by Danah Logan
Almost to the bed, I peek into the hallway. I have a direct line of sight to Rhys’s room and can make out the shape of a body in his bed—that's where the others are.
Climbing on the mattress, I pull on the covers. Rhys startles awake, his eyes frantically searching the room for a potential threat. I place my hand on his arm, and as soon as he finds me beside him, all the tension leaves his body.
"You were in there for a while." He yawns and sits up so his head is leaned against my headboard. Holding out an arm for me to come closer, my heart skips a beat, and I glance at the door before looking back at him.
Reading my mind, Rhys says, "It's okay. The ‘rents gave their approval. Den and Wes took my room."
I choke on my saliva and start coughing. It takes several moments to regain control and to be able to voice my question. "You asked their permission to sleep in my bed?"
He chuckles. "No, I simply declared I’d be in your room if they needed me. We already knew they—"
I interrupt him in typical Minnie Mouse fashion. "And they were fine with that? Tristen okay’ed it? Just like that?" Something isn’t right here.
Sighing, he pulls me across the bed and tucks me under his arm, like I weigh nothing. Wrapped in his embrace, Rhys continues, "They agreed to let us sleep together, under the condition the door stays open. Mom added that we would all have a long conversation tomorrow."
"And Tristen?"
He hugs me closer and, with his arm around my shoulders, starts tracing small circles. "He was his usual unreadable self. Didn't say a word."
His caress causes shivers to run down my spine.
"I don't know if that is comforting or not," I admit, mimicking Rhys's movement with my fingers on the blue material that clings to his chest.
The circles stop, and I’m about to protest, when he tightens his hold. His other hand lifts and pushes a strand of hair from my forehead. His fingers linger near the cut, before moving down and resting on my neck.
He needs the physical contact as much as me, and I’m sure he’s fully aware of my rapid pulse under his palm.
"Let’s deal with that tomorrow. All I care about is that you’re here, and we’ll get some rest."
"Rest?" I tilt my head upward and meet Rhys’s gaze, my hand flattened against his pecs, heat igniting in my core, and I move my hand slowly down his abs.
With hooded lids, he smirks at me. "Rest. As much as I want a repeat of the hospital—sans the blood and gore you caused—I need to get some sleep. We both do."
Face ablaze, I swat his arm.
"You act like I had blood spewing out of several open wounds."
"Well, not spewing, but..." He trails off, and a devilish grin crosses his face. "I wouldn't mind a little tongue action, though."
He did not just say that.
I pull back, and Rhys bursts out laughing. "Shit, babe. I'm sorry. I couldn't resist."
"That's something I would've expected to come out of Wes’s mouth." I huff.
"Forgive me?" Rhys pulls me back into his arms and places a tender kiss on my forehead. "I’m sorry. I was just trying to distract you from whatever was going on inside that head of yours."
Snuggling closer, I smile. "Mission accomplished."
Reaching over me, Rhys switches off the bedside lamp, and I wrap my arms around him as soon as he is back in place.
"I’m glad you’re back, babe," he murmurs into my hair.
"Me, too," I reply automatically.
At some point, I managed to shift both of us under the covers. Rhys is snoring softly, but I can't calm my mind. The last two days are a blur, and being at the vineyard seems like a lifetime ago. Instead, I keep rewinding our trip home in my head. Tristen's behavior is getting weirder by the day, and I wonder if he knows more about my past than he is letting on.
Getting discharged took forever. I'm still baffled by our mode of transportation—a freaking private jet. How did Tristen organize that thing? The two agents ushered us on board, and I curled up in one of the oversized, buttery-soft leather seats. Rhys settled in next to me, and Heather across from us. After takeoff, Tristen brought all of us blankets and took the seat next to his wife. It was the first time he had addressed me in hours.
"Are you comfortable, sweetheart?"
I forced a smile on my face. "I’m fine, Dad."
Rhys automatically reached over and grabbed my hand, knowing that I was far from fine. Physically, I was, but mentally, I was slowly losing the battle against blocking out the ginormous elephants in the room: my kidnapping and the social media incest posts about Rhys and me. I'd have to address both sooner or later.
I shook myself out of the thoughts and faced my adopted father, who was eyeing my hand in Rhys’s. My insides constricted, and I instinctively pulled away. Rhys glared at his father, who, in return, watched me more closely. I’ve known this man my entire life, and he's been the only father I remember, but that was the first time I was afraid. Not for my safety, but if he would take Rhys away from me again.
Tristen looked away first and pulled out his phone—something he has always done to shut everyone out. I flicked my gaze to Heather, who was in a stare-down with her son. She gave him the briefest of nods, and my hand was back in his. I curiously turned to Rhys, but he avoided making eye contact by pulling his phone out as well. Resigned, I leaned my head back against the seat.
What has happened to all of us?
I wake up with a start, my heart hammering in my chest. I’m alone in bed, and there’s honking and shouting outside. What the—then it clicks. The reporters have arrived. I have no clue how we’ve managed to avoid them this long, but I’m sure it—again—has something to do with Tristen’s connections.
I listen to the muffled yelling, unable to make out what’s being said. Swallowing several times, I try to calm my breathing. Thank goodness my room is facing the back of the house. The urge to know that George is close by overcomes me, and I jump out of bed. Unsure where the phone is, I stop in the middle of my room, arms hanging at my sides. I don’t remember what happened to it after the call. Rhys must’ve hidden it somewhere.
Shit.
Still rooted to the spot, a soft knock comes from the open door. Spinning around, I am face to face with my best friend. She looks disheveled—so unlike the Denielle I'm used to. Even when she just wakes up, she usually looks all put together and presentable—not like me, who sports a bird’s nest of epic proportions every morning.
"Hey." My tone is subdued.
"Hey, yourself." Den attempts a smile. Aside from her not being a morning person, there is a lot of damage repair to be done to our friendship.
A hollow feeling settles in my stomach. We stare at each other for a long time before she crosses to my bed and plops down at the foot. "Where are the guys?"
I follow her movement and sit down next to her. "Not sure, I just woke up."
She wrings her hands in her lap. "So, uh…how are you doing?" She won’t look at me.
"I have no clue." Heart pounding in my throat, I whisper, "I'm scared everyone will find out the truth and he has to leave before we get answers."
Denielle remains quiet for several breaths. My palms start sweating profusely, and I swipe them on my pajama pants. Den’s fingers close on mine, and she finally faces me. "Babe, I have no idea what you're dealing with. Rhys has told us some, but I'm sure there is a lot more. I have no clue what to think or how to deal with this. I don't think anyone would, given the circumstances. I mean, babe…he's a…" She trails off, and my heart sinks. "But…" she adds after an indefinable amount of time, "I know you. There is no one out there that’s more levelheaded. You would never allow anything to happen to your family or friends."
"Of course not!" I squeeze her hand. "D, I swear to you, there is so much I never expected to find when I woke up after the accident."
I'm about to confess how smart and funny Nate is, how peaceful the vineyard is, and the way George looks out for my brother, when we get interrupted. The
yelling outside gets louder, and I cock my head, still unable to make out actual words. My fingers tighten around my friend’s, and I slowly stand up, pulling her with me. Walking across the hall to Rhys’s room, my steps falter for a second before I reach the window. It has a direct line of sight to the driveway and street. Denielle follows close behind, and I step up to the wooden blinds but remain far enough in the shadows that my silhouette is hidden from view. I see three news vans and four unmarked cars—not counting the black SUV and Wes’s red 4Runner. Some of our neighbors are lingering on their front lawns, and I rub my upper arms with my hands. This was expected, but at the same time, I’m unprepared. A middle-aged man in jeans and a gray bomber jacket argues with a dark-haired woman dressed in a cream pantsuit. I do a double take and recognition hits. I’ve seen him in several videos. It’s Lancaster, the reporter who’s obsessed with the missing girls’ cases. I don’t recognize the woman and assume she’s from another media outlet. Suddenly, a muffled, "Upper left window," makes every single head snap up, and three cameras focus instantly on the house. Denielle pulls on my arm, and we both drop to the floor.
"This is fucking nuts!" my friend hisses as I try to figure out why my lungs start burning.
Oh God, I can't do this.
Arms wrap around my stomach from behind and force me out of the crouched position, dragging me into the hallway. Fingers still clasped around my best friend’s hand, she follows close behind.
"Breathe, babe." Rhys’s voice reaches my ears, but it's like I'm underwater. "Cal. I. Need. You. To. Inhale."
I can’t. Why can’t I breathe?
I open my mouth to do as he ordered, but the air doesn’t reach my lungs. It’s like someone has me in a choke hold, and my vision turns blurry.
"Calla, look at me!"
I want to, but everything is out of focus. A wheezing sound reaches my ears, and I realize it’s coming from me.
"What’s wrong with her?"
"Sweetheart?"
So many voices. I can't do this.
My legs leave the ground. I’m tucked against a chest. The faint scent of a familiar shower gel mixed with laundry detergent and coffee penetrates my nose—Rhys. I want to tell him that I’m okay, but I can’t make the words come out. I’m not okay.
Back on my feet, I sway when something cold and wet hits me in the face. A scream rips from my throat. Stumbling, I try to get away. Arms wrap back around me.
"I told you to breathe, babe. You should’ve listened," he growls, but there is no anger behind his words.
"Oh, thank fuck." Wes.
"Wes!" Another male voice barks. Tristen.
"Sorry, sir."
My breathing is regulating itself again, and I blink against the water, drops clinging to my lashes.
"EVERYONE OUT!" This time Rhys does sound murderous.
"Rhys," a calm and collected Tristen addresses his son.
"Not now, Dad! We'll be downstairs in a few. She needs a fucking minute; not everyone is a robot like you." I've never heard him talk to his father like this. No one challenges Tristen—except maybe Heather.
After a pause, there is shuffling, murmurs, and a door is closing.
A towel wraps around my shoulders, and Rhys’s forehead touches mine. "Babe, you need to stop scaring the shit out of me. I've aged ten years in the last two weeks. I’m not ready to turn thirty," he softly chuckles.
Chapter Thirty-Five
I don’t know how long I can keep this up.
With a clenched jaw, I help Lilly change out of her drenched clothes, and for once, my dick has zero reaction to seeing her naked. Pulling the soaked hoodie off her body, I wrap a fresh towel around her shoulders. I’m not even tempted to take a peek. Lilly shimmies out of her PJ pants while I return to her room to find something dry to wear.
Her panic attacks are becoming more frequent, and it's starting to freak me out. I mean, sure, who wouldn't lose their shit in her situation? It's a miracle that she still functions the way she is, but how long is this supposed to go on? The press just arrived; she hasn't even faced the vultures yet. Not to mention everything that's been going on at school. She has to go back eventually, and from what Wes and Den have been reporting, Kat has basically resurrected the Salem witch hunt with Lilly as the main target. I fight the urge to embed an imprint of my fist in the drywall of her closet.
Fuck, I’m exhausted.
"Rhys?" Lilly’s tentative voice drifts to where I still stand, staring at her neatly hung shirts. I grab the first thing off a hanger and make my way back to the bathroom.
Sitting on the closed toilet, she peers up at me. "Do you hate me?"
I kneel in front of her, and she scans my face, tears pooling in her beautiful eyes. My chest constricts, seeing her like this.
I gently place my hand on the side of her face and wipe away a tear with my thumb. "Why on earth would you think that?"
Lilly leans into my touch, closing her eyes. "Because all I've done is make a mess out of your life."
Unable to respond right away, I mull that over for a moment. "Babe, I'm not going to lie to you that all of this doesn't affect me. The last few weeks have been hell. I'm so fucking tired, and not knowing what the future will bring freaks me out, but what’s worse is seeing you like this. I don't agree on much—or really anything—with your brother, but Nate was right on one account. You are a fighter." I place a kiss on her nose.
She smiles sadly. "I don’t feel like one right now."
I stand up, pulling her with me, and wrap my arms around her shoulders. Lilly clings to my midsection, burying her nose in my damp sweater. I should probably change as well. Inhaling her signature coconut shampoo, I silently swear to myself that I will find a way to help her through this, even if I have to involve her brother and George.
Lilly's hand securely in mine, we make our way downstairs. The first thing I notice is that all the blinds are closed, and the curtains in the living room are drawn. Agent Lanning and Agent Camden are in their usual spots in the kitchen, and both glance up from their laptops as I lead Lilly through the kitchen to the living room. The other suits haven’t returned since we got back with Lilly.
Mom and Dad are quietly talking to each other. Wes and Den are opposite my parents on the U-shaped couch. Wes is scrolling with his thumb over something on his phone; Den has her arms crossed, head leaned back, and eyes closed. This is the first time since last night I take in Den's appearance; she's a mess. She's wearing an oversized green hoodie that I'm pretty sure is Wes’s, black leggings, and her hair is up in a loose bun.
I purposefully ignore Dad as he tracks our movements. We sit down on the middle section of the couch, and I wrap my arm around Lilly's shoulders.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see two figures hovering in the doorway. Lanning and Camden have abandoned their chairs at the kitchen table.
"Not yet." Dad's barked command makes everyone jolt to attention, and the two agents retreat without a word.
"How are you, sweetheart?" Mom addresses Lilly with a genuine smile.
Lilly leans closer to me and stares at her hands in her lap. "I’m fine, Mom."
Her go-to response to that question.
"Uh, do you guys want us to leave?" Wes hesitantly asks no one in particular.
Lilly’s eyes snap to his. "No! Stay. Please." The last word is almost spoken like a plea.
Dad clears his throat. "Lilly, we need to talk about what happened."
I peer down and find her already looking at me. I have no clue how my parents will react; my mouth has gone dry, and I force myself to put on a façade. I don’t like pretending in front of Lilly, but it’s as much for her as it is for me. I give her a nod, relaying everything I can't put into words in front of the people in the room or the listening agents in the kitchen in this one movement.
Lilly presses her lips into a thin line and inhales deeply through her nose before letting the air back out. She talks to the room but doesn’t avert her eyes from mine.
"
I was working on a journalism assignment when I came across an article about a missing girl. After reading the first one, I knew there was something…I had to find out more. The longer I looked into the case…" She pauses, a slight quiver in her voice. "I got this feeling. Then I started seeing these flashes. Memories that were not mine—or at least I didn't think they were at first."
"Oh God." Mom's hands fly to her mouth. I take in my father's face, and even he looks surprised. Not much can rattle Tristen McGuire.
Lilly doesn’t go into details about her migraines; she leaves out the ones about Nate and, instead, recaps her memories about Emily and Henry. She tells them how I confronted her and how she talked me into going to California. My dry mouth has extended down my throat, and I would kill for some water right about now. My insides are one giant knot.
"I am sorry I lied to you." She finally turns toward Mom and Dad. Mom is so shocked that all she does is stare at her daughter, wide-eyed.
It's Dad that surprises all of us. "I knew where you were."
My eyes snap to him. Motherfucker! I had my suspicions when I found out that he tracked our phones, but I wasn’t positive until now.
"You did?" Lilly squeaks.
My father scans the room. Both Wes and Den shrink into the couch under his scrutiny, aware they got caught as accomplices to our deception, but when he lands on his wife, he says, "I'm sorry, honey."
She didn’t know.
Mom straightens, slowly removes her hands from her mouth, and places them folded in her lap. "You knew, and you didn't tell me?"
When she is not in the courtroom, my mother is the kindest and most nurturing woman I've ever known. Looking at her right now, though, she scares the shit out of me—she’s seething.
Dad opens his mouth, but she holds up a palm. "We’ve kept Lilly safe for ten years. She is my daughter, even if not by blood. I stood by your decision when you forced Rhys out of the house because he fell in love with her—something we knew would happen—but I trusted your judgment on the situation."
