ERLAND

Nick's place was not at all what I had expected it to be. And it was even more impressive in the light of day.

When we'd arrived at 10pm the night before, all I could see was this wall of black greeting me as Nick pulled into the gravel driveway. Turns out that wall of black was the ebony exterior of the house. Katherine would've hated it, but for some reason, I kind of liked it. It also might've had something to do with the promise of food inside.

From all the crap Kat put out about him, I would've thought he'd lived under a bridge. Or in dark, smelly cave. Or some terrible place where trolls go. Not in a giant country manor edged by fields of wheat. It was almost too pretty for a rough-around-the-edges guy like him. I wonder what he's hiding, I thought, as I unplugged my phone and padded downstairs in the same clothes I'd worn all of yesterday.

Nick looked surprised when I entered the modern-era kitchen. The house seemed pulled out of time, though the interior was proving to be a lot more current. At least there's that.

"Hey, didn't you see the clothes Juliette left out for you this morning?"

"Not in my size," I lied, snatching up a pancake off the top of the stack.

Nick frowned, though his eyes seemed to glitter with some inside joke. "You didn't try them on, did you?"

I shrugged. "I don't need new clothes," I said, feeling my voice harden. "Kat will be coming for me soon."

I didn't mention the fact that she'd texted me last night saying I would be staying a little while longer. Nor did I mention that If she wanted Nick to keep me around, she would have to appeal to him herself.

Grabbing the whipped cream off the table, I created a swirl on the top of my pancake.

Nick gave me a pointed look. "At least use a plate, kid," he said, turning down the heat of the stove. He grabbed a plate from a cabinet and set it down before me.

I took a bite of my pancake, making a grand show of not putting it down. He met my gaze with a hard amber stare before turning his back to me.

He set about pouring the last of the pancake mix into the pan. His hands jerked at the littlest error, as if he were unaccustomed to cooking, which would explain the rubbery texture of the slightly-charred disk. I had to admire his effort, at least. He even wore an apron. Would Katherine laugh if I sent her a picture?

I fished my phone out of my pocket, but Nick's abrupt attempt at smalltalk about made me fumble my phone in my grasp. The pancake in my other hand took a tumble to the counter.

Crap.

"So, Erland," Nick said, back facing me as he set about retrieving glasses from a cupboard beside the fridge, "any word from Katherine?"

I had to stall.

"Yeeaahh," I started slowly, arching over the island's white marble countertop. "You know, she mentioned something about Mom's condition and lawyers—" my fingers brushed the napkins, snagging the edge of the closest one "—you know how they are, doctors and lawyers. Always about the money." I chuckled nervously, trying to keep the waver out of my voice. Out of the corner of my eye, Nick had opened the fridge.

I carefully pried the sticky pancake from the counter, flipping it the right way up, and dropped it on the plate. As Nick picked up the two glasses—now full of orange juice—I swiped the napkin across the counter, leaving a smear. At least it was camouflagued by the white marble. Good enough.

He set the cup in front of me, then gave me a surprised look.

Could he have seen? My breath caught in my throat.

Nick pointed to the counter as he took off his apron.

"You're using a plate."

I blinked, floundering for a moment on how to reply. My thoughts somersaulted in triumph and all I could think to say was, dumbly, "I had a change of heart."

"And I thought you were the prideful kind of kid, Erland," said Nick, half-smiling, as he stood across from me at the island. "Not the one to admit you were wrong until you were absolutely forced to."

"I thought that would be something you did, Nick," I shot back, irked at his tone. "And don't call me 'kid.' I'm fifteen."

You don't know me.

We ate our pancakes in silence, though Nick still had that same half-amused smile on his face. When he asked for the whipped cream, I didn't pass it to him and eventually he gave up. It gave me a little burst of satisfaction to see him standing while I was sitting—even though we were only eye-level at this height. He studied his eggs with a silver fork, pensive like I'd never seen him before. This was probably the first thought to occur to him all his life, I thought sarcastically.

"What are you thinking about?" I probed, using a finger to wipe excess whipped cream off the plate.

Nick looked at me, as is surprised I had actually noticed. "Nothing important."

"Aww, come on, Nick," I said, resting my elbows on the counter and my head on my hands, "I thought you cared enough about me to tell me the truth."

Nick gave me a sharp look, as if he were about to be angry, but then softened suddenly with a sigh. I almost felt bad for manipulating him like this, but I didn't care so much when he started to divulge information.

"I have to go into the publishing house today to sort out some new strategies for management that the Committee is trying to pass. It's not that interesting . . . and actually, that's not really what I was thinking about." He looked up at me as if he were about to say something that would make me upset. I could see then why I liked him so much when I was little. His sincerity was disarming.

"Tell me the truth, then," I said, passing him the whipped cream.

His eyes widened at the gesture. I grinned.

"I was thinking about Victoria. My wife."

"Yeah, I know who she is."

"And anyway," Nick continued, looking a little bit less uncomfortable now that he saw I didn't get angry at the mention of the promiscuous she-devil, "she's in Philadelphia to show this company some of her designs. She won't be coming back until next week, but because of the meeting here, I had to leave early and to be frank—" his lips pursed to the side "—I'm worried about leaving her alone."

I leaned back in my chair, feigning a bit of disinterest. "Why?" I said slowly. "She sick or something?"

Nick downed the rest of his orange juice, as if his throat were suddenly dry, or in the same way he might take a shot.

I eyed him warily, waiting for him to drop the punchline. "You're upset because . . . ?"

A door at the front of the house opened.

Nick immediately perked up from his gloom.

"That should be Juliette," he said, trotting out of the kitchen. I followed him, if somewhat less eager.

The name Juliette brought of pictures of Juliette McAllister, a junior at Harvey High School, where I and four thousand other students were continually strapped to a desk and tortured for seven hours a day. On the days I had class behind her, though, it was a different kind of torture. Gorgeous, honey-blonde hair, with an intelligent twinkle in her sea-glass eyes, she had me and every other guy wrapped around her little finger. This jaw-dropping image was what I had in mind as I followed Nick to the door.

Seeing at who actually met us at the door, though, left a sharp, metallic taste in my mouth. It was a pixie-girl, like the rare breed you would find among the weird, hipster art kids or scattered throughout the drama clubs. She had a raven mane that looked sharp to the touch, under which electric-blue eyes sizzled with intensity. My face flushed with fear and attraction.

Her eyes flew to me, as if she'd suddenly picked up what I was thinking across the foyer. I froze, and tried to creep backwards into the hall as Nick distracted her. My heartbeat pounded in my ears, making Nick's voice sound something like a fly buzzing in my periphery.

A clear bell pealed, like a soothing river and a raging waterfall all at once. It was the girl at the door, who I was beginning to realize was much more out of my league than any girl my age.

". . . and who's that, Mr. Masiello?" her voice rang, sharp and pointed, towards me.

Nick glanced over at me, looking sheepish and at a loss for words. He fumbled with an explanation before he finally said, "The son of an old friend. I'm taking him in for the time being, while she's out of state."

The girl looked to me as if she expected me to contradict Nick's explanation. Her blue eyes glittered with suspicion.

"Yep," I said quickly, trying to mask the cracking in my voice.

Her gaze didn't waver. Did she expect me to say more?

Thankfully, Nick saved me from further humiliation. "Erland," he said, waving a hand at the door, "this is Juliette's daughter Isabella."

"Bella," the girl corrected. "I've told you I want to be called Bella, Mr. Masiello."

Nick smiled but couldn't hide his embarrassment.

Her gaze flickered over to me, and I felt once more like I had been shot through the heart by lightning. "It's nice to meet you, Erland," she said, lips curling up in a hint of a smile. All of the darkness around her was dispelled at the small gesture, but somehow, I had the sneaking suspicion that if she smiled for real, I'd catch a glimpse of fangs. Her beauty suddenly looked all the less appealing to me. This girl was vicious.

Nick cleared his throat.

"Nice to meet you," I mumbled, spinning on my heel and walking away from the door. Before I had made it two steps into kitchen—where I couldn't have eaten even if my stomach wasn't in turmoil—Bella's lilting voice called me back.

"Oh, Erland," she said, voice sweet though her tone was sharp, "my mother asked I bring something for you." Begrudgingly, I made my way back. When I poked my head back into the foyer, Bella had a shopping back held out in her two hands. I took a step forward, then hesitated, my eyes darting to Nick.

Bella held the bag out like it was something disgusting. "It's new, doofus." She shook the shopping bag slightly. "Or just about."

I didn't move. My hands were dead at my side.

". . . why did you ask about the clothes this morning?" I spoke to Nick but my eyes remained glued to Bella, who only glanced at me, dropped the bag, and turned away with a disinterested glare.

"I wanted to know if I could trust you to tell me if something was awry," said Nick, making an outward gesture with his hand, "or if you could find it within you to trust me to help." His last words rang with melancholy.

Bella raised a curious eyebrow, though she made a show of not turning to us completely.

"But it seems," Nick continued, frown turning stony, "that you're having a hard time being honest with me."

My phone began to buzz in the other room. Bella looked almost glad for the reprieve, just as I was.

I left the charged foyer. In the kitchen, I found the whipped cream on the counter and beside it, my phone.

Call from Kat.

I had half a mind to hang up the call and call later, to run past the front door to the stairs to answer in my room, or maybe to just take it right here in the kitchen, but when I moved to do anything, my limbs wouldn't cooperate.

The very first thing I had done this morning was lie to Nick, even after he had been kind enough to take me in. He had gotten me clothes—something he would never have been asked to do, and something the old Nick would have scoffed at. Still, all of that had been a test. That was so very Nick-like.

It suddenly occurred to me that he was only doing this to repay his debt to Mom. And Kat. The thought soured my insides. He wasn't doing this out of kindness, but out of obligation. I scowled. He was toying with me.

My phone continued to ring.

All at once, I knew how I could best him at his own game.

I started back towards the foyer, holding the phone out as if it were an offering between us. When I reached the front door again, Bella was already halfway down the lawn, kicking stones under her red flats, and Nick was watching me with intent.

The phone felt heavy in my slick palm. "It's Kat," I said.

Nick looked surprised, a look unlike the granite frown that had possessed him not one minute ago. Sunlight from the window streamed in, catching his eyes so they glowed like fire ready to scorch.

My phone continued to buzz. After a moment, I pressed it to my ear.

"Hey, Kat," I said. "What's up?'

Her voice crackled. "Er — can you — me?"

"Bad connection," I said, pulling the phone from my ear and pressing speakerphone. Nick's eyes widened, as if he were suddenly intruding on something private. "Speak up."

"Hey, Er." Kat's voice came out clear now. "How about now? Can you hear me?"

I glanced up at Nick, whose cheeks had flushed now. He looked less like the imposing man I knew five years ago and more like the man that met me at the airport. The one who saved my sister's job. For some reason, guilt stirred up inside me.

"Yeah," I answered. "What's going on?"

"I just wanted to let you know, Er, that I'm going to fly down sometime next week. It won't be tomorrow or Sunday, because I have to clean out my place—"

"For a tenant!" Another voice piped up.

"Hey, Betsy. How's Goldilocks doing?"

"She's been depressed since her favorite person has left her all alone," said Betsy woefully, "but she'll be all better when you come back up for school!"

I paused. "For school? . . . I'm not coming up next week?"

I glanced up at Nick, who had turned his attention to his own phone, though, judging by the way he paused when he heard the worry in my voice, was still listening. Taking the phone off speakerphone, I gave Nick a pointed look.

"No, sweetie," Betsy continued. "I'll let Katherine explain this one, if you don't mind." The line crackled as the phone was presumably passed between the two of them.

"Hey, Er," Kat started, sounding more tired than I'd ever heard her. Nick must've seen something change in my expression because he almost directly put his phone away. "I'm sorry to tell you this, but things are more complicated here now than they were when Grandpa sent you out. Anyway, what Betsy was saying before was right. I signed a 1-year lease agreement with the landlord six months ago. I have six months left on it, and even if I move back into Mom's house, I have to keep paying rent. The only way to pay for it—and for whatever insurance won't cover for Mom's medical bills—is to sublet it to someone else. Betsy promised me that she'd take care of getting someone if I could get all my crap out by the end of the week.

"That's only one thing that's going on over here. Mom is still in the hospital. She's fine, but she hasn't woken up yet. I'm on my way to speak to Dr. Firland now on any updates, and to give Betsy permission to visit Mom should she need it."

"What's going on, Kat?" I asked, heart beginning to race in my chest. "It sounds like we're moving here."

Kat sighed on the other end of the line. "We aren't moving permanently, Er, just for the summer and fall. So I can wait out six months left on the lease. Mom's pension can cover the some of our expenses for now, but we have to be prepared to do this all ourselves."

"No."

"Erland," Kat said firmly, which made her feel much more like a Katherine than a Kat.

"No," I said again, trembling now. "She'll be fine. You know she will."

Pause. "She may recover."

Kat had conceded. I didn't feel the relief I'd expected. "So, what then? You come here and work? But how can you save anything when all of your money is either going to renting an apartment or to pay for the hospital?"

"Don't worry about the hospital. The insurance is covering it." Kat sighed. "About the apartment, though. I don't know what I'm going to do. It's summer. Everyone is down there. If it were winter, that would be another story. Then it might be easier to find something. . . but this is also something we can talk about later, Er. Are you alone?"

The sudden shift in her tone from resigned to serious caught me off guard.

"I'm with Nick at his house, so no, I'm not alone," I said, not mentioning that he was standing right before me. At my mention of his name, he stood straighter, almost as if Kat herself was about to walk through the door. "Why do you ask?"

"Go find him for me." It sounded as though she had a bone to pick with him.

I blinked. "What? What do you need him for?"

"Just put him on," she said in a tone of finality, a sharpness on her tongue.

Immediately, I held out the phone to Nick.

He looked just as confused as I felt, though his bewilderment was laced with fear. He appeared to feel guilty for a moment before he took the phone from me. I didn't hear the other end of the line as he spoke, though I tried to draw closer.

"Katherine?"

Pause.

"Yes, he's with me. Just had breakfast." Pause. "No, I made it—yes, I did—I can cook, Katherine!" he said, sounding irked, though not in any particularly angry way. Even though I couldn't make out what she was saying, she definitely wasn't letting him get off easy.

I chuckled.

"Listen, Katherine," he said, drawing a hand through his hair, "from hearing this end of what you were talking about, it seems that you need some help and I'm perfectly willing and capable of—"

His offer was cut off short and even I heard the other line over the small phone speaker:

Katherine was laughing.

"Katherine," said Nick plainly, if sounding a little hurt. He'd stepped back from the light of the sun, his eyes dimming in their color. "Katherine," he said again, though her laugher persisted over the phone, "I've changed, Katherine. Maybe you haven't noticed but I can tell you—"

"You," she answered, with a savagery I've rarely heard, "will never change. Though I might admit that you appear to have reformed, the only reason my brother is staying with you is because I trust that you will treat him with respect in the exact same way you never treated me."

Nick opened his mouth to say something, but Katherine didn't let him get one word in. She said something else, something worse that I couldn't catch, and the call ended with a click.

Nick looked as if he had just been socked in the gut. The birds chirping outside seemed to dance around his head, their shadows criss-crossing the window. He handed me back my phone.

"Get dressed, Erland," he said gruffly, eyes glinting with determination. "I have something I need to show you."