The Shuddering

didn’t bring rodents.”
    “God no,” Sawyer muttered beneath his breath. “I’m not a fan either.”
    “They’re creepy as hell.”
    “Hey,” Sawyer lifted his hands up in front of his chest. “You don’t have to tell me . Try waking up next to one of those long-bodied fuckers at three in the morning; one wrong move andyou get a face full of tiny fangs.” He moved a hand in front of his mouth, wiggling his fingers to imply teeth. Ryan shuddered.
    “You sleep with it? Sweet Christ.”
    Sawyer looked toward the house, its glittering facade blocking the view of the side porch. “Jane?” he asked, lowering his voice.
    “Kitchen,” Ryan told him.
    When the passenger door swung open, Sawyer gave Ryan a look, motioning to the girl who was making her way around the front of the Jeep. She kept one hand against the hood of the car, careful not to slip on the ice that had formed there. “Ryan, April,” Sawyer introduced them.
    Ryan found himself face-to-face with the girl Sawyer had told him about. She extended a delicate hand toward him in greeting, a reserved smile pulling at the corners of a cotton-candy mouth.
    “Nice to meet you,” she said, dipping her chin downward shyly as she shook Ryan’s hand. “I’ve heard a lot about you. Thanks for letting me tag along.”
    “The more the merrier,” he told her, smiling through a pang of annoyance. Their group minus April would have been perfect—he and Lauren could get to know each other while Sawyer and Jane reacquainted themselves on the opposite side of the house.
    Smiling at Oona, April crouched down to offer the dog a hand to sniff, ice fracturing beneath the soles of her combat boots. “Aren’t you beautiful?” she said, glancing up to Ryan after burying her fingers in the dog’s fur. “Is she yours?”
    Ryan nodded. “The only woman in my life,” he teased, and Sawyer choked back a laugh.
    “Here we go.” Sawyer waited for the punch line.
    And she’s a real bitch.
    Ryan cracked a stupid smile at his childhood friend and resisted the urge to finish the joke, motioning to the house. “Come on,” he told them. “The girls are inside.”
    Jane was sick with nerves. Standing over her half-frosted chocolate cake, a sugar-coated finger stuck in her mouth, she listened for footsteps while her stomach churned. She hadn’t seen Sawyer in more than five years, and their last encounter had been quick. He’d passed through Phoenix on the way to Los Angeles this past fall, and they had spent ten minutes of an early morning together in a sticky Denny’s booth before she excused herself; it had been a school day; she had kids to teach—and first loves to forget. The two of them hadn’t had an honest conversation in nearly ten years, their last one emotional enough to remain a vivid memory. But that had been high school. Nobody should be held accountable for the bad choices they made between freshman and senior years.
    And yet the sound of footsteps on the porch woke a flurry of sleeping butterflies, her pulse fluttering in her throat. She swallowed her anxiety, trying not to look nervous as she watched her brother and a pair of dark-clad figures drift past the window. Sawyer had fallen into an all-black phase the year he had discovered Depeche Mode, and had never grown out of it, but it suited his features well: sharp, Norse, desperately pretty even as he toed the line of thirty. Jane squared her shoulders when Ryan appeared at the side door, cleared her throat, and put on her best smile.
    A cold blast of air cut through the warmth of the room as the door swung inward and Oona padded inside, her tongue hanging out of her mouth, her tail whapping the air. Ryan stepped in after her, holding the door for Sawyer and his girl.
    Had Sawyer given her the chance, she would have immediately felt intimidated by the woman who stepped inside behind him. She was stunning—the kind of girl who demanded attention without saying a word. But before Jane could wrap her mind around the beautiful creature that tailed him, Sawyer closed thedistance and Jane found herself in his embrace. Like a long-lost lover, she reflexively pulled in a deep breath to catch his scent: soap and clove smoke, the subtle spice of well-worn leather. She wanted to shut out the world, to hold on to that moment for longer than she cared to admit.
    “Hi, Janey,” Sawyer murmured against her hair.
    “Hi, Tom,” she said softly. Sawyer Thomas had a predictable nickname. He declared