As he moved, his T-shirt tightened over the telltale lump in the middle of his back.
Nice to know he hadn’t resorted to pulling out his gun while we were
wrestling in the hallway. Which reminded me, I needed to find my gun.
“You’re hard to pin down.”
“Obviously not hard enough, since you and Tag found me just fine.” I
narrowed my eyes, his answer felt more like an evasion. “And that’s not an answer. Why now? Why me?”
He wagged his finger at me. “That’s two.”
I crossed my arms and stared.
He dropped his hand and drummed his fingers against the Formica. “You’re
next on his list.”
“List?” Not the answer I was expecting. “What list?”
“Nope, it’s my turn.” Despite his casual tone, his gaze remained serious.
“Tell me about your ability.”
“That’s not a question.” It took effort to keep my voice light and unaffected,
while every other part of me wanted to bolt. Instead, I headed toward the living
room with studied nonchalance, leaving Kayden to follow or not.
The scrape of wooden chair legs over tile preceded his response. “Fine. What
is your ability?”
Against my chest bone, my heart beat like a hummingbird on crack. Nerves
left my mouth dry, and a light sweat beaded my forehead. Classic signs of an
impending panic attack. Less than an hour in his company and whatever progress I made in the last few months went up in a puff of smoke.
Focus on the missing gun, Cyn.
With shaking hands, I pulled the cushions from the sofa. Maybe my gun had
fallen between them? No gun, instead my search garnered a total of eighty-three
cents, a paper clip, and stale popcorn.
“Answer for an answer, remember?” Kayden’s deep voice came from right
behind me.
I gave a tiny jump and turned, holding the cushion in front of me like some
plush shield.
“Tell me what your gift can do.” His quiet demand cornered me, leaving me
with nowhere to hide.
Strength drained from my legs, and I sank to the edge of the couch, my fingers plucking at the cushion. “It won’t help you.”
He crouched in front of me, not touching me. “It won’t, or you won’t?”
“That’s two questions,” I muttered, avoiding his gaze.
“Put it on my tab.” Then he waited, giving me time to find my waning
courage.
Maybe I should’ve considered my Q&A dare a little more thoroughly as
things were about to get FUBAR. Fear slithered low in my belly. My ability was
the furthest thing from a gift you could get, and what I shared next could send
me to therapy, and therapy and I were not good friends. When I was a kid, everyone’s answer to my strange behavior was pills.
