The thought was both exciting and terrifying.

And the worst part was that a selfish little piece of Michael wished one of his brothers would turn out to be as powerful as he was—just so he didn’t have to carry this burden alone.

As soon as he had the thought, he squashed it.

The back door slid open and their mother stuck her head out. “Michael?”

Chris had flung the ball hard, so Michael didn’t look over. “Yeah?”

“Can you come in here for a moment?”

She was using her Serious Voice, and since she was pretty laid-back, it made Michael look over. “What’s up?”

“Your father and I want to talk to you.”

Five minutes later, Michael was fuming at the kitchen table. He wanted to put a fist right through the wood surface. “But I didn’t do anything. I didn’t even know she worked there.”

His father sat across the table, his expression implacable. “It doesn’t matter. You should have left. You know we’re in a precarious position here—”

“That’s not my fault!” Michael shoved his chair back from the table and half stood. “I didn’t want this stupid deal to begin with—”

“Keep your voice down.” Dad looked ready to come across the table himself. “I’m not having this argument with you again. This deal sets a precedent for your brothers. We have a family to consider—”

“You think I don’t know that?” God, didn’t his parents have any idea what his life was like? Couldn’t they see just how much he gave up, just because of their agreement?

His mother reached out and put a hand over his. Her voice was gentle, her eyes compassionate—a direct contradiction to his father’s. “We’re not angry with you.”

Michael jerked his hand away. His breathing felt too quick. Had Emily said he’d done something? Knowing that family, she’d probably said he stole her five dollars.

One place. That’s all he wanted. One place to call his own, to do something that had nothing to do with elements or deals. One place where he could forget all this.

And now it was gone.

His throat felt tight. “I hate this.”

“I don’t care if you hate it.” His father waited until Michael looked back at him. “You’re not to go near that family again. Do you understand me?”

“Me! What about them?” He was almost shouting now, and he didn’t care. “You know what Tyler did to—”

“Not again. If you see them, you go somewhere else.”

Michael gritted his teeth and looked at the back door just so he wouldn’t have to look at his parents. “I want to leave.”

His father made a disgusted noise. “We’re not talking about this again. If we move to a new community, there’s no guarantee we could keep your abilities hidden—”

“Not all of us,” Michael snapped. He pointed to his chest. “Just me.”

“Go ahead,” said his father, his tone equally sharp. “They’d report you before dark. Rogue Elemental on the run? You’d be lucky to make it ’til sunrise.”

“John,” said his mother. “That’s enough.”

“He’s bluffing.”

Michael leaned down and put his hands against the table. “Try me.”

His father stared back. “This isn’t a game.”

“Trust me. I’m not having any fun.”

His father’s voice lowered and lost some of the anger. “I’m not kidding, Michael. Running away from this won’t work. It’s a death wish.”

Michael flung his chair in against the table. “Maybe I should just take my chances.”

He stormed across the kitchen, sure his father was going to call him back, to lecture more, to issue ultimatums and threats until Michael caved and promised to try harder.

How do you try harder at something that consumes every waking thought?

But his father didn’t say anything. Michael kept going.

Only to find his three brothers waiting, wide-eyed, just outside the kitchen doorway, their expressions some mix of betrayal and anger and confusion.

Great.

“You’re leaving?” said Nick.

“Look. Guys . . .” Michael sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I didn’t mean right this second—”

“So you are,” said Chris. “You’re leaving.”

Gabriel had backed up against the wall, and his arms were folded across his chest. “What’s going to happen to the rest of us?”

“Are they going to kill you?” said Chris, his voice hollow.

“Tyler won’t stop,” said Nick. “Just because you’re gone, the rest of them will still—”

“Boys.”

Michael felt their mother come up behind him, felt her slim hand on his shoulder. “No one is leaving,” she said. “People say things in anger all the time. Michael didn’t mean it.”

Three sets of eyes locked on his.

“Tell them,” she said.

Michael looked at his three brothers. He could read the new emotion there: desperation. They wanted him to deny it.

He wanted to.

He just didn’t want to lie.

So he shrugged off his mother’s hand and went for his bedroom.

And he didn’t come out all night.

CHAPTER 3

Emily stared at the door to the shop. Sweat was trickling down her back despite the blasting air-conditioning.

I come on Wednesdays and Fridays.

Maybe he wouldn’t show. Her father sure hadn’t been subtle when he’d called the Merricks. But maybe that would work against her. Just like the other day. Michael had seemed just as surprised to see her—and then she’d gone and provoked him. Sure, her parents had a deal with his, but it felt flimsy. Kind of like those treaties with countries who kept nuclear warheads.

We promise not to use them unless you piss us off.

Maybe she should keep a putter on the counter.

Maybe she shouldn’t have told her parents.

But at least they hadn’t made her quit.

The clock struck four, the time he’d shown up on Wednesday. No Michael.

At four-thirty, the door swung open, but it was only a young mother with children coming to use the putt-putt course.

She had to do something to settle her nerves. She plugged her iPod into the sound system and scrolled through for her favorite musical.

The hands of the clock were creeping toward five, when her shift ended. Maybe her father’s phone call had worked. Besides, this wasn’t the only place around town with batting cages.

But then the doorknob creaked.

Her hand closed around the handle of a putter. If she screamed, would the woman with the preschoolers hear her?

The door swung open. Michael stood there.

But he didn’t come through the doorway. Just like the other day, she watched him sweep the corners with his eyes.

What was he looking for?

His gaze settled on the putter on the glass counter, then lifted to meet hers. “I was kind of kidding about you trying to kill me every time.”

She flushed and slid it into the holder.

He came all the way into the shop and put a five-dollar bill on the counter. “Can I get five tokens, or do you need to check with Daddy first?”

Her blush deepened. For some insane reason, she felt like she should apologize—when he was the one who should be avoiding her.

She fished the tokens from the drawer and slapped them onto the glass counter. She mustered the courage to meet his eyes, to let him know she wouldn’t let him screw with her. She tried to make her voice hard—and it ended up making her sound like a bitch. “Is that all?”

His eyes flashed with derision. “So brave.”

What a jerk. Her eyes narrowed. “I’m not the one tempting fate by coming here.”

He shoved the tokens into his pocket, and for the first time, he sounded resigned instead of antagonistic. “Aren’t you?”

Then he was through the door, and she was left there with the music in the air.

Emily almost went after him.

Are you crazy?

She didn’t understand how, with everything he was, he could stand there and make her feel like the bad guy. Of course she’d told her parents—he should be counting his lucky stars that her father hadn’t driven over there.

But even that thought made her blush. She was damn near eighteen years old.

He was right—she had gone crying to her parents.

She glanced at the clock. Her shift ended in four minutes.

At the stroke of five, she shoved through the back door of the office, stepping into the dense humidity. The air slid against her skin and welcomed her into the sunshine.

The batting cages were down the hill and beyond the putt-putt course. She could hear the crack of the bat from here, and once she passed the mini-golf windmill, she saw Michael in the fastball cage.

She stopped before he could notice her. A red tee shirt clung to his shoulders, reminding her of those matadors who swung a red cape to taunt a bull to fight to the death.

Reckless. That’s what this was.

Michael swung the bat, sending the ball into the nets. Even from here, Emily felt the speed of the ball flying through the air, knew exactly how much force it would take to make it change course.

She remembered the strength in his grip when he’d caught the golf club.

Just when she’d convinced herself to turn back, he glanced over his shoulder and saw her.

She wondered if the earth had told him she was standing there—and wondered if that counted as using his powers. Was it really any different from her sensing the trajectory of the ball ten seconds ago?

He turned around long enough to hit the next ball, then glanced back again. “What, do I get a running start?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Didn’t you call out the cavalry?” He turned back without waiting for an answer.

“No.” Her cheeks felt hot. “I didn’t.”

Another ball came flying, and Michael swung hard. The impact resonated like a gunshot.

She’d never been into sports, but hitting something with that much force—it looked amazingly cathartic.

“Look,” she said. “I need this job. It’s important.”

He didn’t turn. “So?”

“My father is going to make me quit if he finds out you came back.”

Another ball, but this one glanced off his bat and went wide. Michael swore and swiped a forearm across his forehead. “I don’t see why that’s my problem.”

A threat sat on the tip of her tongue, but she couldn’t say it. She moved closer, glad for the chain link between them. “Please. I’m just trying to talk to you.”

He didn’t say anything, just waited for the next ball and swung.

This was a mistake. She shouldn’t be out here anyway. What did she expect, that he’d leave after she asked nicely? What if someone drove by and saw her talking to him?

“Forget it.” Her feet slammed the packed earth as she walked away.

Another ball. The air moved with his swing. Crack.

But then she heard his voice from behind her. “Wait.”

Emily stopped halfway to the office, but she didn’t turn around.

“My father,” Michael called, “said he’d take my keys for the rest of the summer if he caught me coming back here.”

Crack.

She came back to the fence. “Really?”

“Yeah. Really.” He ducked his head to wipe his forehead on his sleeve.

“But you came back anyway.”

The pitching machine died, and Michael finally turned, stepping up to the fence. “So did you.”

She’d never stood this close to him before, to where she could see the flecks of gold in his brown eyes, could count each individual strand of hair that the sun had lightened. He still smelled like summer, cut grass and sunscreen with a hint of something woodsy.