Tornado of Nightmares (Book 2)

two

"I take it you and your father don't have the—"

"The best of relationships," I fill in, "no, we do not."

"Any particular reason?"

I glance at him sidelong, throwing him a knowing look. His eyes search mine, dark brown fill with curiosity, but he keeps his mouth shut. Instead, he gives me a half shrug and turns back to the ocean. He stares out as if he's looking for something, or perhaps someone. Someone waiting for him on the distant shores, smiling and waving a hand for Shann. Beckoning him over.

I squint, trying to see what he sees. But come up blank. I sigh through my nose and turn my back to the ocean. My spine leans against the cool metal, I stare out at the deck instead. At the small table of deckhands playing poker and drinking. A man with light brown hair chuckles deeply and slaps the table, a few others join in laughing, but two foul faced men sneer at him and mumble curses the others can't hear, except for me and my heightened ears. One of the foul faced men stands up abruptly and throws his cards down at the table.

Stomping away.

I rein in my snicker.

I turn my head to Shann. "Tell me a secret,"

He starts, "Pardon?"

A faint smile, "A secret, something no one knows. Tell me it."

Shock and confusion cloud his attractive face. His brows pinch together in concentration. He looks at me then, "Why?"

I rub at the scar on my wrist, Shann notices and his jaw hardens. "I want a distraction," the truth lifts a heavy weight off my chest. I don't meet his intense stare, instead I continue rubbing at the scars on my wrists. Most of the time I don't mean to do it, or rather, don't realize that it's happening.

Like a battered wife playing with a nonexistent ring on her finger.

Twirling that invisible band around and around, even though it is gone. Even though she is out and alive, the memories—the feelings never leave.

Muscle memory, I suppose.

The gruesome scars stand stark against my skin. Hiding them is easy, I was fortunate in that sense when I know others had it much harder than I had. Went through far worse. Some could not hide their imperfections, their scars. Some choose to wear them with pride. To show the world that they made it—made it out.

I seem to be coward when it comes to it.

"I hate tomatoes." Says Shann, grousing me back to present time.

I shove my memories down and let go of my wrists. "Tomatoes?"

A nod, "Absolutely hate them. I hate them dried; I hate them in sauces, I hate them fresh, and I hate them cooked." He shudders.

I laugh. "That was your secret that no one knows?" I ask. "I highly doubt that you've never told anyone that before."

"Are you suggesting I am lying, Dilynn?"

"Are you suggesting that you are being truthful?" I counter.

Touché.

He glances at me and snorts. I practically recoil at the sound. I've never heard him laugh before. Never heard a sound of amusement leave him. Shann was always so quiet. Always so solemn.

I wish I could see him smile.

Shann turns fully, his back now to the railing as well. He looks at me, amusement faintly rolling through his pupils.

"I'll give you a secret in exchange for one of yours."

My brows raise. "You want a secret of mine?"