We pull up to a large, two-story log cabin made of smooth, golden brown wood. There are four long rectangular windows that make up the front top half of the home—windows that reveal some of the brown furniture inside. The gold chandelier is the most prominent object, giving the front of the home a warm glow.
Uncle Jack’s driver—whose name I now know is Alvin—navigates around the circle driveway, parking the SUV in front of the house.
“Well,” Uncle Jacks sighs beside me. “We’re here, Gia. Home.”
I don’t look back at him. I can only look ahead. A new place. A new start.
I hear their seatbelts unbuckle, and Alvin is out first, opening Uncle Jack’s door and then hustling around to open mine. I step out in Uncle Jack’s coat that he demanded I wear on the ride here, and the sole of my right flip flop rolls over a pebble.
“What do you think so far?” Uncle Jack asks, stepping up to my side.
“It’s a nice home,” I tell him.
“Come on. Minnie and the kids are waiting for you. I’ll warn you now—that son of mine, Clark, is as hardcore and as blunt as they come. Don’t let his remarks and crazy insults get to you. Don’t know where he gets it from, ‘cause it sure as shit isn’t me. Might be his mother.” He laughs, taking out his keys and sifting through them. “That woman is the feistiest little thing I know. Jen, she’s everyone’s friend. You don’t have to worry too much about her.”
My lips stretch into a small smile as he glances back.
He stuffs the key into the lock and unlocks the door, and as soon as he does, a waft of warm aromas hit me. A home-cooked meal. Fresh. Probably still being prepared.
Uncle Jack lets me walk in first, but I step aside to let him take the lead.
Their home is…beautiful.
To the left is a staircase, but not just any staircase. The railing is made of carved wood, dark and light grain. Between the railings are dark, intricate carvings, appearing smooth to the touch.
Ahead of me is a stone fireplace, flames already dancing, making the hard oak floors shine. Above are thick, mahogany beams keeping the beautiful cabin in place.
Clean, broken-in leather furniture is set up in front of the fireplace, with plaid red and black blankets, quilts, and tan throw pillows scattered over it.
I’m relieved when I don’t see any animal hides or deer heads. I don’t know why, but that has always creeped me out.
It’s cozy here—a completely different setting than the homes Draco had me in. I like it.
I look up, at the guardrail to the left, and someone is already standing there. His short, cropped hair is black like the wings of a raven, his eyes a deep golden-brown. I can see the brightness of them from here. His skin is the color of mocha, tan and smooth.
He’s wearing a black thermal shirt, dark blue jeans, and in the corner of his mouth is a toothpick. He chomps on it slowly, his nose in the air as he looks down at me and then at Uncle Jack.
“That her?” he asks, and I assume he’s Clark. He’s older now. More mature than what I remember. His jaw is square and cut, slight stubble surrounding his lips and the lower half of his face. I remember him being two years older than me.
“Who else would it be?” Uncle Jack says, moving aside and letting Alvin come in with my suitcases. Alvin places them down in the corner and then walks back outside, bobbing his head at Uncle Jack, who nods back.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Al,” Uncle Jack tells him.
“Goodnight, sir.”
“How long is she staying for?” Clark asks, now at the top of the staircase.
“For as long as she feels like it. Now stop asking questions and take her suitcases to her bedroom. She’s been through enough.”
Clark’s face doesn’t change. He watches me intently, but I watch just as carefully as he takes the steps down. When he’s at the bottom of the staircase, he takes the four steps it takes until he’s only a small step away from me.
He looks me over. Twice.
I do the same.
Then he shoots his hand out, revealing rough, calloused fingers. “I’m your cousin, Clark. My dad’s told me all about you and about the man who had you.” He looks down at his hand, waiting for me to take it.
I lift mine and grab it, shaking once before letting go. “Gianna.”
“Obviously.” He walks to the suitcases and picks them up. Before he can get to the staircase, he stops and looks my way. “My dad won’t tell you what I said, so I’ll let you know now. Don’t fuck with me. Don’t go in my room. Don’t ask me any questions because I fucking hate questions. I like to be left alone. I don’t like people who snoop or dig for shit they have no business digging for. You keep your distance, and I’ll keep mine.”