Fangs, Fate & Other Bad Decisions novel Chapter 35

Chapter 35

The two of us sit side by side on a warped wooden bench beside the mini–golf course’s sad excuse for a snack kiosk, our legs brushing slightly. My slushie is doing its damndest to brain–freeze me into forgetting how moments ago I’d spilled a piece of my heart like a kid tripping with a juice box–messy, unplanned, but somehow inevitable.

Thane hasn’t said anything for a while, just sipping his bottle of water and frowning out toward the water hazard like it was personally responsible for the silence stretching between us. Usually, I’d fill it with sarcasm, a snarky comment, or a deeply inappropriate joke about his bone structure, but this time I stay quiet, because some moments ask you to shut up and let them settle around you.

Finally, he says, without looking at me, “My mother used to braid my hair.”

I blink at his admission, asking incredulously, “You…had hair long enough to braki?”

He smiles faintly, a rare, almost secret smile, before saying, “When I was very young, yes. She was the kindest person I knew. Too kind for the time and place we lived in back then.”

At that, my body shifts instinctively towards him. I ask, “Where was that?”

pauses for a second, then carefully answers, “Europe. It was a long time ago.”

He still isn’t looking at me, and something about his posture makes me think this is harder for him than it seems. Not his vague answers, but remembering his past.

“She used to sing.” he suddenly adds when I almost think the moment has passed, “Nothing in particular. Just random melodies. When she brushed my hair, while she made tea, and especially when she thought no one was listening”

I swallow thickly and gently say, “She sounds like someone worth remembering”

He finally looks at me then, his eyes–fuck, those eyes–are soft around the edges in a way I haven’t seen until now, saying, “She truly was, 1 don’t talk about her much. I don’t talk about…anything much.”

–“Yeah, me either,” I say as I offer him a faint shrug, “It feels like giving people pieces of yourself with no guarantee they won’t lose them.”

Thane nods slowly at that, then surprises the hell out of me by reaching across the gap and brushing his knuckles over mine where it rests on the tabletop. It’s barely a touch, but it feels like a thousand words he doesn’t quite know how to say.

“Thank you for telling me about your dad,” he murmurs as he watches the glow movements of his hand, “And for allowing me to remember my mother.”

That thing in my chest–my sarcasm buffer, my fortress of ‘I don’t care–cracks a little. I clear my throat, attempting to shove it all down again with a joke, when I say, “Well, I figured it was time to stop emotionally blue–balling each other. Thought I’d go first to break the ice.”

That makes him chuckle, and it’s soft, low, and honest.

And for a single heartbeat, I don’t feel like the chaotic girl with the broken sense of humor and the trauma collection–Fonly feel like a woman sitting beside a man she’s starting to want in ways that terrify her.

“Ready to head out?” he asks gently, his fingers still grazing mine like he’s the one who’s not quite ready to go.

I nod, but don’t go to get up as I say hesitantly, “Yeah. But…we don’t have to go home yet.”

I smirk, Trying to ease the sudden tension in my own words, “Don’t look so scandalized. I only mean…there’s a drive–in not far from here. They’re showing something stupid and old, probably with aliens or bad explosions.”

Thane tilts his head, looks at me curiously, and then asks, “And you’d like me to take you there?”

This time, his smile is slow and sure, making my stomach dip, before he says, “I’d like that, too.”

12

Thane’s thigh brushes mine whenever the SUV goes around a corner, and I pretend not to notice. Or maybe I pretend I’m pretending not to notice. Either way, I say nothing about the fact that his pinky finger beeps inching closer to mine on the seat between us like it’s got a mind of

Mike hums low as he drives, his hands steady on the wheel like he’s done this a thousand times, Maybe he has. Perhaps he’s chauffeured Thane around the world and back. But something about him reminds me of old oak trees–he’s quiet, dependable, and full of stories he’ll never offer unless asked for point blank.

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