Sometimes he liked that. Even now, barely sixteen years old, there was some self-assurance in knowing he could take care of himself, that his father’s rigid adherence to discipline served some purpose. With his connection to the elements, control could be a fleeting thing, and he’d take what he could get.
But sometimes he wanted to say screw it, to grow his hair out and get piercings all over, to let his abilities run rampant, just to break free of the mold for a minute.
“Does it scare you?” said Clare. “Living in a house with guns?”
Hunter smiled. “It’s not like I wake up in the middle of the night to find them staring down at me.”
“Shut up.” She gave him a light shove. “No, I mean, are you ever worried you’ll accidentally get shot?”
“You mean, when I catch the assault rifle raiding the refrigerator? Like maybe it’ll turn on me?”
Her breath caught again. “You have an assault rifle in your house?”
“Sure. It’s partial to lime Jell-O.”
“Hunter. Seriously.”
He liked the way she said his name, the way her tongue lingered on the T, just the tiniest bit.
He lost the smile. “Seriously.”
They’d stopped again, and she was staring up at him. Her eyes were a little wide, her breathing a little quick. There was a slight flush of pink across her cheeks.
“Scared?” he said, amused.
“Yes,” she said. That flush deepened. “A little.”
“I’ve never caught a gun wandering the woods yet.”
She shoved him again. “Don’t tease.”
He started walking before he had to analyze all this touching too closely. “Sorry. I’ll be nice.”
She fell silent again, and he bit at the inside of his lip, sure this silence meant she was done with the conversation, that she was ready to find some other way to spend her afternoon.
“So,” she said quietly.
Yep. This would be it. Hunter didn’t even know how to prolong the interaction. He didn’t look at her. “So.”
“Your dad has a lot of weapons.”
He shrugged. “I don’t know about a lot . . .”
Clare looked up at him. “Would you let me see them?”
His dad would definitely have a problem with this.
Thank god his dad wasn’t home yet.
Hunter had worried his mom might be home, though she was the polar opposite of her husband: She never interfered in Hunter’s activities. It didn’t matter, anyway. A note hung from a magnet on the refrigerator, something about a trip to her store in town and a snack on the top shelf.
He looked at Clare. He felt jittery now that she was in his house. Somehow the kitchen felt both larger and smaller with her presence. “Are you hungry?”
“Not yet. Your mom has a store? What does she sell?”
Hunter shrugged. “Odds and ends. You know.” His mother really worked for a New Age store in the antique district, but that usually launched a whole line of questions he didn’t feel like answering.
Clare stepped forward and leaned close. His pulse jumped, but she was only reaching out a finger to touch a photo stuck to the refrigerator. “Is this you and your dad?”
“And my uncle. Yeah.” The picture was from a camping trip last fall. They’d gone into the Appalachian Mountains, and it had rained almost the entire time. In the picture they were drenched and smiling.
“You look just like your dad.”
“Everyone says that.”
She touched another picture. “You have a dog?”
“My uncle does. Casper is a police dog. Uncle Jay is a cop.”
Clare looked up at him. “You’re close.”
He shrugged. “You know. Family.”
“Must be nice.”
The tone in her voice reminded him of the uncertainty when she’d talked about her brother. He wondered just how upset her parents must be—and where Clare fit in.
Hunter reached on top of the refrigerator to grab the keys to the gun locker before he could think better of it. “Everything is in the basement. Come on.”
The gun locker wasn’t really a locker at all; it was more of an extra bedroom with a steel door, a dead bolt, and a six-key combination lock.
He wanted to cover his hand while he punched the numbers, but that would look stupid, and what was the difference if she knew how to get in here? She was scared of the very mention of guns; it’s not like she was going to be back later to steal something.
Clare watched him push the buttons until the door clicked and the lock released. “What’s twelve-fourteen-twenty?”
He stopped with his hand on the knob. “Our birthdays. My dad’s is the twelfth, mine is the fourteenth, and my uncle’s is the twentieth.”
“Not your mom’s?”
Hunter had never thought about it. He shrugged. “I guess he ran out of numbers.” He hesitated before pushing the door open. Now that they were down here, he was having second thoughts.
Clare put a hand on his arm. “Are you going to get in trouble for showing me?”
Her fingers were warm, and when he turned his head to look at her, her lips were close.
Stop thinking about her mouth.
He had to clear his throat. “No. I mean, I don’t think so.”
Because no one was going to know about this.
Before he could think better of it, he threw the door wide.