Echo Soul Seekers

I can think about. And it’ll no doubt remain that way until I find a way to kick it to the curb—which is something I plan to do soon. Really soon. As soon as I can ditch Chay and cross the street to the Rabbit Hole. “You know about the prophecy, right?”
    Chay leans over his coffee, purposely avoiding my eyes. “A prophecy can be interpreted in many ways.”
    I lean back in my seat, giving up on my coffee before I can take a third sip. “That’s exactly what Paloma said.” I regard him carefully, taking in the long, dark hair—not as long as Dace’s but still long enough to pull back into a ponytail that falls just past his shoulders—the high cheekbones, the wide mouth, the brown weathered skin, and the kindest eyes I’ve ever seen—other than Dace’s.
    “Paloma is a wise woman.” Chay grins. Taking a moment to finish the danish and clear the crumbs from his lips, before he goes on to say, “But that still doesn’t explain why you’re here.”
    “Doesn’t it?” I cock my head, daring him to take a stab at guessing the truth, since I have no plans to reveal it.
    He leans back in his seat, eyes narrowed in consideration. Clearly sensing my meaning, though probably not in its entirety, he tosses back the rest of his coffee and pushes away from the table. “Let’s you and me take a walk.”
    I follow him outside, having no idea where he’s taking me, though I’m pretty sure it won’t be the Rabbit Hole. Or at least I hope not. I don’t need an escort. Some things I’m destined to do on my own.
    “Where we going?” I pause beside him on the curb, allowing a line of cars to pass before we cross.
    “Bookstore.” He trains his focus to the opposite side of the street where Dace watches me from his truck.
    I know without looking it’s him.
    I can feel the stream of unconditional love that always surrounds me whenever he’s near.
    It takes every last bit of my strength to ignore it. To not look his way. To not jump up and down, waving my hands frantically over my head, as I shout out his name.
    It’s bad enough that I love him. Expressing that love is out of the question.
    Or at least for now, anyway.
    “I need to stop in here first,” I say, grasping Chay by the elbow and steering him into the corner liquor store, where, once inside, I lean against the wall and fight to steady myself.
    “You okay?” Chay peers hard at me.
    I nod. Summoning the composure to say, “Would you mind grabbing a pack of cigarettes for me? I’m not old enough to buy them.”
    He quirks his brow, shoots me a dubious look.
    “It’s the demon snack of choice,” I remind him. “And you never know when you’ll need them.”

 
    thirteen
    Dace
    I slow when I see them. Sigh in relief as I watch them make their way down Main Street.
    Chay’s a good man. Solid. Dependable. Levelheaded. If Daire’s skipping school to meet him, she must have her reasons.
    I scrunch down in my seat when they stop at the curb. Feeling like a filthy stalker when Chay catches me watching. Though the look he shoots me is one of unspoken solidarity. Luckily, Daire’s too busy talking to notice my presence.
    I stare at her lips, straining to read them. Determined to punish myself when I imagine she’s talking about us. How our love was doomed from the start. How I slept with her, then dumped her less than two hours later.
    Maybe she thinks I’m choosing not to fight.
    That I’m rolling over, letting Cade win.
    God knows she insinuated as much last night in my kitchen.
    And maybe that’s why Chay fails to tell her I’m here. Staring helplessly out a dirt-covered window—already reneging on my word—unable to keep my own vows.
    Maybe he thinks I’m not worthy of her.
    When they disappear into the bookstore, I focus on the Rabbit Hole with newly informed eyes. Wondering how I’m supposed to continue to work there—step foot in there—now that I know what I know.
    I hate the sight of the place.
    I hate them.
    But no sooner have I thought it than Chepi’s voice slips into my head: What have I taught you about hate, my son?
    Followed by the dutiful reply I spoke as a kid: That it does more damage to the hater than the hated. To steer clear of it at all costs.
    I scrub my face with my hands. Wondering why she bothered to teach a child so presumably good, so supposedly incapable of such a dark emotion—what to do when faced with the specter of hate.
    Did she suspect this day would come?
    Was she preparing me for a time when