I don’t look at him, but hold the stick tighter. “Because I need it,” I reply evasively.

Reed frowns and asks, “What do you intend to do with it?”

“Whatever I have to,” I say in a near whisper, feeling my heart race as adrenaline floods me.

Reed’s forehead wrinkles. “You mean if something happens at the Seven-Eleven, you’ll need your stick to defend yourself? Is that it?” he asks, gently probing for the reason that has me holding on to the stick.

“Yes, I need it,” I state, chewing my lower lip.

“I see,” he says, standing up.

Closing my door securely, he opens the trunk to put his gear in it. He walks around to the driver’s side and slips in and starts the engine. Reed lets the engine idle for a moment before turning it off. I look at him in surprise to see that he appears torn.

“I’m sorry,” he says, “I didn’t consider that this might be hard for you. You’re afraid of going there, aren’t you?”

I grip the stick in my hands tighter. “Reed, the last time I was there, I ended up unconscious on the ground. I’ve had nightmares about it. If that’s going to happen, then yeah, I’m scared…I’m terrified.”

“But I’ll be there with you, you see? So you have nothing to fear,” he says arrogantly.

“Oh, so you can stop the premonitions from coming? That’s fantastic. How are you going to do that? I’m interested in how this all works,” I ask him with sarcasm dripping from my every word.

He frowns, “Your stick isn’t going to be much help against the visions,” he says pointedly. “Genevieve, I can’t stop what’s coming, but I’ll be there. Nothing will touch you; I won’t allow it.”

“Oh, you won’t allow it. Do you always get what you want, Reed?” I ask because he sounds so sure of himself and his strength.

“Yes,” he replies frankly.

“It seems to me that I don’t have a whole lot of choice in what’s coming.” I say, challenging his assurance in this matter. “What is it that you want? Because I’m not sure why you’re bothering with this—with me. What would it matter to you if something did happen to me?”

It’s probably nothing to him if I get hurt. I mean, why would he care?

His face darkens, like the thought of something happening to me is repulsive. “We’ll figure out what this is all about, and I’ll take care of it. I’ll protect you,” he says with resolve.

“Why? Why would you protect me? Reed, the last time I checked, I was barely tolerable to you. Don’t tell me I’ve grown on you?” I say mockingly, not believing it for a second. I’m just a pawn in this, and I had better remember that if I want to survive whatever is coming.

Starting the engine, Reed would’ve shifted the car into gear if I hadn’t put my hand on his. Seeing his tense jaw, I know I’ve said something wrong. I’ve upset him, I think. He studies my hand covering his for a moment, and when his eyes lift to mine, I see something in his eyes: a longing—a need.

“Genevieve, what if I told you that you’re not the only one who feels the fluttering, weightless feeling in here,” he says, indicating his abdomen, “when we’re together?” My heart leaps in my chest as I search his face for signs that he’s teasing me, but he appears absolutely serious. Looking grim, he adds, “That day at orientation, I felt you before I ever saw you, and then I saw you, and I knew that you are…and I wanted to…you don’t want to hear this.”

“No, this is exactly what I need to hear from you,” I say anxiously.

His eyes narrow, “I wanted to destroy you,” he says, and a shiver goes through me, “and I wanted to take you in my arms and love you, and I wanted to tear you apart, and I wanted to crush anything that would harm you, all at the same time.”

He put the car in gear, speeding out of the parking lot with the engine of the car racing. He wouldn’t look at me. He is trying to get a grip on his emotions. Taking a turn too fast, my body slams up against his shoulder; my hand shoots out reflexively to rest against his chest as I try to brace myself from sliding all the way onto his lap.

I look up. His face is very near mine, and the contact of my hand on his chest burns. Down shifting the car, he slows it, and I push myself off of him to sit back in the seat. His jaw is tense, and he seems angry or maybe something else…like the admission of being attracted to me cost him something.

“Have you felt this way before—this pull toward someone else?” I wonder aloud, not completely understanding what he has told me.

“Never,” Reed says forcefully.

“Never?” I ask, and he growls in response.

I sit back in the seat in confusion over what he just said. He feels me too, like we’re connected in some way, I think, looking over at him.

Emotions that I have never felt so intensely before begin to rise to the surface. I feel elated and smug to be the only person who has ever made him feel this way. I try to suppress the giggles that bubble up in me as a result of the elation. I put my hand to my mouth, turning toward the window to hide my face from his gaze, but it is no use. I never can contain my emotions. When the first giggle escapes me, I try not to look at Reed because I am afraid of his reaction to what he must believe is callousness on my part.

“You’re laughing at me,” he says sullenly.

“No.” I reply, trying not to let another giggle escape.

“Yes, you are,” he replies in irritation.

“Not at you, near you,” I reason, still struggling for control.

“This is funny to you?” he asks me, gritting his teeth.

“Funny? No, it’s just, I thought you hated me,” I reply pointedly.

“Hate is a strong word. It was more that I didn’t know what to do, given the range of emotions I felt. It was extreme frustration,” he reasons.

“Are you sure it wasn’t loathing?” I ask.

“Not loathing,” he responds.

“Let me get this straight. You have Evie radar?” I ask him, and he is puzzled for a second until I explain “Reed Radar” to him.

“Yes,” he affirms sourly.

“It’s annoying, huh?” I ask him knowingly, having been living with it, too.

“That’s one facet of it,” he says and pulls into the parking lot of the 7-Eleven.

I sober immediately while gazing at the red, white, and green-lighted sign through the windshield. I would never have considered this establishment to be menacing, but right now, it’s like peering into the gateway to one of the levels of Hell in Dante’s Divine Comedy.

“So, what’s the plan?” I ask, my mouth going dry as I stare at the establishment.

“We go in and we see if something happens,” he replies.

“That’s it; that’s your plan?” I glance at him mockingly.

“Yes,” he says, not taking his eyes off the storefront.

“Can I go on record and say that I think that plan sucks?” I ask.

“Why is it a bad plan?” he asks.

“Because, don’t you think we should do some recon, get a layout of the place, locate all the exits, stockpile some weapons, and wear some body armor?” I ask, appraising the storefront.

“You have your stick, right?” he asks ironically.

He’s teasing me!

“Reed, what if someone comes in with a gun or something? What am I going to do with this stick then?” I ask.

“Genevieve, I can handle that, remember? I can be very persuasive,” he smiles.

“What if your persuasion doesn’t work? What’s plan B?” I urge him.

“It will work,” he says.

“It doesn’t work on me,” I point out.

“I noticed,” he grins.

“So?” I ask.

“It will work on everyone else. You’re special. Let’s go,” he orders.

My feet feel like lead weights as I get out of the car. Clutching my stick and taking a couple of deep breaths, I approach the front doors. Reed holds one open for me, and as I enter, I hear music piping from the speakers near the back of the store. It’s an instrumental version of Blinded By The Light. Usually something like this would appeal to my macabre sense of humor, but right now, I don’t find it amusing.

Moving forward slowly, I’m ready to turn and run for the door at a moment’s notice. I think Reed can tell that I’m freaking out inside because he puts his arm around my shoulder reassuringly. “Where did you find the light?” he asks me softly with his mouth near my ear.

My cheek instinctively brushes against his, causing a shiver to run through me that has nothing to do with being afraid. Our eyes meet, and I blush before pointing to the back aisle of the store, near the refrigerated section. He holds my shoulder, pressing me to his side as we go to the back. I stop directly beneath the light that had kicked my butt yesterday. Dread, like a sickening drug, seeps into every cell of my body while I wait beneath the light for something incredibly bad to happen to me.

Seconds creep by and…nothing—the light isn’t even flickering menacingly. After a moment, I let out the breath I’ve been holding, smiling at Reed in relief. He smiles back at me, and my heart skips a beat. Then, a loud crash from the front of the store registers in my mind.

My feet leave the floor as I rocket backward through the air with spine-snapping force. Just when some instinct prepares my body for the impact of hitting the refrigerator doors directly behind me, I slow down and my back rests gently against the cold, hard glass. I press my hands against the glass of the door, feeling moon-white from nausea. Ahead of me, Reed’s broad back shields me from whatever is in front of us. With my legs trembling, I gaze at Reed’s hands on either side of mine; they form a protective barrier around me, paper-clipping me to him. In my next panting breath, Reed straightens up and turns to me with an untroubled expression.

“It’s okay,” he says slowly, “it was only the clerk making coffee. She dropped the metal filter.” I blink, but otherwise, I couldn’t move…or think. Reed’s eyebrows pull together in concern as he says, “The tin urn made a loud noise.”