Divide (18 page)

Holland

Harm?
What did he mean? How was I harming anyone?

“What did you just say?”

Donovan ignored my question for a second time, staring hard at Mick. I turned to Mick and asked him instead. “Mick? What is he talking about?”

He sighed, then ran his hands down his face. “Holland, I—”

“Oh, stop beating around the bush, Mick. Tell the poor girl the truth.”

“Enough, Donovan. This will destroy her.”

“She deserves to know what she’s capable of—”

“I’m right here!” If I’d had all of my strength back, I would have jumped up from the table. Instead, I slammed my fist down on the surface and glared at Mick. “Tell me! I’m right here, and I deserve to know. If there’s more to this story—to
my
story—I have a right to know.”

Cam stood behind my chair and put both hands on my shoulders in support. “She’s right. This is her story. She should know all of it.”

I looked up at Cam as he smiled down at me, but I could see his eyes waver, not fully able to hold my gaze. My heart ached for my brother. What was he feeling during all of this? My
little
brother, the one I was supposed to shelter and care for, had been forced to become my protector when my life crumbled around me after the breakup with Rod. And, even now, as I sat here helpless and cursed, he stood tall and spoke in my defense.

I was a horrible big sister.

“Oh, hell.” Donovan stood and left the room, his boots clomping all the way down the hall.

“What’s his problem?” Rosemarie asked. Then she turned to me, a frown pulling at her sparkly purple lips. She ran a hand through her cropped black hair. “This next part of the story isn’t good, Holl. Mick doesn’t want to tell you for good reason,
not
because he wants to keep things from you.”

I sighed, my resentment subsiding a bit. “I appreciate that, Rosemarie, but I won’t accept it. If this story is going to get worse before it gets better, I want to know.”

“All right then, here you go.” Donovan reentered the kitchen, then plopped a stack of papers onto the table in front of me and returned to his seat to my right. “Ring any bells, love?”

I flipped open the manila folder. The first document was a newspaper clipping with an article attached. At the top, a picture of Leslie. She was talking to a reporter, standing in front of her house, her mom and dad on either side of her. The caption below the photo read
‘Leslie Sinclair speaks with local television reporter about being in the wrong place at the
right
time. She and her boyfriend, Rod Simon, narrowly escaped death after the beach house they’d been allegedly staying in was burned to the ground. Local authorities suspect foul play.’

I swallowed the lump that formed in my throat.

“What the fuck is this?” Cam growled, clearly outraged. He’d kept as much of this stuff away from me as he could—hiding newspapers, getting rid of reporters, even going as far as cancelling cable for a month after the fire so I wouldn’t catch a news report by accident. He reached down to grab the folder away, but I stopped him, resting my hand on his arm. Donovan obviously wanted me to see something in this stack of papers, so I had to continue.

“It’s okay, Cam. I’m okay.”

I turned to Mick, seeing him shake his head gently and close his eyes. He positioned his elbows on the table, then leaned his head forward to rest in his hands. “I’m so sorry, Holland. I didn’t want you to find out like this.”

I didn’t know how to respond to that, so I took a deep breath and turned to the next paper in the stack.

This was a newspaper article that looked like it had been printed off the Internet. At the top of the page was a panoramic photograph, viewing the row of houses where Rod’s family vacation home had once been, as if the photographer stood with his back to the ocean. The snapshot displayed the scene after the fire, when nothing of the Simon home remained but charred foundations, blackened pieces of wood, and miscellaneous debris.

I closed my eyes, just as the first tear escaped.

Mick’s hand found mine. “Holland, let’s not look at these, okay? It can wait. You’ve had a long morning already.”

I shook my head, wishing the tears away. “I imagine,” I said, my eyes still closed, “that the rest of these pages contain similar information?”

“Yes,” Mick answered softly.

“Why am I looking at them?” I braced myself for his answer.

“Tell us,” Donovan began, “do you recognize these things?”

I opened my eyes as Cam’s hands left my shoulders and he lunged toward Donovan. Rosemarie grabbed his arm, halting him with her touch.

“Of course she recognizes them! That was her best friend’s house! Her ex-boyfriend! We practically grew up on that beach!” Cam paced the floor, his hands fisted at his sides. I knew he wanted to throttle Donovan, but I had to give him credit for holding it together thus far. Much longer though, and I’d be surprised if Cam didn’t at least punch a hole in the wall.

Mick took my hands in his, bringing my attention back to the table, and what was stacked on top of it. I met his gaze when he spoke. “Holland, do you remember dreaming about this?” He pointed to the charred remains of the Simon family beach house.

I gasped and pulled my hands out of his to cover my mouth. I flashed back to my dream, remembering how terrified I’d been when I woke up, after seeing
myself
set fire to Rod’s house, the sharp stench of gasoline still fresh in my nose. I shook my head. It was just a dream. Even waking up to the smell of gasoline had been too strange to believe, so I’d told myself I was still dreaming. A dream within a dream.

But I’d never told anyone about it. Not even Cam.

Mick sighed. “You remember.”

“No. It can’t be. How do you…?”

“It’s part of our link, Holland; we’re connected. I’ve shared some of your dreams. You’ve seen me there, haven’t you?” He pointed to the picture again. “You saw me there, at that beach house, the night you…they aren’t just dreams. They’re suppressed—”

“No. I can’t listen to this.” I stood and quickly pushed my chair back, stepping away from the table. From Mick. From everything. My stomach twisted and turned, and my heart thumped overtime as panic surged within me. “I won’t listen to this. I want to be alone. Can I go back to your room, please?”

“Of course, Holland. You never have to ask; that’s your room, now.”

My room now.
I didn’t have time to dwell on what he meant by that. I didn’t have time to retort. I wasn’t going to live here with him for some undisclosed
forever
. I turned away from all of them, trying to ignore the open-mouthed stares I received from at least two of them—the two who were as shocked as I was: Cam and Rosemarie.

We’d all heard what Mick had said, the horrible implications of his words. We didn’t need him to finish the sentence.

Memories.

My dreams were suppressed
memories
.

I climbed the stairs slowly, one step at a time, trying not to panic or trip over myself. My stomach knotted and twisted, saliva pooling in my mouth. I swallowed hard, but it was no use.

At the top of the wooden stairs, I broke into a sprint, trying to get to the master bathroom before I vomited all over Mick’s mom’s beautiful white rug.

Memories.

A few minutes after I’d heaved every bit of breakfast into the porcelain bowl, heavy footsteps thumped behind me.

“Are you okay?” Mick whispered.

“Yeah, I’m fantastic. Thanks for asking.” My voice was raspy after throwing up. I wiped my face with the washcloth he extended to me, then closed my eyes and tilted my head back.

“What did I do?”

He took the washcloth from my hands and swiped my face again, then swept my air back from my forehead.

“Let me help you up. I’ll take you to the bed.”

I wanted to protest. Wanted to tell him I didn’t want his help, didn’t deserve his kindness, or to be comfortable in that big fluffy bed. Not after finding out who I really am.

A monster. A murderer.

I’d tried to kill my best friends.

And then I’d blocked the memory.

A psychopath.

Mick slid his arms around me, one behind my neck and one under my knees, and when he picked me up and cradled me to his chest, I couldn’t resist. I had no energy with which to fight. I tucked my head into his shoulder and let the tears fall.

I listened to his heartbeat as he carried me the short distance to the bed, then held on tightly when he tried to release me. I couldn’t face my thoughts alone.

The bed moved beside me as he kicked off his shoes and climbed in, still holding me awkwardly to his chest. Once he was curled up around me, I readjusted and nestled into him as far as I could without smothering myself.

And then I just cried.

I cried for me. For my life, for my future, for the possibility that I would have neither one of them soon.

I cried for my mom and dad…and Cam.

But most of all, I cried for Leslie and Rod. How could I ever face them again after what I’d done?

How could I ever even face
myself
again?

I’d poisoned my best friend and burned down someone’s house!

I was a monster. A beast.

Holland

I sat straight up in bed, the earlier conversation with Donovan startling me awake as my mind insisted on replaying his words over and over as I tried to sleep. Even Mick’s soft snoring couldn’t lull me when my mind spun so desperately. If my sleep wasn’t interrupted by a tormenting nightmare, it was my brain keeping me awake as I analyzed my situation subconsciously.

‘A girl from your family, and a boy from mine.’

This just wasn’t right. Donovan mentioned nothing about the fact I’d been reincarnated all these times. He spoke of the curse, and the love, and one girl from my family, and one guy from his—or Mick’s, whatever the case—would meet every four generations, and they’d have the chance to break the spell.

But no mention of reincarnation
whatsoever
.

He’d said
a
girl, not
the
girl. He definitely didn’t indicate anything that would resemble reincarnation. For someone who claimed to know so much—and even crazier, claimed to be the one to break the spell—he was missing an integral piece of information.

Hmm.

Mick cocooned around me, oblivious to my suddenly alert state. The closeness of his warm body should have tamed the restless feelings I had, but it didn’t. Knowing Cam was here in Big Bear with us should have soothed me as well, but…nothing.

I was too scared to close my eyes for fear I’d have more dreams, inevitably learning about more horrible things I was responsible for. And I couldn’t calm down long enough to sleep, with all the information bouncing around my brain.

But even more disturbing than any of those things, my mind repeatedly returned to Donovan’s touch. I’d missed his fingertips on my neck all afternoon. It was ridiculous, and totally screwed up, but I could physically
feel
their absence. It was like a part of me was actually
absent
without his touch.

I had so many questions. Would Donovan really be the one to break the spell? Did he even want to help me? How could I trust him? I barely knew Mick and Rosemarie, but I really didn’t know Donovan Gregory. And something seemed strange about him. Off, even. Like he knew more than he let on.

The suspicion was a nagging feeling I couldn’t let go of.

Mick’s fingers squeezed on my thigh, reminding me of the protective man sleeping next to me. How could Donovan break the spell if I already had such strong feelings for Mick? I wasn’t the kind of girl who could just turn my feelings on or off, so falling in love with Donovan—silly or not—was out of the question.

Wait.

What if this wasn’t a new development? Wasn’t special to my particular story? Had the generations before Mick sent the wrong brother to break the spell? Could it be that Mick and his father weren’t the first people to train and study and still get the information wrong? Could things as simple as my prematurity and Mick’s long lost bastard brother be catalysts in every story before ours?

And if Mick’s dad was so determined, so driven in raising his son to break the curse, why would he risk derailing his efforts with random sex?

Nothing made sense!

I shifted to look at Mick, his face creased from the pillow. He was so peaceful, so content sleeping next to me. It seemed almost natural. As if our lives had been predetermined to line up together. But I knew now that wasn’t the case. Donovan was the one predetermined for me, as wrong as it was to think that way while lying in Mick’s arms, in his bed. I wasn’t in love with Mick, but I’d be lying to myself if I said I didn’t already have strong feelings for him. I’d felt pulled to him almost immediately, even as I tried to convince myself otherwise. I really wanted to see where this would go. If I was given the chance.

How much longer did I have before I fully changed?

How would we break the curse now?

And when Donovan helped me come back from the edge earlier, had he felt the pain, the heat, as it left my body?

I lightly ran my finger down Mick’s nose. The planes and angles of his face were so strong, so defined. He was so manly. So much more than Rod had been.

I had to know what was in store for us. I had to know if we had a future, if
I
had a future.

I placed a light kiss on the end of his nose, then slipped out of Mick’s arms, sliding a pillow in my place, and hoped he wouldn’t recognize the difference in his sleep.

I tip-toed to the door and peeked back at him as I opened it, making sure he didn’t wake in my absence. Once outside the room, I listened for any sounds coming from any of the other rooms and crept down the hall.

I didn’t know where anyone had settled in for the night, having stayed holed-up in Mick’s room all afternoon, so I decided to take my chances and head for the office downstairs. Hopefully, I’d be quiet enough to do some research of my own without waking Donovan, Cam, or Rosemarie during the process.

On my way down the stairs, I noticed how the large windows along the top of the wall allowed the moonlight to shine through. Stopping for just a moment at the bottom of the stairs, before entering turning down the hall toward the office, I took in the view of the night sky. Thousands of stars were visible—so many more than I could ever see at night at home. Bright white specks on a brilliant, navy canvas. I was half-tempted to go outside to get a better view but remembered how freezing cold it probably was and thought better of the idea.

When I turned back to the living room, I realized Donovan was stretched out on the couch. Something I’d missed at first. I sucked in a breath. His arms were stretched up above his head, hanging off the arm of the couch. A blanket draped across his legs, but his torso was uncovered, save for the dark tattoos drawn all over his skin. Unfamiliar symbols, like runes and tribal designs, were scattered across his molded chest and abs, some of them creeping up into his biceps or wrapping around to his back, others disappeared below his waist. I was curious about what they were, what they meant.

His jeans sat low on his hips, exposing enough skin to indicate his complete lack of boxers. Or boxer-briefs. Or anything even remotely acceptable for undergarments. A light dusting of chestnut hair disappeared into his pants, and I pulled my gaze away from his most private of places as my cheeks heated.

The light of the moon shone down on his upper body, but his face was hidden in shadow. By the steady movement of his chest, and the sound of his breathing, I knew he was asleep. As I watched his pecks rise and fall, I suddenly wondered what the hell I was doing. Why did I still stand there, secluded in shadow, watching this man sleep? Did I want him to wake and find me there?

Sure, I had questions, lots of them in fact, but I didn’t even know Donovan. Would I believe anything he would tell me?

Shouldn’t I be asking Mick my questions?

I should go.
Yeah. Good plan. I turned to leave—

“Enjoying the show, love?”

Merde!
My breath caught in my throat as I froze, my hand stuck in mid-reach between my body and the banister, my foot poised to take a step up, having decided to skip the office altogether so I could run back to the seclusion—safety—of Mick’s arms.

“Don’t be scared. I won’t bite.”

Gah! What do I do?
I closed my eyes for a brief second and inhaled a deep breath. If I ignored him and went upstairs, he’d think I’d been watching him sleep. Which, I guess I had been, but ugh.

I might as well ask him my questions and get it over with. No sense in adding to his already over-inflated ego. If I ran, he’d think any number of things and none of them were in my favor.

I faced him again, happy to see he’d sat up and pulled the blanket over his lap. His chest was still naked—and completely ripped—but at least his happy trail could no longer lead a voyage of inappropriate thoughts through my head. A girl can only take so much.

Donovan patted the couch next to him, then stretched his arms back to cross behind his head. Regardless of how well I knew him or not, his nakedness was distracting and I felt like a perv from my struggle to keep my eyes averted.

But holy hell, good looks ran in the family.

I sat on the couch, as far from him as possible, tucking my legs up underneath me. The air was crisp. A slight chill tickled my skin, as if somehow, even in the middle of a snow-filled forest, someone thought opening a window would be a good idea. I glared at Donovan, assuming he’d been the genius behind
that
plan. Of course, the only blanket I could see was draped over his lap, so my frustration grew. Hell if I’d be grabbing that any time soon.

I looked around for a remote like the one I’d seen upstairs, hoping the fireplace we sat in front of now was like the one in the master bedroom. I found an exact replica of that remote and tried turning on the fireplace, pleased with myself when it worked after the third try.

“So, what brings you downstairs in the dark at this ungodly hour of the morning? Bad dreams?”

I glared at him for the reference to my dreams, since all of us were now well aware of what they meant, then I ignored the comment. “I couldn’t sleep. Why are you awake?”

He shrugged. “I’m more of a night owl than most, though I can’t imagine being able to sleep through your hungry gaze.”

I swallowed, then cleared my throat to cover up the fact that I nearly choked from his words.

“Plus, it’s so bloody quiet here, I feel like I might suffocate.”

“Quiet? It’s the middle of the night. In the mountains. What did you expect?”

“This
is
what I expected, but I don’t have to like it.”

“So, what, you need a white noise machine or a television on or something?”

“Try underground night club.”

“Oh. Huh.”

“My flat in London is above an underground night club; I’ve grown quite used to the thumping bass all hours of the day and night. Silence is stifling now.”

“Huh.”

“Is that an American thing?”

“What? Silence?”

“No, that horrible word:
huh
. It’s like a grunt or something equally impolite. You seem to use it quite often, unfortunately.”

“I didn’t come down here so you could insult me, okay?”

“Why
did
you come down here? I’m sure it wasn’t just to gawk at me, though you can go back to that if you’d like. I don’t mind.”

He leaned forward, then ran his knuckles across my hand. I yanked it away, crossing my hands in my lap, ignoring the way his closeness brought memories of his earlier salvation to the forefront of my mind. Something in the way my skin vibrated beneath his touch me made me desire something I didn’t actually want to desire. Him.

“Wow. You’re something else.” I looked away as he stretched his arms and the blanket fell an inch or two lower in his lap, exposing that patch of neatly trimmed dark hair right above his still unbuttoned pants. He was doing this on purpose, I was sure, but it was more offensive than intriguing.

Or so I told myself, anyway. I scrunched my nose at the thought, reminding myself that this was not the kind of guy I would ever be attracted to.

“Careful, love, your face may freeze like that.”

“I came down here for answers. Got any?”

“
Got any?
” he said in a mocking tone. “Do you mean,
do I have any answers
? Then yes, of course. Forty-two.”

“Forty-two what? You have forty-two answers?”

“No, forty-two. It’s a reference to . . .” He gaped at me as if I was crazy, then shook his head. “Oh, never mind. What are your questions, then?”

I positioned myself to sitting cross-legged on the couch, with my hands still in my lap, facing him. With my back pressed into the arm of the couch, as far on my end as I could go, I thanked my lucky stars this wasn’t a love seat. Though I’d already learned that the short distance between us wouldn’t keep him away.

“First of all, how long have you known about me? About my family’s curse?”

“I told you, since a few days ago when I stumbled on dear old Dad’s cabin here.”

“That’s a crock.”

Donovan gave a mock gasp, then smirked. “Well done. You’ve caught me. Seems you’re a bit brighter than the others.”

“Great. Now, tell me the truth.”

“If I say I’ve known about you my entire life, does that change anything? Does it break the spell? Does it bring whatever silly feelings are happening between you and my little brother to an end?”

“You tell me.”

His eyes tightened for a split second as if trying to figure me out. There was nothing
to
figure out—he was the puzzle, not me.

“Let’s say I
am
the one who’s supposed to break the spell. What then, Holland?”

“I don’t know. Why don’t you get to the point?”

“This is the point, is it not? It’s simple, really. Hypothetically speaking, I’m supposed to be the one to break the spell and save our future generations from this shared fate of ours. I’m the guy. But you don’t want me, and I don’t want you—I like my women a little more…eloquent, shall we say?” He raised an eyebrow. “Unless of course you just want a quick shagging.
That
I could grant you, with little-to-no discomfort on my end.”