Hereafter (Shadowlands 2)

Black Converse. Nadia had been in the mayor’s office this afternoon. My worst fear was confirmed; the girl who thought I was responsible for everything wrong on the island officially had the mayor’s ear. Maybe that was why the mayor’s attitude toward me had shifted so abruptly.

I was screwed. I was so very, very screwed.

“She’s guilty, Joaquin,” Pete said, shoving the tally into his pocket. “You and Tristan have to stop protecting her.”

“Dude, she just got here,” Joaquin pointed out. “Do you really think she could be responsible for everything that’s been going on?”

“It’s because she just got here that we know she’s responsible,” Nadia shot back, shooting me a slit-eyed look. “It can’t be one of us.”

“I say we take this to the mayor right now,” Pete said, advancing on me.

Joaquin moved sideways t

o stand squarely between us. “Back off her, Pete. I’m not kidding.”

Nadia laughed, shaking her head at the ground. Thunder rumbled in the distance. “You’re so predictable, J. Do we really have to remind you what happened the last time you and Tristan got into a pissing match over a girl?” Her gaze flicked to me. “Anyone tell her about it yet?”

My heart squeezed. Lightning flashed, and I caught a glimpse of Joaquin’s profile. His jaw was working hard, and his hands clenched at his sides.

“This is nothing like that,” Joaquin said through his teeth. “And you weren’t even here yet, Nadia.” He spat her name like a curse word. “Don’t talk about things you don’t understand.”

“Well, I do understand one thing,” Nadia said, stepping forward and tipping her head back to square off with Joaquin. “You might not want to get too close with her. You never know where you might end up.”

Lightning flashed again, a deafening thunderclap hot on its heels. I was so startled I reached for Joaquin’s hand. He froze. Nadia’s eyes darted to our fingers, and for a split second I was sure he’d pull away. But instead, he lifted his chin and curled his fingers through mine. His skin was warm and rough.

“I’m not worried,” Joaquin said clearly.

“Yeah, well. You should be,” Pete said, lifting his chin. “Come on. We’ve got something to show the mayor.”

The three of them turned and strode away. I sucked in a few broken breaths, the rain battering my face, trying to ignore the searing sting of tears behind my eyes. Joaquin just stood there, half a foot in front of me, still holding my hand. When he finally turned, he stared down at our clasped fingers before looking up at me. His dark eyes penetrated my fear.

“What did he mean, they’ve got something to show the mayor?” he asked.

“I found something,” I said. “In the cave. Some kind of tally. I have no idea what it even is, but they think it’s mine and they think it means something.” My stomach clenched. If the mayor suspected me, I was as good as dead.

Joaquin stared at the ground, fixated on the few mushy, wet inches of sand between the toes of our shoes. I started to shiver, and the longer he was silent, the more violent the shaking became. Did he think I was guilty, too? He was the only person who believed in me, who wanted to help save Aaron. I couldn’t handle this, any of this, if Joaquin wasn’t on my side.

“Here.” He released my hand and unzipped his heavy jacket, flinging it over my shoulders in one, smooth motion. The inside had been warmed by his body, and its comforting, musky-tart scent enveloped me. My shivering instantly stopped.

“Come on,” he said as I pushed my arms into the sleeves. “We should get you home.”

“But what about—?”

“Don’t worry,” Joaquin told me, looking darkly in the direction the others had gone. “I’ll take care of them.”

Nine down, eleven to go. And pinning it all on perfect, saintly Rory? Gravy.

I didn’t sleep all night. I just sat up listening. Waiting for Dorn to come banging on my door. Waiting for an angry mob of Lifers to drag me off to the mayor’s for my sentencing.

But nothing had happened. All night long I’d stared at the ceiling, clutching my pillow, and nothing. So by the time Joaquin held open the door of the general store for me on Thursday morning, I was like a wired zombie. My eyes were at half-mast and I dragged my feet, but I was still hyperaware of every curious gaze, every movement around me. I was awaiting the ambush.

The door chimes tinkled over our heads. Outside, the sun was shining again, and the shop was bustling with people, sipping their coffee at the counter, leafing through old magazines, and chatting about the storm.

“Did you see all the flotsam washed up on the beach?”

“A huge tree came down on Hermit Crab Lane.”

“They’re having a big I-Survived-the-Storm Party at the Thirsty Swan tonight.”