On the Way Home by Skye Warren

around the side of the house, and I watched him go, my smile fading. When you get a chance, you take it. That was exactly what I had with him: a chance. It felt like I was holding opportunity in my bare hands, white-hot, burning the skin right off my palms. The calculating part of my brain was telling me to use him like the hammer and nails he held. Nothing but a tool to get my sister back. But I had never been all that analytical. I had wanted all three plants to live in my science experiment. I wanted the same thing here, but instead of three plants there was me, my sister, and Clint. I wanted us all to get out of this alive.
    Clint came back around the house with a piece of wood under his arm. “You want to help?”
    A wave of shyness washed over me. I had no idea where it came from. I hadn’t been shy since I was twelve years. I was forced to get over any sort of modesty then. I gave up my dignity too. But Clint gave a little of it back to me with every gentlemanly gesture.
    “What do I have to do?” I asked.
    “For starters, this.” He tugged me in for a quick kiss. The warm day had already coated him in a thin layer of sweat, and his nose left dampness on my cheek. I wriggled away, pretending to mind. But the truth was I loved the clean-sweat smell of him. I loved that he was making himself useful around the house even though he didn’t have to. I loved everything about him, and it was getting harder and harder to pretend he wouldn’t hate me if he knew the truth.
    He held up the hammer, as if for me to take it. But when I grabbed for it, he pulled it out of my reach.
    “Repeat after me,” he said in a serious voice. “I promise not to smash Clint’s thumb.”
    I rolled my eyes but complied. “I promise not to smash Clint’s thumb.”
    He let me grab the hammer’s handle, but he didn’t release the other end. His gaze met mine. “And I promise to make more of my amazing pancakes for Clint tomorrow.”
    My breath caught. If I did what I promised Dmitri, Clint shouldn’t even be here tomorrow. I should turn him over tonight. I had to force the words out, and even then, they only came out as a whisper. “I promise to make more of my amazing pancakes for Clint tomorrow.”
    How could I keep that promise when my sister needed me?
    Instead of relinquishing the hammer, Clint used it to pull me close. I fell against him, my free hand landing on his broad chest. God, he was so solid. I leaned into him and breathed deep. Would I remember his scent long after he was gone? That thought hurt my heart.
    But the thought that I might forget hurt worse.
    Clint’s gaze was faintly knowing. “I promise to tell Clint if I’m in trouble.”
    My eyes widened. I released the hammer and stepped back. How did he know I was in trouble? “What?”
    He sighed, looking aggravated and guilty at the same time. He ran a hand over his hair, cut military short. “Sorry. I pushed too far?”
    “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I lied.
    Those soft eyes asked me to open up. “If something’s wrong, if someone’s hurting you, maybe I can help.”
    Acid burned me up inside. Oh, he could help, all right. He was my sister’s ticket to freedom, only it meant he’d end up hurt. End up dead. That wasn’t supposed to matter to me. I’d seen enough people pass through my life not to care. Only Caro should matter anymore.
    “I don’t want your help,” I said too sharply. Because it was true. I didn’t want him to help with this.
    I wanted him to be safe.
    He sighed but didn’t push. When he handed me the hammer this time, there were no more demands, no more empty promises. He positioned the board and held the nail in place.
    “Go ahead,” he said, nodding toward the nail.
    I bent down and lined up the hammer. Then with a careful, firm swing I landed the hammer directly on the nail. I didn’t smash his thumb, because at least this promise I could keep.
    He took over the rest of the work while I watched from a few