As soon as we reach the front door, I spin around and punch Dax's bony arm.
"Ouch! Shit, Evette." Hopping away, he rubs at the spot and hisses through his teeth. "Geez, that freaking hurt. I think you hit a nerve."
"Are you kidding?!" I whisper harshly, causing Dax to flinch, his eyes to go wide. "Do you know who you just pissed off? Do you know how hard he can hit? You'll be lucky if he only punches you! What were you thinking?!"
Distraught murmurs drift from the kitchen, and my gaze flits towards the sound. While I've pulled Dax aside to speak with him alone in the cream-colored hallway, Aubrey and Malcolm must be having their own little discussion. It doesn't sound good.
I want to stomp my foot in frustration. "Dax, why didn't you say anything about a family?"
"I—you... You guys didn't ask."
"That is the worst excuse you could ever—"
"Okay, okay. Triple didn't like the idea of coming to one person. I knew he definitely wouldn't come if there was a family here, so I left that flyspeck of a detail—"
"Flyspeck?!"
"—out. Like you said, this was our only option, right? You said that, Eve, remember? We would have never been able to convince him to come here if—"
"You lied to us."
Gasping, Dax throws his hands in the air as if to ward off the accusation. "No, no, no, no, I didn't lie. I'd never lie to—"
"Leaving out important details on purpose is the same as lying. You should have learned that in kindergarten, Dax. What did you think? That we wouldn't notice the teenage girl or the screaming baby when we got here?!" My voice bounces off the walls, a little too loud. Glancing down the hall, I reluctantly lower it again and take a step closer to Dax. "This was so stupid of you. I can't believe you did this. Now Trip is pissed, and he's going to kill you."
"I know, I know he's pissed. I'm sorry." Dax miserably flops himself back against the wall. "I didn't think he would react like this. Not this extreme. It was stupid, I know it was stupid, but I thought the atmosphere, I thought Aubrey and everything, I thought... maybe he'd..."
He'd find this homey? It would calm him down? A sigh presses out of my lungs, heavy and drawn-out. I'm finding it impossible to stay angry at Dax with that kicked-puppy look on his face. Too bad that look won't work on Trip.
"I know you want to help, Dax, but being dishonest was the worst thing you could have done. Of course he would react this extreme. You forget what he is." Suddenly, I realize I sound like my father. Dropping my head, hair falling forward, I press my fingertips to my forehead. And with a huff of air I correct myself, "Who. I meant who he is."
"Yeah," Dax says quietly, "I know what you meant."
Whispers, whispers. Still coming from the kitchen. Rising for a moment, only to hush back down. This is such a mess.
Shoving my whirling thoughts aside, I lift my head and look through the colored glass of the front door. "I've got to go talk to him."
"Whoa, wait. Alone? What if you guys start fighting? What if you piss him off even more and he breaks your arm or something crazy?"
"I've had to deal with him without you around as a referee before. I'll be fine. Besides, you should probably wait in here while I try to convince him not to beat you into the ground."
"Ah. Sounds like a good idea."
Turning my head and leaning back, I try to peek down the hall, around the archway, into the kitchen. I can't see anyone, but the whispers continue. I turn back to Dax. "You have to talk to them."
"What do I even say?"
"The truth, just... not the whole truth. He's been stressed. He hasn't been sleeping well. We've been arguing."
"So..." Dax is trying not to smile. "You want me to leave out important details again."
I give him a look. "This is different. It's necessary, and they won't kill you." Glancing again at the door, I take a deep breath and mentally ready myself to face the storm I know is brewing out there. I'm dreading it. "Okay. Wish me luck. I'm going to need it."
"Good luck. And, um, thanks, Evette."
"Don't thank me yet."
Before I can procrastinate any longer, I open the door, and out I go into the cool air, leaving Dax behind. I step onto the porch, and like a greeting, the breeze picks up, tossing wind-chimes into tinkling excitement.
For some reason, this whole time I thought Trip would be prowling around somewhere near the car, maybe even sitting inside. But when I draw myself up on tiptoes to peer over the porch railing, I find the car vacant, untouched. Trip—nowhere to be seen. Cursing under my breath, I slowly descend the stairs and sweep my gaze across the dead leaves tumbling over the front yard.
Of course he couldn't make this simple either, could he? Where the hell did he go?
My shoes crunch on gravel as I shift in indecision, pausing to think... Probably should check the backyard before I waste my time walking all the way down the road or traipsing around in the woods. I start moving again, cutting across the driveway, through brown grass, and around the house to the back.
The pale winter sun has waxed higher in the sky since we first arrived, and the Bay is in full glitter, so bright it burns white specks in my vision. Squinting my eyes, I search the lawn—the dock I'd seen earlier, a swing I didn't see earlier hanging from one of the few trees scattered across the yard. But no Trip.
Arms twirling around with my body, I turn on heels, somewhat ready to commence plan B and start a journey down the road. But before I can take two steps, out of the corner of my eyes I catch a glimpse of something white, something man-made peeking out from behind the trees. My head snaps up, then to the side to make out what, exactly, I'm seeing.
It's a gazebo, tucked in the woods, hovering over the Bay. Hidden, secluded. Barely visible from the house. Barely even visible from here. It's my best bet.
I trek across the long stretch of yard. The sun warms my cheeks, and the chilling breeze flips my hair. By the time I reach the round, uneven stepping stones leading through the woods to the gazebo, there is a pleasant knocking in my chest from the exercise. My pace slows. My eyes wander over bare branches. It's darker, quieter here among the trees.
And I spot him.
He's at the farthest part of the gazebo, leaning over the railing on his forearms, looking down at the water. He doesn't turn as I approach the gazebo or as I climb up the two steps, but by the way his head tilts slightly towards the sound of my footfalls, I know he hears me. He listens to each soft, hollow thud as I slowly start to walk alongside the railing, circling the edge of the building. He tracks me in his mind. Like heat pursuing me, I can sense it.
Quickened breath drawing in the tinge of salt and the must of mildew, I try to ignore the feeling and lift my eyes past him, across the water where the City's skyscrapers prick the horizon and twinkle in the sun. "I've never been on this side of the Bay," I mumble. "Have you?"
No response. But that doesn't shock me.
Sighing, I tip my head back to look up at the gazebo's coned roof. I study an old, abandoned wasp nest at the top. "This is nice. I guess it could be fixed up a little, and it could use a new coat of paint. But..." My hand brushes over the white paint chipping off the railing, and I watch some of the flakes fall and sprinkle over the water. "I kind of like the way it is."
"Did you know?" Trip asks suddenly, flatly, drawing my gaze to him. He is watching me in his periphery now, eyes cut to the side. They are just as dead as they were when he had walked out. Lifeless, emotionless. Even colder than usual.
I stop, only half way around the gazebo. "No. I was just as surprised as you." I gnaw on my lip for a second, gaze running over his back then fluttering away. "Dax didn't mention it because he knew you wouldn't agree to come. That's what he told me before I came out here. It was stupid and dishonest, and he knows that. But it's really not as big of a deal as you're making it out to be. A family doesn't change anything. Our chances of being found are still the same. I think you're just overreacting."
Trip doesn't respond. He straightens, shoves his hands in his pockets and goes back to looking at the water. His silence eats at my nerves.
"You're not going to kill him, are you?"
Trip shakes his head. "No."
"What are you going to do to him?"
"Where is he?"
"He's inside, talking to Aubrey and Malcolm, trying to smooth things over. Answer me. What are you going to do to him? Are you going to hurt him?"
"No."
"Why don't I believe you?"
"You don't believe anything I say."
I quiet.
Miniature waves lap against the gazebo's supports. The breeze picks up again, and a wisp of hair falls in my face. Looking away, I sweep it aside. "Let's stay on subject. I really don't think this is the time to repeat last night's argument."
"It's relevant."
"No, it's not."
"Why not discuss your father? We've barely touched on that subject."
My whole body freezes. My gaze locks on him.
"I'm sure we both have questions," Trip says.
"This isn't the time."
"This is the perfect time."
"No."
At my unbendable, suddenly hostile tone, Trip doesn't press on. He only draws back into silence.
Starting my walk again, I try to shake off the tension, but there's a bitterness in my voice I can't get rid of now. "We have no where else to go, you know that, and you still made a mess. Like always."
Trip's shoulders rise and fall with a slow, agitated sigh. And I'm almost thankful to see his anger begin to warm up. I'd rather face all his rage than that frigidity.
"You should have just walked out. Throwing a temper tantrum along with the two year old and smashing a coffee mug in front of an entire family was overboard."
"It wasn't intentional." A twinge of anger surfaces in Trip's voice, just a twinge. "Dax said nothing about the others."
"That gives you no excuse. You completely ignored a man in his own home when he was offering to shake your hand. Was that unintentional too?"
"I wasn't expecting this. If I had known—"
"You wouldn't have even come."
"I would have been able to prepare myself," Trip snaps, sparks flying in his eyes as they land on me. "I could have handled it if I had fucking known."
I stop in my tracks again, just a few paces away. My mind scrambles to make sense of what he's saying. "Prepare yourself? What are you talking about?"
Trip lets the sparks sizzle out of his eyes. He turns his face away from me, just drags that rage back within himself. "Forget it. It doesn't matter." He doesn't want to talk about it.
I shake my head, crossing my arms over my chest. "It matters, otherwise you wouldn't be acting like this." Slowly, I draw up beside him. Pausing, studying him. And the bitterness in my voice starts to vaporize. "This isn't just about Dax being stupid, is it?"
The muscle in Trip's jaw twitches, clenching for a split second before he can force it to relax again.
I couldn't picture it before, but I see it now—that lifeless look in his eyes. It reminds me too much of Hound. I look away, blinking, batting away thoughts. I'm not exactly sure where to look anymore, so I just stare at the planks beneath my feet and lean my hip against the railing.
The waves keep lapping. The breeze keeps breathing.
Then words start forming, stringing together in my mind, and I just let them slip over my lips, not sure where they will lead me.
"Listen." I toe a couple of dead leaves over the edge of the gazebo. "I know I irritate you. I know we hate each other, and we always seem to be at each others' throats. But..." My gaze lifts to find him watching me, and I bite my lip, looking out over the water. "There's a lot going on with me, and maybe sometimes I forget there's a lot more going on with you than you let on. I don't know what you're thinking most of the time—"
"You frustrate me."
I blink up at Trip, surprised not only by his swift reply, but by his subtle change in tone. It's quieter, tamer, just a little smoother around the edges as his pale eyes slip over mine.
"But I don't hate you, Ashford."
My lip is beginning to hurt because I'm biting down on it so hard. I stare, and for one torturous moment, Trip's eyes glide over my face—no doubt over my cheeks which are slowly, steadily, involuntarily warming—then his attention switches to the City.
"No," he says. And the smoothness is already fading out of his voice. "I haven't been on this side of the Bay."
Tearing my gaze from him, I turn to face the water and uncross my arms to grip the railing. "It's nice," I mutter, but I'm not seeing any of it.
Silence lapses between us for a long time.
I'm still aware of his heat—sensing him sensing me.
And finally, Trip sighs, slowly turning away from the Bay. The chill has returned in his eyes. The mask is intact again.
"Come on," he says. "I need to have a word with Dax."