Page 86 of Thirst
He vaulted onto the sagging porch and tried the front door, but it was locked. I stepped up beside him, the boards groaning beneath us.
He eyed the curtained windows. “What’s it like inside, anyway?”
“Falling apart—but the same. I don’t think he changed a damn thing after my aunt died. Like one of those nightmares that never changes, just waits for you to come back.” I grimaced. “Valente wants me to fix it up, maybe rent it out.”
A lighter appeared in Talon’s hand. He thumbed it open, and the flame flared to life, small but hungry. “Or,” he said, watching it dance, “you could just torch the place. Build something new.”
Hell, yeah. Deep inside, the wild, unwanted kid in me leapt up, grinning and whooping: Do it. Burn it down.
Lilith knew, I wanted to. Wanted the fire to swallow the memories, the echo of angry voices, the rooms where I’d learned to flinch.
Talon held the lighter up. “No?”
I jiggled my leg, staring at that bright, too-tempting flame.
A beat passed. The kind where you stop running from your demons and turn to face them. Where you accept your scars are a part of you and that you’re stronger because of them.
“No,” I said at last. “It will make someone a good home.”
He snapped the lighter shut. “You want my advice? Let the bank have it. Why should you deal with this crap?”
“That was the plan. But I promised Valente—and I think I need to do this, you know? Need to see it through.”
“Then throw some money at it. Hire a contractor and let them make the decisions.”
I shot him a look. “You think your mom would want to help—handle the details like trim, paint, all that?”
“Hell, yeah. Actually, she could use something to do. She’s still sober.” Talon’s expression was half-proud, half-relieved. “And this time, I think it’ll stick. She knows we won’t let her near Jude if she’s drinking.”
“That’s good, Tal.” I smiled back. “Great, in fact. So she’ll do it?”
“Of course. This kind of project is right up her alley. And she’d do it for you anyway. You always were her favorite.” He huffed a laugh. “Thought sun shone out of your ass, in fact.”
“The only person on the whole damn island who did.”
“Except me.”
“You were my blood brother. You had to love me.”
“Blood brothers.” He rumbled, amused. “We were what—eleven?”
“Twelve years and two months, and dead serious—at least I was. Figured if you were my brother, I had a chance at a family. Like your mom might see me as hers, too.”
The admission scraped out of me.
Talon and I exchanged a look. Then he punched my shoulder.
“Hey, I needed a brother, too. And my mom is yours—she’d say so herself. She let you move in, didn’t she? Even when she was drinking, she trusted you, saw something in you that nobody else did.” He slanted me a lopsided smile, the one that used to mean trouble and now meant look at how far we came. “I saw it, too. Always knew you’d grow up to be somebody.”
“Back atcha, dude.” I gave him a short nod and switched gears. “I’ll be in touch with your mom, then. And of course, I’ll pay her, whatever she asks. She’s doing me a favor. If you talk to her first, make sure she knows that.”
“Copy that.” Talon tipped his chin toward the house. “Now why don’t we see what it looks like inside?”
He raised a booted foot and kicked the door open.
In the end, the farmhouse held no ghosts, just dust and silence. The bones were solid, although the roof sagged and the house needed painting, inside and out, and the porch replaced.
I pulled out my phone, taking photos for Talon’s mom and the contractors. I’d warmed to the idea of taking the house on, of gutting the place, erasing every trace of my aunt and uncle and handing it off to a young family.
