Spark

Gabriel was, a little. He’d run hard yesterday, and he was going on his third restless night.

“Just making sure you can keep up. Thought you might have had a late night with Calla Dean.”

A wry glance. “Don’t worry.” Then Hunter stepped up the pace.

Bastard. Gabriel pushed to keep up. He was fit. He could do this, no problem.

“You know,” he said, “Becca tried to talk to me last night.”

He glanced over. “About the fires.”

“She tries to talk to me, too.” A pause to catch his breath.

“She wants to know if I know what you’re doing.”

“What do you tell her?”

“I tell her you suck at Xbox.” Another pause, another break for breath. “I think her dad’s putting pressure on her.”

“Because of the Guides?”

“Yeah. But we’re being careful.”

“Are you worried?”

“Does it matter? I can’t sit around doing nothing. Could you?”

Gabriel thought about that for a minute. “No. I couldn’t.”

Then he had to shut up, because Hunter stepped up the pace again.

Beyond the seventh mile, Gabriel was really starting to feel it.

They were holding a seven-minute-mile pace, and his legs ached.

His lungs burned. That stitch in his side that had been a minor irritant at mile three now felt like a red-hot iron poker.

The one time he wanted to pull energy from the sun, and the sky was overcast.

“If you want to stop,” said Hunter, with zero strain in his voice, “I can swing back for you when I’m done.”

“We’ll see who’s lying in a pile at the end of the trail.”

“Race you to the car?”

“Yeah, I’ll wait for you at the car.”

And then, though his legs screamed in protest, Gabriel leapt forward into a sprint.

Damn, it felt good to compete, to do something he could control. He hadn’t realized how much he’d miss the easy camaraderie of a team, the physical strain of working toward one common purpose. On the field or on the course, or hell, here on the trail, the objective was clear. Make a basket. Put the ball in the goal. Win the race.

Pass the test?

Gabriel wondered if that’s why this guy was starting these fires. It was so much easier to send things on a path toward destruction.

At the turnoff for the parking lot at the trailhead, Gabriel didn’t slow. Hunter was right there, not letting up. They veered around a couple with bikes, almost trampled a mother navigating a jogging stroller, and shot onto the parking lot, spraying pea gravel with every step.

He stretched out a hand to slap the tailgate of the SUV.

Right at the same time as Hunter.

“Damn it,” he gasped.

At least Hunter was breathing as hard as he was, his hands braced on his knees. “All right. Another five miles?”

“Shut up.” Gabriel smiled.

They dug for change in the center console and bought bottles of water from the machine at the ranger station by the trailhead.

Then they collapsed in the grass under an oak tree. The sun was starting to break free of the clouds, and Gabriel pushed damp strands of hair off his face.

“Figures,” he said. “Now the sun comes out.”

Hunter took a long pull of water. “Do you usually run with Nick?”

“Nah. He’ll go if I drag him out of the house, but not for any kind of distance. Chris will run in the spring, when baseball starts.”

Hunter peeled at the label on his bottle. “I used to run with my dad.”

“Was he slow, too?”

That earned a smile and a punch in the arm. “No.” A pause.

“We were going to run the Marine Corps marathon this year.”

Gabriel recognized that hollow note in Hunter’s voice. Sometimes he had to fight to keep it out of his own.

Hunter shrugged. “Really, I forgot all about it, what with moving here and all.” He hesitated. “Last night, I got an e-mail with the details, when to pick up the packets, stuff like that. I deleted it I mean, you know.”

Gabriel nodded and kept his eyes on his own water bottle.

“Yeah.”

“Then you texted me this morning and asked if I wanted to run ten miles, and ”

“Shit.” Gabriel straightened. Another day, off to a raring start with a f**kup. “Man, I’m sorry. I didn’t ”

“No!” Hunter looked at him, hard. “I’m glad. It was . . .

good.”

“All right.” Gabriel settled back and stared at the sky. It was almost eight now, and more reasonable runners were starting to pack into the lot. The sun felt heavy on his face, and he let the energy pour into his skin.

“It gets easier,” he said.

“Yeah?” Hunter’s voice was skeptical. “When?”

“I’ll let you know when it happens for me.”

Hunter snorted, but there was zero humor behind it.

“You could still run the race,” said Gabriel.

“It’s a month away. I’m not in shape.”

“I didn’t say you could win the race.”

Hunter didn’t say anything.

Gabriel spun his water bottle on the ground, watching the fractured sunlight turn the grass different shades of green. “I’m the only one of my brothers who gets up early. My mom did, too.

She used to drink coffee and play board games with me until the others woke up.” When he’d turned ten, she’d started making him a cup of coffee, too, filling half the mug with milk and two tablespoons of sugar before adding any coffee at all. He still drank it the same way.

“The morning after the funeral, I came down to the kitchen. I don’t know what the hell I was thinking, like there’d be coffee in the pot and a game of Sorry set up on the table or something.”

He paused. “Nothing. Just an empty kitchen. I think that’s when it really hit me.”

Hunter still didn’t say anything.

Gabriel glanced over. “So I made coffee.”

He’d set up the game, too, for whatever reason. Then he’d sobbed into his mug for forty-five minutes, until his coffee went cold and Michael found him sitting there. Gabriel had been worried his brother would bitch about the coffee or the crying or something he rarely needed a reason in those days.

But Michael had just poured himself a cup of coffee and pushed the dice across the table. “You go first.”

Gabriel didn’t want to talk about any of that. “All I’m saying is” he shrugged “if you were going to run the race, maybe you should run the race.”

“Maybe,” said Hunter. He’d peeled almost the entire label off his water bottle.

This was getting too heavy. Gabriel leaned in. “Dude. Seriously, if you start crying, people are going to think I’m breaking up with you.”

Hunter looked up. A smile broke through the emotion. “The way you run, they’d be more likely to think I’m breaking up with you.”

“You can kiss my ass.” His phone chimed, and Gabriel didn’t even want to look at it. Probably Michael, whining about some job.

No, but a number he didn’t recognize.

Were you serious about today? Layne

Layne! Gabriel sat straight up.

“Who’s Layne?” asked Hunter, reading over his shoulder.

Gabriel shoved him away and typed back.

Absolutely serious.

Her response took fifteen agonizing seconds.

My dad has to work this afternoon, and Simon is going to

see our mom.

He smiled.

Are you inviting me over?

Another lengthy pause.

No. My dad said I’m not allowed to have you over.

Her dad probably had snipers on the roof, trained to shoot Gabriel on sight.

His phone chimed again.

But maybe we could go back to your house and work on

your math homework.

He scowled. The words were full of highs and lows. His house!

She wanted to come back to his house! But . . . math. Math.

Another chime.

The faster you learn math, the faster we can do other

things.

Well, that set his heart pounding. He typed fast.

Pick you up at 2?

This time, her response was lightning quick.

Make it 3. Don’t text back. Gotta go.

“Come on,” he said to Hunter. “Let’s go set things on fire.”

“Got a date?”

“Actually, yes.”

But a few minutes later, he looked over at Hunter climbing into the passenger seat. The heady tension of their conversation had dissipated, but it wasn’t completely gone.

“Hey, man,” he said. “You all right?”

Hunter nodded, his eyes on the windshield. “Yeah.”

When he didn’t say anything else, Gabriel started the engine and started to back out of his parking space.

And while he wasn’t looking, Hunter said, “I don’t think I could do it.”

Alone. That’s what he wasn’t saying. He didn’t think he could do the race alone. Without his father.

But he wasn’t alone. Even if Hunter didn’t realize it yet.

Gabriel wished he’d figured that out five years ago. Maybe then he would have played that game of Sorry with Michael.

Instead of flinging the dice in his brother’s face and telling him to f**k off.

Gabriel pulled onto Ritchie Highway. He’d never considered that it might have cost Michael something to sit down with him.

He had to clear his throat. “I’ll run it with you.”

A big hesitation. Then Hunter said, “Come on. You don’t have to ”

“I know.”

“It’s twenty-six miles.”

“I know what a marathon is.”

Hunter was looking out the window again. “I’ll think about it.”

Gabriel nodded, shut his mouth, and drove.

CHAPTER 26

Gabriel made it home just before two. Plenty of time to grab a shower and clean clothes and to get out the door to pick up Layne.

Or it would have been, if his brothers had still been out.

He didn’t see Michael thank god but Nick stopped him in the hallway, blocking the path to the bathroom.

“Where were you all morning?”

“Sorry, Mom, I’ll leave a note next time.” Gabriel went to push past him.

But Nick stood firm. “You smell like fire.”

Not surprising, considering he and Hunter had burned a dozen hay bales at the back of Hunter’s grandparents’ property.

Their practice experiment ended with mixed results: Gabriel had practically set the entire field on fire.

But he was close. His control was getting better. He could feel it.

And they’d been ready this time. A hose hookup was in the old barn. Luckily.

At least he didn’t have to lie about where he’d been. “I went over to Hunter’s. We went for a run and then set hay bales on fire.”

Gabriel watched the surprise flicker on Nick’s face and enjoyed it. The almost-betrayal. The almost-guilt, as Gabriel’s words registered. We did something you never want to do. Then we did something you and I used to do.

And while Nick was standing there trying to think of a retort, Gabriel shoved past him into the bathroom and locked the door.

When he came out, the house was quiet.

Finally. Maybe his brothers had gone on another job. Maybe he’d lucked out and Michael wasn’t going to hassle him all day.

Gabriel pulled on a clean shirt in his bedroom. He’d spent the last twenty minutes telling himself that studying math at the kitchen table meant this wasn’t a date, that he had a greater chance of looking like a moron at this activity than at just about anything else.

Gabriel jogged down the steps and stuck his hand into his backpack for his car keys.