“Elizabeth,” Nick tried again.

I heard his door squeak open and then shut a second later.

Great. He was leaving me. Because who wanted to deal with a hysterical crazy person?

But then my door opened, and Nick leaned in, drawing me into his chest. He put his arms around my shoulders, and I folded, the tears falling harder now, faster.

He tucked me into the crook of his neck. He didn’t say anything. He just let me cry.

I felt completely out of control of my own body, unable to stop the flow of tears or the heavy, racking sobs.

After forever, after I’d soaked Nick’s black T-shirt and the tears had dried up, I said, my voice muffled against his chest, “I don’t feel strong.”

“You are,” he said. “Because you survived.”

If only he knew I hadn’t had a choice.

Nick followed me inside the main house. Aggie wasn’t home, thank God. I found a note from her stuck to the fridge saying she’d gone to the hospital for a volunteer night shift.

“I think I need to lie down,” I told Nick.

“You need anything?”

“A glass of water?” I said.

“I’ll bring it up to you.”

“My room is the second door on the left.”

He nodded and disappeared into the kitchen. I heard him opening and shutting cupboards as I trudged up the stairs. While I had a few moments alone, I changed into a pair of black leggings and an oversized T-shirt.

Nick came in a few minutes later with the glass of ice water in his hand.

“Thanks.” I took it from him and grabbed my bottle of meds from the desk. I shook out two and swallowed both with a gulp of water.

“What are those for?” he asked quietly, as if he was unsure whether he should ask.

For some reason, with him, I didn’t feel like I had to hide anything. “Anxiety.”

He nodded at the cobalt glass bottles. “And these?”

Crap. When I’d asked him to bring me a glass of water, I’d forgotten all about those.

“Memory bottles,” I said. “Scent is strongly tied to memories. And sometimes I just need a happy one.”

Don’t look at the end of the row, I thought. Don’t look.

But he did.

He found the GABRIEL bottle easily enough—I’d forgotten to tuck it back behind the CARNIVALS bottle—and pulled it down. That exposed the NICK bottle, and he grabbed that one too.

“I have a bottle?” he asked. “Two bottles?” He seemed amused by this.

“It’s weird, I know.”

“It’s not. Scent is a powerful trigger. But I wouldn’t think my place in your past was a good one.”

It’s good and bad. It’s many things.

“Can I smell them?” he asked.

I shrugged, trying to hide my dismay.

The cork came out with a pop. He took in a breath. “Cinnamon,” he said. Another breath. “Pine?”

“Yes.”

“And something else woodsy.”

“Cedarwood. And musk.”

He replaced the cork and smiled. “I smell good.”

I laughed. “Well, I’m not in the habit of making terrible scents.”

“And the other bottle?” he asked.

“Brand-new.”

He replaced the GABRIEL bottle on the shelf and tried the NICK bottle. “The same, but with something new. Something”—another sniff—“flowery?” He looked slightly horrified by this.

“Lavender.”

“I smell like lavender?”

“It could be your laundry detergent.”

He nodded and smiled, like that made sense. “Anna likes the flowery shit.”

“Anna?”

He paused for a second, then said, “My sister.”

“Where is she now?”

“Home. Michigan.”

“Do you still talk to her?”

He nodded. “I live with her. With her—and Sam and Cas.”

“Your brothers?”

Another nod. He thought for a beat, then shook his head. “Actually, no. They’re not related to me. They were a part of my group, with the Branch. But they’re like my family.”

“Oh.”

The way he’d said that, quiet and husky, made me think these were details he hadn’t wanted to share. More of the truth he wanted to keep buried. And if he was sharing these things with me, what did that mean?

He put the NICK bottle back and leaned into my desk, crossing his arms over his chest. I tried so hard not to look at the massive bulk of muscle on his upper arms. Tried and failed. I was not immune to the sight of a good-looking boy. In my room, of all places.

“What’s Anna like? Do you get along with her?” I asked.

“I didn’t use to. I do now. She’s… strong, and smart. And forgiving.” He ran a hand over his face, a very human gesture that I didn’t see him do often. “Like you, she’s been through a lot.”

“Are you and her, like, you know…” I trailed off, wondering why in the hell I’d broached that subject in the first place.

“No,” he said quickly. “She’s with Sam.”

I exhaled with relief. “So you’re not—”

“With anyone?” he asked, his voice laced with mirth. His eyes always seemed brighter when he was amused. “No.”

The heat returned to my cheeks. “It’s not really any of my business anyway.”