For the hour she’d slept in English one day, I hadn’t taken my eyes off her. She’d drawn her brows and made a gasping sound, her pink lips parted and fingers clutching the desk.

Seeing her in the grip of a nightmare had affected me in strange ways. All of a sudden, I’d had a blistering need to kill whatever was scaring her. To punish whatever it was—just for trying to scare her.

A girl like that ought to have no fears.

Friday night I’d headed to the Sterling High football game with my crew. All that adoration for my dim-witted half brother had made me sick, but I’d choked back bile just to see her. She’d been in that cheer skirt. Mere de Dieu, I’d thought, I could watch this all night.

“What’s her name?” Maman asked.

“Evangeline.”

Maman smiled. “A good Cajun name. I’d ask if she’s already head over heels for you, but I know the answer to that. All the filles in the Basin love my boy.”

This one definitely didn’t. “Evangeline Greene. From Sterling.”

“Greene?” Maman’s smile faded. “You’re not talking about them Haven folks? Bad energy swirls around that place.”

You got no idea. Last night, as I’d walked with Evie through the cane field, I could’ve sworn I’d heard . . . whispers. And those giant oak trees around the mansion had seemed to move in the flickering gaslight. Chills had skittered up my back. “That’s her home.”

“Mais non, you can’t be with her.”

“I ain’t exactly with her.” That girl did nothing but make le misère for me.

“But you want to be.”

God, did I want to be.

“She haunting you?”

I exhaled. “Ouais, elle me hante.” Yeah, she haunts me.

Maybe because she kept laughing at me. Maybe because she didn’t want me to pursue her—a first for me.

More likely, it was because when I looked at her, everything in me lit up like never before. Whenever I was around her, for the first time in my life, I felt like I was right where I was supposed to be.

Maman’s expression grew panicked. “Non, non, Jackson! You can’t fall for that one. Le cheval reste dans l’écurie, le mulet dans la savane.” The horse lives in the stable, the mule in the pasture.

In other words, I should know my place.

“Doan do like I did with your father!” Jonathan Radcliffe.

The man had made her all kinds of promises—only to marry another woman, Brandon’s mother. It should have been Maman living in that mansion, should have been her driving the Mercedes and having teas. It should have been her son playing quarterback as a crowd cheered.

I’d planned to hurt my brother. I would never have his fancy car, or his rich father, or his mansion. But when I’d seen a beautiful blonde leaning over to kiss him, I’d decided to steal his girl from him.

The best-laid plans and all that. Evie liked the rich ones. She must. That was the only thing Brandon had going over me.

Last night, she’d actually shown some curiosity about me, asking me a few questions. But at the end, we’d fought, my jalousie pushing me to hurt her. I’d succeeded, but she’d landed the parting shot: “You’re a cruel, classless boy who gets off on other people’s unhappiness. Brandon is twice the man you are. He always will be.”

Twice the man. Even now my gut clenched.

I’d hated my brother before. Bitterly. But now it was even worse. ’Cause he had her.

I’d trade all the things Brandon took for granted, all that I’d coveted, for Evie.

Maman rose to top off her mug again. I was so uneasy, I nearly asked her to pour me one.

“You think you’re goan to rub elbows up in that grand house with those fancy people?”

I didn’t think that. I looked around at this shack, and I knew it was never going to be.

She returned to the table with her eyes watering. “I used to believe that. And look where I am now.” Her tears spilled over.

I hated crying! Her tears usually wrecked me, but I was so pissed. “You’re here ’cause you woan stop drinking, woan try!”

“Je fais de mon mieux.” I’m doing the best I can. “I had my heart broken. The people in my family love once. You doan know what it’s like to feel as if something’s missing from your chest every second of every day. You mark my words, boy. You doan belong with a fille like that. Worst thing you can do is dream.”

“Who do I belong with, then? Maybe I should find me the female equivalent of Vigneau?” That was Maman’s current beau, an asshole who could outdrink us all and liked to take his anger out on her.

A couple of weeks ago, he’d sent her home from the bourré hall with a black eye. I burned to make him pay for that, but if I violated the terms of my parole, they’d ship me to Angola Prison. The money I made poaching would disappear. Maman would starve without me.

She swiped her sleeve over her face and finished her mug. “It’s too late for you, non? This Evangeline has already set her claws. You better hope she wants you back.”

Evie had craved my kiss last night before we’d been interrupted. When she’d wetted her lips and gazed up at me, I’d never wanted a kiss more.

Instead, she’d kissed my brother. Brandon is twice the man you are. . . .

Maman tilted her head at me, reading my expression. “Oh, Jack. Mon pauvre fils.” My poor son.

Even my mother pitied me.