not me, and I hope I never see her again. It’s going to be hard to face him. He doesn’t know me well enough to understand I’m not that woman. My worry develops into mental and physical drain, and I keep checking the clock to see if it’s time to go. But I know when the time comes, it will probably mean another awkward exchange. I’m going to have to practice my best poker face. He’s not getting away with any of it, even if I did start it.

I’m reminded of that day he was unconscious, when I was worried about him lying on his living room floor with no one to care for him. And I came home and he was awake, and he came around the house, and he smiled. There is nothing in the world like his smile. Its rarity makes it even more valuable.

I find myself trying to think of things I could do for him that would make him happy, and as soon as I realize my mind has wandered there again I put an end to the thoughts. He deserves nothing from me right now but a middle finger duo. The best thing I can do for him—for us—is stick to my plan. I cannot give in.

A few minutes before my shift ends, I spot Shawn finishing up a delivery. He winks at me from down the hall, and something inside me twists the wrong way. I need to tell Shawn that we can’t be anything more than friends. If I don’t make it clear, I’m disrespecting Trey. Yeah, we can’t be a couple until he sees his wife. Yeah, he’s an insufferable wall-punching jerk. Neither of those things seem to matter when you’ve been set up by the universe.

Shawn isn’t going to care about any of that. If he doesn’t hear “Trey and I are together,” he’s going to think he still has a chance. Just like Trey said, we are in limbo.

I’d rather spend the rest of my life in limbo than lose Trey to his wife. I know he already belongs to her, but denial thrives in limbo. Reality is on hold.

Shawn catches up to me while I’m gathering my things to leave. “Do you need an escort to your car tonight, ma’am?”

“Hopefully not.” I’m unable to make my voice light.

He squints at me, obviously noticing a change in my regular mood. “Your ex, guess he’s a real creep, huh?”

You can’t blame him for making an educated guess. “Yes, aren’t they all?”

“True. Want me to have a talk with him?”

Time to change the subject. “I’m going to be gone all next week.”

“What? You can’t spring that on me like this, I need some warning!”

“This is your warning.”

“Will you at least be in town? Maybe we could meet up.”

“No, I won’t be in town. Trey’s taking me on a trip to meet his family.”

He chuckles and looks away. “I see. Well, hopefully they all have winning personalities like him. I’m sure you’ll have a great time.”

“So, if I don’t see you tomorrow, I’ll see you when I get back, okay?” I don’t want to completely cut him off.

“Looking forward to it. Let me walk you out anyway.”

He gives me a hug at my car and waves as I drive off.

As I get closer to the house, my anxiety builds into a tower inside me. I don’t know what to say to him. When I pull into the empty driveway, I exhale in bittersweet relief. As much as I was dreading another confrontation, now that he’s not here, I long to see him. All day I’ve fantasized that I’d come home and he’d tell me that I was right, that he won’t take any more of that stuff, and that we can be strong enough together to overcome. But in reality I know he’s probably staying out late to avoid me.

It’s cold inside. Instead of nudging up the thermostat I change into sweatpants, thermal shirt, thick socks, and his sweatshirt jacket. I stare into the refrigerator. My appetite has not checked in all day. I force myself to eat an apple and a yogurt, and take two ibuprofen to relieve my aches and pains from yesterday and fuzzy stress headache from today. After wandering through the mocking emptiness of the house, I return to the kitchen and sit at the table.

My thoughts swim through the nastiness of this morning, replaying every word for the hundredth time. As if I need any reminder other than the hollowness of the empty house. I put my head down on my arms on the table and close my eyes. Pleasant thoughts are in me. I just have to find them.

But everything returns to him, and I refuse to be some basket case over a man. I did it too long before I started my life in Black River and I’ll do it no more. Staying out late is a weapon he’s raised above me and if he thinks I’ll expose my heart for goring, he can think again. My heart is officially retracted until his attitude returns to adulthood.

I find myself in the basement, perusing his warehouse of weaponry. Alone in the house, without his presence, my knowledge of every firearm—caliber, capacity, stopping power—settles on me with a humbling finality. As if that’s not enough, every one of his knives is a separate and distinct tool, each with a particular use and specialty. A database of information has been dropped into my head. I’ve gained the ability to defend myself against most attackers, but I’ve also become something else. To the wrong person, I’ve become dangerous. If I wanted to,
I
could be the attacker.

The six-inch hunting knife in my hand is a tool I could use efficiently, without thinking. I turn around to face the punching bag that’s hanging from the ceiling on the other end of the basement. My aim would be exact. I could throw it to prove it, but I don’t want to damage his new bag. As I return the knife to the table, the overhead light glints off the top edge of the blade and there’s a blip in my brain. A flash of an image. Blood spilled on snow. A hand in a black fingerless glove gripping that knife, and another hand that feels like mine but I know is not mine taking control, twisting that gloved hand, stealing that knife—

I shove away from the table and cover my face with my hands to stop it from continuing.

Trey’s memories must have been tangled in the knowledge he copied to my mind. The violence he’s been living with has become my own, not only as an external force ransacking my house and trying to ambush us, but also inside me in graphic memory. I’m sure he didn’t intend to include those memories, but I see they’d be impossible to separate out. So much of what we learn comes from experience. If my possession of these memories took some of the burden from him, I’d gladly accept them. But I know it won’t.

It leaves me remembering that non-Liv this morning. Rash, unsympathetic, shoot-first-ask-questions-later Liv. It’s as if elements of his personality got left behind in my head.

The basement was supposed to be my distraction but here it is reminding me of him. I jerk the light’s pull chain and head for the back porch. A chill has settled but I put my hood up and stay outside, watching the night sneak in and take over. None of the vehicles whishing along the road disturb the gravel of the driveway although each one of them has me convinced it’s him until it’s long passed. When I decide I’d rather not have a warning of his arrival, I go back inside.

Nothing to do in the kitchen. I check the laundry room. Nothing to fold. I look out the front window. No sign of him. I should call him. Something could’ve happened. They could have overpowered him. If they send enough men he won’t be able to fight them off. I return to the kitchen and go back out on the back porch.

“River!” He usually doesn’t call for her. I have no idea how he gets her to come. “River!” Maybe it’s a bad idea to be calling out in the night when I’m here by myself. I should be afraid. They might know he’s gone, and now they’ll come for me.

I go back inside in search of a pistol. I find a Glock, load it, and carry it to the kitchen with me. River is standing at the back door, so I open it.

“Is everything okay?”

She cocks her head. I have no idea if she understands me. If something was wrong, she wouldn’t be this relaxed. I get a piece of cheese out of the refrigerator and suddenly Coyote Dog is behind her. What is it we named him? Tributary. What a horrible name. I hand them each a half of the piece of cheese and close the door.

Where the hell is he?

If he’s doing this on purpose to make me worry, he’s succeeded. Maybe he hopes that when he finally does come home I’ll be so relieved I’ll forget all about it. What a pain in the ass he is. But I really don’t think he’s capable of being manipulative. He’s usually so straightforward. So if he’s not staying out late to make me worry, then where is he? He should’ve been home a long time ago.

I get my phone out of my bag and scroll to his name. My finger hovers over the button. I can’t do it. I have to play hard ball.

I bring a gun into the bedroom, turn off the light, and get in bed. When I’ve stared at the ceiling for an hour, I get up. I take the gun to the kitchen. I look in the refrigerator at all the food I have no appetite to eat. Every sound I make echoes through the house. I wander back into the living room, get my phone out of my bag, and stare at it.

Tires sound on the driveway but something isn’t right. I turn off the light and go to the front window. Peeking outside, I see a vehicle but it’s not his truck. It’s a car, and it’s too dark to see what it looks like. I squint, trying to see inside past the glare of the headlights. Two people in the car, maybe more. I sprint to the kitchen so I have a door I can exit if I need to escape. I pick up my gun from the table. Moonlight illuminates the room through the windows, so I stand in the shadow of the refrigerator for cover.