Twisted Magic (Book 2 of the Ink Series)

The truth

Well, was he going to say anything? Or were we going to walk in this dreaded silence. I wasn't the best at conversation, but I started the conversation anyway.

This made it even harder to figure him out. One minute he was this almost too confident guy who never let up, and now he was quiet and broody—like Slade.

"My house is not even a block away. Maybe we could finish this some other time." I suggested.

"I'm gathering my thoughts," he said. "It's not the easiest thing to come out and say. And quite honestly, I worry I could be wrong about you."

"Wrong about me," I raised an eyebrow. If he was thinking I was a neurotic, semi depressed chick he was right on the money. I didn't know what he was trying to say, I wished he would just come out and say it already.

We came to a stop in front of my house. I watched him take in his surroundings. I wondered if his house was average or something like Nona's. Or did he live in an Rv like Slade.

"So this is where you rest your head at night." He gazed all the way up to the roof.

"This is where," I plopped down on the stairs, and patted the spot next to me.

"You're not going to invite me in?" He brought a hand to his chin, stroking his five o'clock shadow. I wondered how many girls offered their homes for him when he wandered around the world. He took a seat giving up on worming his way into my house.

"I hardly know you. And you don't know this, but my father. He's got the temper of a pit-bull. He hates guys." I laid it on thick. It wasn't the truth, but he didn't know it wasn't.

"What about your mother?" He leaned in eager to hear more. I looked off. He drew my face back with a soft tug of my chin. "You like to evade the questions a lot. For once, do me the honor of letting me get to know you?"

He was like a chivalrous knight. His vocabulary nothing I ever heard before. I came from the south and was planted in California. He came from everywhere. It was strange if you asked me.

I blinked, giving a simple shrug to show it really didn't matter one way or another. "She's just...home, in Georgia, with my little brother and her new boyfriend."

"And that makes you feel rejected." He looked at me.

"That's one word to describe it." The other word, and there were a few, was pissed. I was pissed she gave up on me. It didn't matter to her if she heard from me or not, like the old photographs Dad worried so much about, I was just a memory. One you didn't have the balls to throw away, but one you didn't mind shoving under your bed or in your closet so you didn't have to deal with it.

"I didn't have the greatest time as a kid either."

"How old are you anyway?" I asked, glad to change the subject.

"Twenty three, and yourself?"

"Eighteen." Although most days I felt like a forty-year-old with all I been through. I had seen all the grief and heartache of life—thanks to my parents and Slade.

I stared off, concentrating on the massive moon in front of us providing a breathtaking backdrop as it sparkled against the water. I looked back down to find Hutch twirling the ring on his finger. I reached out and grabbed his hand, bringing it closer so I could get a better look at it. He watched me, enjoying the attention I was finally giving him.

I touched the ring. The deep etchings proving there was more to it than just a simple piece of metal adorning his long finger. "What kind of ring is this?" I studied the black stone.