Don't Be Scared

“HowItreat you?” I can’t help but whirl around, surprise in every line, every movement of my body. “Phoenix…” It’s hard to do more than stare at him, his lips parted for breaths that puff out into the air in front of him. “In case you’ve forgotten, you stopped treating me likeanythingafter Daisy—” I don’t finish the sentence.

But his frown twitches at his lips and he steps forward to grab my hoodie with his long fingers. “Shedied, Bailey. Daisydied. You can’t just pretend it didn’t happen by not saying it. That’s not respecting her memory, and it iscertainlynot going to bring her back.”

“I know she died! I know just as well as you!” Embarrassment fuels my anger. So does rage at the memories he’s trying so hard to dig up. “I was there, Phoenix.”

“I know you were. Bailey, wait!” He doesn’t let me turn away. He grabs me and drags me to the side, further from the path. “I didn’t mean to say…” he curses, looking away with a grimace. “I didn’t mean to upset you,” he says at last. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have joked about Emily’s death.”

My anger ebbs, though that’s not saying much. All of it was superfluous. Trivial. Nothing he’s done couldreallyever upset me for more than a fleeting moment. Subconsciously I step back, and I’m surprised when my back brushes up against a large, solid shape.

“Careful,” Phoenix murmurs, stepping forward too, his hand going up to my shoulder. I barely look at him, however, as my head tilts back so I can look up above me.

Somehow, Phoenix has brought me to Agnes’ hanging tree without me realizing it. Reaching back, I rest my hand on the white, smooth bark, gazing up at the centuries old tree that’s been here for longer than anyone alive in Hollow Bridge.

“I never understand why we don’t do more to like, bring tourism to the tree,” I admit, echoing my thoughts from earlier. “And no one ever touches it with Halloween decorations, either."

Phoenix sidles closer, staring up at the tree as well. “It would feel disrespectful,” he admits, apparently not noticing how close he is to me. I canfeelhis warmth now. How his hoodies and internal heat are like a radiator that I’m so goddamn envious of it hurts. “And I always figured the town was too afraid of tourists ruining it if they had signs and a trail pointed straight here.” He stares up at the tree, his eyes thoughtful.

“Why did you come to the park tonight?” he asks without looking down, and when he shifts casually, it takes me way longer than I should to realize he’s trapping me against the wide trunk of Agnes’ hanging tree.

The realization makes my heart pick up in my chest, fluttering upwards into my throat. My hands, though, press against the bark. My nails clench against it and dig into rain-softened bark. “What?” I ask, even though I know exactly what he’d asked.

“Why did you”—he leans his head down until his eyes find mine—“come to the park tonight? Haven’t you heard, Bailey? Even though the curfew isn’t being enforced, it’s certainly encouraged. I can’t imagine your parents are thrilled that you’re out here.”

“What about your parents?” I counter, not feeling much of a need to look away. “What do they think of you out here at night with no one to watch your back? Or do you think you’re invincible because you haven’t been here in a few years?”

“I think I’m more capable than you of taking care of myself. And not for any of the reasons you’ll accuse me of implying, so save your breath.”

“A detective came to my house today,” I reply, refusing to rise to his goading words. I see the small surprise on his face. The way his brows jerk up toward his bangs is unmistakable, and so is the spark of sapphire in his normally dark eyes. “She wanted to ask me about why I’m not worked up about Emily or Jack’s deaths. And she asked me if I had any idea who would want to hurt them, if this, hypothetically, wasn’t anaccident.”

I think we both know it isn’t.

I also think that, even though Phoenix isn’t the killer, he knows more than he’s letting on.

“Did you tell her your suspicions?” he inquires when it’s clear I’m waiting for his reaction. “Did you tell her to come knocking on my door? She did, you know. Is that where you told her to go?”

“No.” I suck in a breath. “I told her I had no idea. That I can’t think of anyone that would want to kill them.”

The resurgence of surprise is different this time. It’s…warmer. Fondness surges in his gaze before he shoves it back down. “I won’t tell you I’m surprised, since I’m sure you’ll take it as an insult. But…thank you. For not sending the mob down to my hotel room with pitchforks.”

“Well, you couldn’t have, right?” I ask, still watching every movement of his face. “I was telling the truth. You couldn’t have done anything. You have an alibi. I saw you and Rory at the fairgrounds before Emily died. I saw Rory in the woods,” I add. “Then Nic said you were at the park when Jack died. I can do the math.” One of my shoulders lifts and falls, but I’m too interested in the look on his face to think about anything else.

He looks surprised. Impressed, I think, but if it’s just at my ability to tell time and do basic math, I’m a little offended.

“You saw Rory in the woods?” he asks, not asking what I’d expected him to. His arm muscles tighten, and he presses harder against the bark over my head, still trapping me against Agnes’s tree. “But you didn’t see me?”

“So what if I didn’t see you?” I can’t help the way I’m basically snapping at him like a feral dog. His hot-then cold-then hot again attitude isn’t doing it for me, and he makes it so difficult to figure out the situation, or my response. “Were you hiding from me?”

“Obviously,” he shrugs. “Specifically you. What were you doing in the woods that night? Last I saw, you were getting pumpkins out of your car. I figured your parents were there setting up, like mine were.”

A feeling of surprise ripples through me. I blink away the small spark of excitement that he remembers, that he’d seen me and thought enough about it to mention it now, or to have assumed as to what I was doing. But it doesn’t take long for me to realize he’s asked me a question I should answer.

And, well, is still holding me against atree.Which helps in making all of those cute, fuzzy feelings die in my stomach.

“I was just walking,” I tell him with a shrug. “Then I smelled something dead. So I followed it.”

He chokes at my words, as if somehow they’ve grabbed his throat and surprised the shit out of him. “You smelled somethingdeadand followed it?” he repeats, eyes widening a fraction of an inch. “What the hell?”

“It was a crow,” I go on flippantly, as if he hasn’t said anything at all. I figure this is better than answering the outrage that he has absolutely no right to. “A dead crow without any discernible cause of death. Which is weird, by the way. Crows don’t just drop dead mid-flight like that. Do you know what most people around here would call that?” I can’t help the way my attention magnetizes to him, even when I don’t want it to. I can’t help the way I meet his eyes, wanting to be the one to catch anything there that might change.