Free Third Strike by Heather Brewer

cut wood, all the while amazed at how cooperative his normally hotheaded cousin was being.
    â€œMy head’s still killing me.” Henry rubbed his temples as he approached the last few logs in the cut pile. Then, as if remembering something, he paused and looked at Joss. “Hey, what happened out there today? Was it a coyote or something? What hit me?”
    Joss furrowed his brow in contemplation. On one hand, it was actually kinda nice to have someone to talk to about the existence of vampires. On the other, he knew that admitting anything regarding a vampire attack would put Henry immediately on the defensive. Joss made an executive decision and looked at his cousin. “It was a coyote. Big one, too. After it hit you, it ran off deeper into the woods. Apparently it thought you were alone. When it saw there were two of us, it must have gotten spooked. We were lucky. Looks like that guy died by a coyote attack after all.”
    Instantly, Joss could tell that Henry didn’t believe a word that he was saying. And who could blame him? Joss’s tone was so full of it, he might as well have had a sign on his forehead flashing “I AM SUCH A LIAR” in bright neon red. But it wasn’t Joss’s fault. He was having a difficult time focusing on being smooth and believable on the heels of the discussion about his “fragile” family. In short, he wasn’t trying hard enough. And they both knew it.
    Henry raised an eyebrow. “Are you lying to me?”
    â€œNo.” Joss’s heart beat hard inside his chest, as if tapping him in quiet disagreement.
    â€œYou’re lying to me.” It wasn’t a question anymore. Not that it had been much of one in the first place, but Henry had been giving him a chance then. Now there was no turning back.
    â€œNo, I’m not.” Joss set his jaw stubbornly.
    â€œJoss.”
    â€œWhat?”
    Henry groaned, running a haphazard hand through his hair. Astoundingly, his hair looked even better after. He met Joss’s eyes and visibly fought to keep his tone calm. “Was it a vampire?”
    He wanted to shout that yes, yes, it was a vampire, and that vampire was someone near and dear to him, and he was so confused at this point about how exactly he was supposed to feel about it that he felt like imploding . . . but he couldn’t. Because that would mean that the Society might be wrong about vampires. And that Henry might be right about Vlad.
    Joss stuck the ax into an oversized log then and shook his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
    Henry looked more irritated than Joss had ever seen him. He was holding it together surprisingly well. Joss wondered how long his calm demeanor could possibly last. Henry’s eyes widened as Joss stepped past him toward the house. He placed a hand on Joss’s shoulder, stopping him. “Dude, if a vampire attacked me, I have a right to know.”
    Joss shook him off, more roughly than he needed to. “And if I said it was a vampire, what then? Would you defend them then?”
    â€œOf course not. They’re not all good. No group of any kind of person is all good.” Henry stood there, demanding Joss’s attention, his eyes full of a fire that threatened to spread wildly. But he looked like he was desperately trying to prevent it from doing so. Only Joss couldn’t understand why. “So?”
    Joss threw his arms up. He was raising his voice to a near shout, but couldn’t stop himself. So much anger and guilt and remorse and embarrassment was filling him that Joss thought that he might just explode into a cloud of ash. “Yes. Yes, okay? A vampire knocked you unconscious!”
    He shoved Henry back with both palms, hard. Henry stumbled, but righted himself immediately. “Why are you getting so ticked off?”
    Because Henry was here, asking him questions about things he didn’t want to talk about. Because