The Camaro's headlights cut through the quiet darkness, the faint crunch of tires on the snow-covered road is the only sound as Billy drives down the backroad to the clearing near Hess Farm. For a moment, his hand leaves the gear stick and rests on my knee, his thumb running over the fabric of my tights in small, comforting circles, and sending a shiver down my spine. I reach for his hand, feeling his fingers envelop around mine as Billy pulls the Camaro onto the dirt road. We can't take his car as far into the clearing as we can the truck, but I am content to watch the snow flurries out the windshield, knowing that with the cloud-covering we won't be able to see many stars anyways.
"I wasn't kidding about my early curfew," I remind him, unbuckling my seatbelt so I can shift closer towards him.
Billy rolls his eyes, turning off the headlights of the Camaro so the snow flurries seem to glow in the moonlight. "You're already late," he shrugs, "what difference does it make if it's fifteen minutes or fifty?"
"You know my mom doesn't see it that way," I argue, but there's a smile tugging at my lips.
Billy glances over, one eyebrow raised, "Live a little, Henderson."
The warmth in his voice softens the teasing, I relax, sinking a little deeper into the seat. Out here, under the dark, clouded sky, it feels like we're miles away from everyone and everything that keeps me on edge – maybe I should be worrying about my mom's reaction when I get home, but a smaller voice reminds me that she never waits up for me anyways, she never expects me to push the boundaries or break the rules, so it doesn't really matter anyways. I push the thought away, inhaling slowly when his hand brushes the hair from my face, coming to rest gently under my jaw as he pulls me closer.
Billy's fingers linger, the warmth of his touch cutting through the winter chill that seems to cling to the Camaro's leather seats. He's close enough now that I can see the way his lashes cast faint shadows over his cheeks, his gaze softer than I'm used to seeing. For once, he doesn't have that cocky smirk or teasing glint in his eyes – it's something quieter, something that makes my heart beat just a little harder. The corners of his mouth twitch, like he can hear the steady rhythm, but he doesn't say anything, just studies my face with that unguarded look, like he's memorizing each detail.
Outside, the snow falls in silent flurries, swirling in the moonlight, but it's easy to forget about anything else with the way he's looking at me. His other hand moves from my knee to my cheek, his thumb brushing lightly across my skin. The gesture is so gentle, that I lean into it, grounding myself in his warmth.
Billy doesn't hesitate, closing the small space between us, his lips brushing softly against mine. The kiss starts tentative, almost careful, but as I press into him, his fingers slip from my face to the nape of my neck, deepening the kiss. His hands hold me steady, grounding me, anchoring me as I melt into the warmth of him. Every press of his lips feels sure, intentional, like he's trying to communicate the things he rarely says out loud. His thumb traces slow deliberate circles into the back of my neck, coaxing me closer, and my hand slips to his shoulder, gripping onto him as if letting go would mean losing this rare, unguarded part of him. His mouth moves against mine, patient yet consuming, and the world outside the car seems to fall away with each slow, lingering kiss.
His tongue grazes my bottom lip, sending a spark through me, and I open up to him, feeling the intensity of the moment building between us. His hand slides down from my neck to my waist, his fingers pressing firmly, possessively, against my side, drawing me even closer, like he's unwilling to leave even a sliver of space between us. My fingers curl into the fabric of his sweater, and for a moment, there's nothing but our ragged breaths, the heady quiet, and the feeling that we could be the only two people in the world.
But just as quickly, that familiar pang pulls at my chest. I feel it in the small space between us, the questions and doubts swirling in my mind. Reluctantly, I pull back, and the look in his eyes changes, like he knows there's something on my mind before I even say a word.
"What?" he pants, his voice low, almost cautious.
I take a steadying breath, glancing down as I let my fingers trail over the seam of his jacket. "Does this mean anything to you?" I ask, letting my hand drop awkwardly, refusing to meet his gaze as the words spill out of me.
It's stupid. I know what his answer is going to be already. Billy Hargrove doesn't have girlfriends, he doesn't do labels, and he doesn't let anyone tie him down, but how can I possibly believe him when we're locked in an embrace like this? How can I honestly mean nothing to him when we can't seem to spend more than one evening away from each other?
"Lace," he groans, pushing out a frustrated sigh. He leans back slightly, searching my expression, "I'm not going to say what you want to hear."
I swallow, feeling my stomach twist at his blunt response. "Why not?" I mutter, feeling my hands twist awkwardly at the hem of my sweater, suddenly wishing that I didn't look as dumb as I feel.
There's a flicker of frustration that crosses Billy's face, but he presses his lips together and shakes his head. "Why does it matter, Lacy? I'm here, with you and when I'm not with you, I'm thinking about you."
"It matters to me," I shrug, "I know what I want."
Billy's jaw tightens, but he doesn't break his gaze, his fingers still resting against my back. "Look," he begins, a small attempt to hold back the frustration beginning to rise in his voice, "nothing is going to change the way I feel about you. That should be enough."
I bite my lip, trying to determine if I believe the sincerity in his voice or not, trying to shake the doubt. "It might change the way Heather Holloway looks at you," I mutter, trying to sound teasing, but my voice just comes out flat.
Billy laughs, deep and throaty, "You care about Heather more than I do." He leans towards me again, his hand slipping back to the nape of my neck, squeezing lightly, "You think too much, Henderson."
His words linger, stirring a strange mix of warmth and frustration in my chest. I can't help but give him a pointed look, eyebrows raised. "Someone has to make up for the big empty space in your head," I sigh, but my voice wavers just enough to betray the vulnerability beneath my sarcasm.
He rolls his eyes, his gaze flicking over my face, and for a second, his expression shifts. Something in his eyes darkens, and he sighs, pulling me just a fraction closer, before teasing me, "Are you calling me stupid?"
"You said it," I force a smile, even though my chest still aches, "not me."
"Okay smartass," he chuckles, "this empty head managed to fix most of the problems in your truck without costing you a dime."
I scoff, but I am unable to keep the smile off my face, "Oh, so why is it still broken down in my driveway?"
"I said most," he reiterates, suddenly leaning across me to open the glove box, "you need to get these last few parts this weekend." He hands me a crumpled piece of paper, his neat handwriting sprawled across the lines
I lift an eyebrow, taking it from him. "Yes, I'll go straight to the gasket store first thing in the morning," I say, handing the list back to him with an incredulous glance. "You know I don't know what a gasket is."
"I know," he smirks, waving the paper in my face. "I may not be a genius like you, Henderson, but I know how to keep that piece of shit running. Just admit it, you need me more than I need you."
"You keep telling yourself that, Hargrove and maybe one day you'll believe it," I lean over, aiming to press a kiss to his cheek, but Billy catches my face in his hand, pulling me in for one more, deep, longing kiss.
He pulls away first this time, smoothing the list on his lap. Billy points to each item on the list, the regular rough edge of his arrogance softening as he delves into details about engine pieces and the torque required for each bolt. I'm not following half of it, but I don't mind – I'm caught up in the way he lights up, like my truck might not be the hunk of metal he likes to tease me about. There's a spark in his eyes, a passion that's rare to see, and I am mesmerized with watching him talk.
I lean back, a faint smile forming as he gestures, talking about how easy it would be for him to restore the original paint job, "if it ever runs right." For Billy, cars are a small slice of life he's managed to keep all his own – no one can tell him what to do or how to do it – because he knows more than them.
He looks over at me and catches me smiling, his eyes narrowing with that familiar hint of suspicion. "What?" he asks, folding up the paper and locking it back into his glove box.
I shake my head, shrugging. "Nothing. This stuff suits you, you know?"
For a second, his face flickers with a smirk and I know I've caught him off guard. "Careful Henderson, you might have to admit that my head isn't so empty after all," he says, trying to make it sound like a joke, but there's a genuine sound of pride in his voice, like he appreciates the recognition.
We sit in silence for a few beats and I lift my hand to find him in the dark, Billy's hand squeezes carefully in return, but we stay like that, watching the snow flurries fall gently on the hood of the Camaro. I decide that I could stay here with him all night and when Billy brings my hand up to his lips, pressing a kiss to the back of my hand, the warmth tingling up my arm, I know it's his own silent way of telling me he could too.
I sigh, knowing that we can't stay forever. "Are you ready to take me home or do you finally have plans to bury me somewhere in the woods?" I ask, shivering slightly from the chill that has settled in the Camaro.
Billy chuckles, his hand lingering around mine, his smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth once more. "The ground is too frozen," he shrugs, before reaching over to turn the key in the Camaro, bringing the car to life with a steady rumble beneath us, "I'll have to wait until summer."
The quiet fills the car again, but it's softer this time. I watch the headlights cut through the snow-dusted road, the trees blurring past, and I try not to focus too much on what I can't see in the dark as the cold settles deep into my shoulder. I swallow, pushing away the thoughts of the demodog lunging at me from the forest, reminding myself that they're gone – the gate is closed and they can't come back, but even with these reminders, with the promise of the lab being closed – I can't seem to shake the feeling of fear, feeling like I'm being watched in the shadows.
My shoulder continues to ache, like the demodog is pressing its weight on me, digging its claws into me once more. I roll my shoulder, rubbing my hand over the scar, a weak attempt to warm it. Billy's eyes flicker over to me, noticing the way my hand rests over the scar. "Is it bothering you again?" he asks, tone low, almost hesitant.
I shrug, dropping my hand and trying to make my voice sound normal. "Gets worse when it's cold," I mutter, looking out the window, watching the snow swirl as we drive towards my neighborhood. I don't want him to see how much it haunts me – the ache, the nightmares that still wake me up in a cold sweat some nights.
He doesn't say anything for a moment, but I can feel the shift in his posture, like he's deciding what to say next. Eventually, he leans forward, cranking the heater and tilting the vent towards me, his hand then drops back to my knee, squeezing lightly. "I know you're lying," he reminds me, keeping his gaze fixed on the road.
I glance over at him, before sighing. "I'm not lying," I say, "I haven't had a nightmare in a month."
"Oh really," he chuckles, squeezing my knee again, "then why did I sleep over twice last week?"
"Because you're obsessed with me," I tease, trying to change the subject, "I've actually been meaning to talk to you about that."
"Lace," he warns, but there's a warmth to his voice that tells me he doesn't mind, "those things still fucking bother you, I know they do."
"It's stupid," I push, dropping my hand from my shoulder, "they're not coming back."
Billy doesn't say anything as he slows down in front of my house. My stomach twists at the sight of the dark windows, our Christmas lights already unplugged for the night. I inhale, hiding my disappointment at the fact that my mom didn't wait up for me, even though I knew she wouldn't. I know what kind of night it's going to be. One that is going to leave me tossing and turning, panicking every time I become too tangled in my quilt, until I finally wake up gasping for air.
"Where's your brother?" Billy asks, pulling me back to him.
"The Sinclair's," I say, grateful for the change in subject, "they all went to their first dance tonight."
"Yeah I know," Billy mutters gruffly and I lick my lips, knowing that anything even remotely related to Max is a sore subject.
"Thank you for taking me home," I sigh, knowing that I have to climb out of the Camaro eventually.
Billy leans over and kisses me once and then again, his hand playing with the tips of my hair. "Unlock your window," he mutters in-between each kiss, "I'll park around the corner and see you in a minute."
"You don't have to," I return, feeling his warm breath across my face, "really, Billy."
"I know I don't have to," he returns, brushing my hair back before trailing a line of kisses from my lips, up my jaw, and then against my temple. "Just stop arguing and unlock your window before I freeze out here."
"The neighbors are going to say something to my mom," I continue, but I know my resistance won't last long. Billy will stay, even if I flat out tell him no.
"If they haven't already then they aren't going to," Billy reminds me and I know there's truth to his words, but I'm still slightly annoyed with him for earlier. Billy lifts a brow, a silent challenge for me to argue further, but I am at a loss for words and my shoulder aches more than my upset with him.
"Fine," I snap, but there's a lack of bite in my tone.
"Fine," he mocks, leaning over to open the door of the Camaro for me, "like I said, unlock the window first this time."
I roll my eyes, but I feel my smile returning. I had been annoyed with him a few nights ago and pretended I couldn't hear him knocking on my window with my headphones on. I figured he would leave, but after almost fifteen minutes, Billy had figured out how to slip the lock from the outside with his pocket knife.
"You can always just break in," I tease and Billy shakes his head.
"I knew you did that on purpose," he mutters before nodding towards the house, "go on then. For someone so worried about curfew, you're sure taking your sweet time getting inside."
I stick my tongue out, grabbing my bag with a small wave over my shoulder before shutting the door. The darkness looms as the headlights of Billy's car rounds the corner. I shake the uneasy feeling that shoots up my spine, stepping into the house with a low sigh. The quiet feels heavier than it did outside, like it's pressing down on me. I kick off my shoes, hearing them thud against the floor and glance down the dimly lit hallway leading to Mom's closed bedroom door.
I tip-toe down the hallway, being careful not to step on the creaky board outside her door as I make my way to my room. I flick on the light as I toss my bag onto the bed. I glance at my b bedroom window, debating if I should unlock it or close the curtains for the night. I am not his girlfriend, I remind myself, but every word, every action, every moment with him feels like he's not telling me the truth. I reach for the curtains, fingering the lace, before shaking my head and reaching for the window latch, besides – one more night won't make a difference.
I change out of my sweater quickly before settling onto my bed, pulling my knees up to my chest. My fingers absently trace over the scar on my shoulder. The familiar raised skin and constant dull ache is a reminder I can't seem to shake. A harbinger of my nightmares. The feeling of fear that lurks in the shadows and the constant sense of being watched, even when my dreams are nothing but darkness – the eyes are there, waiting for me.
The soft creak of my window pulls me from my thoughts, and I tilt my head as Billy slips through the window with practiced ease. He shuts it behind him, flicking the lock as he gives me that easy wink.
"Didn't think you'd actually unlock it," he teases, his voice low and quiet. He carefully cuts across my room, grabbing my desk chair and carefully positioning it under the doorknob of my bedroom door.
"I didn't want you to be caught breaking and entering," I reply, pulling the quilt up around me, suddenly embarrassed by the way his eyes trail over me.
This is nothing new, but watching him cross the room in a few quick strides, shrugging off his jacket, and letting it fall to the floor makes my stomach spin with nerves. I stare up at the ceiling feeling my blush rise in my cheeks at the sound of Billy unbuckling his belt. This is also nothing new, but it doesn't keep the nerves from rising, the silent want in my chest from burning. Billy flops onto my bed, pulling at the quilt, before yanking me down by the neckline of my pajama top into him.
For a moment, we don't say anything. Billy's arms just wrap around me, as we settle in for sleep. I rest my head against his shoulder, feeling the way his breathing slows, I close my eyes, pushing away the unease.
"Is it still those things?" he asks, quietly. Billy hand lifts, hesitating slightly before brushing over my shoulder, his fingertips tracing lightly over the scars. If it was anyone else I would have flinched away, but Billy's touch is soft, familiar against my skin. I notice how his eyes drop from my face, his brows furrowing before his hand lowers back to my waist.
"Yes – no," I swallow, closing my eyes. "I don't know. It's just something that watches me, even when the dream isn't about the attack – there's just something always lurking right behind me."
"It's not real," he reminds me, his voice now just above a whisper. "Those things are gone."
"I know," I mutter, but my voice betrays my worry, because every dream since that night makes them feel even closer than before, "but they were real and whatever's watching me could be too."
The words come out before I can stop them, admitting what I've never dared to say out loud – never wanting to accept in my own mind.
"It's not," Billy says firmly, ending the conversation before it can really begin.
He sits up to turn off the light on my bedside table. I notice the dark look in his eyes, the concern he would never express to me fully. Billy Hargrove is worried, that night changed him too. His eyes meet mine before he flicks off the light, his other hand squeezing my waist, and I sigh, inhaling the woodsy scent of his cologne to comfort me, knowing that he'll never have the right words to bring me to that sense of peace that I desperately seem to crave.
Now enveloped in darkness, I close my eyes, pressing closer into Billy's warmth as he pulls the quilt back around us. I try to enjoy the moment, my fingertips trailing over his arms, feeling the goosebumps rise over his skin. His breath hitches in my ear and he pulls me even closer, his lips finding my jaw and then my neck in the process. I exhale, pushing my worry away, focusing on the softness of his lips, the heat of his breath, the scent of the cigarette on his skin.
Those things are gone, I repeat with every hushed inhale of my breath, but it doesn't matter. Even with Billy's arms thrown protectively around me, the familiar sounds of his breath, cannot lull me, cannot give me a false sense of safety. I shift away, whispering a quiet goodnight as he presses one last kiss to the back of my head.
When my eyes finally flutter shut, there's a soft chill that meets me as I try to drift off to sleep. I shiver, feeling Billy's arms tighten around me, but as sleep finally comes – not even the promise of Billy's touch can keep me safe. Somewhere in my unconscious mind, a shadow drifts behind me, slow and steady, the eyes following me in the dark, watching, waiting, and soon the overwhelming sense of dread roots me in the darkness, the air only growing thicker around me, confirming that I will never escape, consuming me once again.