Page 70 of Hunt Me

If I didn’t love Nico so much, I would have hated him for it.

“He probably won’t hang around,” Percy says softly. “But if you want me to find a place for you to stay while he’s here…”

“No. It’s okay.” I don’t really care. I’m not interested in hiding myself. I never have been, and I never want to. My father can take me or leave me as I am. “If he wakes up, call me.”

“I think he’s going to be out for a few more hours,” Percy says, “but I will.”

That’s all the promise I need. I hang up, then rummage around until I find one of Denver’s large suitcases and very carefully, very meticulously, pack everything that seems important to him. He’d said all of his things felt tainted, but I know him better than he thinks I do.

And I know he’ll miss his pretty dresses and nice shoes and all the clothes he’s been comfortable in at work. I can wash them, put them in bed and sleep on them, cover them in our scent together, if it will erase the ugly memories associated with what happened here in his place.

Once I get back to him, then will come the hard part. Letting him get back to his life as it was before all of this will be tricky. I’ll be beside him, of course. I will have knives ready, and no fucks to give if someone even thinks of looking at Denver sideways.

And if he hates me for it, or if he feels smothered, it’s a risk I’m willing to take to keep him alive. There have been too many attempts on his life, and it’s not going to happen again.

I don’t care who I have to destroy to make sure of that.

When I return home, I find Denver in the kitchen with Percy, the two of them sitting at the kitchen table, mugs of herbal tea in their hands. I’m a little annoyed that Percy didn’t call me, but Denver looks well rested, so I’m calling it a win.

‘You okay?’ I ask, setting the suitcase down by the basement entrance.

‘Yes,’ he signs, smiling up at me, ‘feeling better.’

Percy looks at me, and I force myself to look at him. ‘Tell me what that means? You know I can’t read faces. I can’t interpret that.’

Percy rolls his eyes and then glances at Denver. When Denver says nothing, Percy makes a face and then signs, ‘He’s stressed. He just told me.’

Denver sighs. ‘I told you that in confidence.’

Percy shrugs. ‘Archie needs to know.’

I do need to know. This kind of information helps me understand what is happening.

‘Did you find everything?’ Denver asks, changing the subject, clearly uncomfortable.

I fight the urge to gather him into my arms and take him back down to the basement, away from my brother’s prying eyes. ‘Yes.’

He cocks his head and then sets his mug down and moves toward me. He stops just shy of hugging me, and we look at each other. He’s so pretty, even with the dark circles under his eyes and the stress lines around his lips.

‘Hug?’ he asks me, and I pull him into me, wrapping my arms around him just like I’m being held. He snuggles into me, his face pressed into my neck. He smells good—like me. Like mine. Like he’s been in my bed all day, and that’s exactly where I want him.

I feel eyes on me and peer over at Percy, who is staring at us intently. I don’t like being watched like this, and my face must tell him that because his gaze cuts away. It’s not enough though. His presence is still very here, and I need a moment with Denver.

‘Come. Outside,’ I sign as I lean back. He nods and lets me take his hand, and I tug him toward the back door with the pathway that leads to the shed and my coffin garden.

Denver slows, glancing around, taking in the old, rusting farm equipment and the faded and worn barn. It’s all lit up with lights that Percy put around the property, and everything is illuminated with a faint, pale yellow glow.

There’s a lot of work that needs to be done to the property, but that’s never really been my thing. Outside of my garden, that’s kind of Percy’s hobby.

We step down on the old gravel path that leads toward the back corner of the yard. There’s an old wooden pergola with glowing fairy lights along the top that the previous owners had clearly built themselves. Beneath it is a swing, suspended by thick chains that creak when sat on.

I don’t mind that sound, and I like the rocking motion.

Maybe both will help Denver de-stress.

Either that or I can find a cadaver, and we could cut it apart, though part of me thinks he wouldn’t like that as much as I do.

‘Come. Sit.’ I beckon him with both hands after I get settled, and he follows me onto the wooden swing, lowering himself right down next to me. He takes a second, then shifts until he’s right on top of me. I cradle him in my arms, feeling the heaviness of him, like a weighted blanket.