Landon isn’t afraid of telling Gaby that he’s got it for her bad. The problem is, she seems unwilling to believe it. And though Landon enjoys his reputation as a cool-headed athlete, he hates losing—both on the rink and off. It’s his competitiveness that makes him so damn good at what he does . . . but it also makes him just a little bit complicated.One minute Gaby’s tempted to give in; the next, she’s getting cold feet. How can she trust a guy who’s destined for bigger and better things to stick around? Then again, when Landon pulls her close with those powerful arms, the only thing that matters is right now.
I circled the room in slow motion. If it was possible to be completely creeped out and in awe at the same time, that was how I felt. The graffiti scared me. A gang member could walk in, paint cans drawn, at any minute. Then again, I’m pretty sure Mafia guys walked in to Bertucci Produce on a regular basis, so I guess danger could be anywhere.
“What are you thinking?” Landon asked. He climbed onto a step at the bottom of one of the columns, wrapped one arm around it, and hung off. Like someone familiar with stripper poles.
“You don’t want to know.” I shook my head, laughing off my thoughts.
Landon grabbed the column with his extended arm and jumped down. “I do. You’re really quiet. I can’t tell if you’re freaked out or what?”
“A little freaked out. This place is creepy on the inside. But cool. Creepy cool.”
I snapped a few more shots of the interior, trying to get the daylight streaming through the windows. I wanted to capture the haunted feel; a halo, a shadow, something.
“Creepy cool. Haunted. Abandoned. I just described our whole fucking life as Detroiters, eh?” A bitter laugh escaped him.
“I know, right? I don’t know one person without a painful story.”
“Hmm?” I lowered the camera.
“What’s your story? I see a shy girl from a successful family.”
“Success comes with hard work.”
“I never said it didn’t.”
“My story? Arson. Murder. Most recently theft.” I ticked off the tragedies that my family had gone through, and those were only the ones that affected me directly. It sounded like a suspense novel.
“Holy shit, Gaby.”
“I should be in jail, right?” I smiled to lighten the mood. “But this is Detroit.”
“Wanna talk about it?”
A beam of sunlight bounced off a piece of broken glass in the debris covering the floor, creating a prism across one of the large columns. Sunshine and rainbows and murder and arson.
Life. And death.