by Danah Logan
Finally, I say, "I told him that I didn’t care if you’d be going. You’d probably just hang out with Den anyway. But if anything came up, Wes and I would be there. He thought that over for a few minutes and then gave his permission under the condition that we check in every day. I have to keep tabs on you, and I’m to bring you home at the slightest sign of anything unusual."
Lilly rolls her eyes. "What does he think will happen? If my kidnapper hasn’t found me here, he won’t find me at a random ski resort."
Not that we’re actually going there.
I hate how casually she mentions that psychopath. Most people would break down and shit their pants under this pressure, but not Lilly; she takes it on headfirst. I always knew she was strong, but I realize that I have underestimated her. She doesn’t comprehend how unique she is.
I slap my hand on her comforter. "Let’s get some sleep. We have a trip to plan and one more week of school."
Lilly settles back into her pillows. "Thank you!"
"For what?"
"Everything."
I stand and walk toward the door. "Goodnight, Cal."
Before the door closes, I hear, "Night."
Chapter Thirteen
The next eight days drag on for-ev-er. I’ve been on edge all week. Christmas lost all its appeal, and all I want is to leave for California.
It takes us two days to arrange everything, and by Tuesday evening, we have a plan. We have ten days and contemplate flying versus driving. In the end, we decide to take the Defender. That way, we won’t have to leave it at the airport with our pretend ski gear and won’t have to rely on cabs or Uber when we get to our destination. The goal is to push it and make the drive in three days, which gives us three days to find out what happened to me.
I do my best to stay busy. I spend almost every night at Denielle’s house to avoid being around Heather and Tristen. Mrs. Keller often travels with her husband to conferences he’s speaking at, but since it is the week before Christmas, she’s deep in holiday preparation. She’s absolutely delighted with my intrusion in her house. I had made myself scarce over the last month, and she caters to Den and me with snacks and drinks like we’re back in middle school having a sleepover.
I love it.
Emma and Sloane join us twice, and I enjoy being around my friends. I’ve avoided them for the most part because I never knew when a migraine would hit.
I have to let Denielle in eventually, especially after she covers for me, but for now, I push that thought out of my mind. Staying busy is top priority, and thankfully, she doesn’t pressure me.
The first few times Rhys and I text when I’m at her house, she assesses me carefully. She was the one who picked up the pieces two-plus years ago, and I can’t fault her for being suspicious. Toward the end of the week, though, she must realize that since I am okay, she can be as well. I gotta love my best friend for always watching out for me and having my back. I know how rare it is to have such a genuine friend in life and how lucky I am.
On Christmas Eve, I am a nervous wreck. Rhys keeps throwing me keep-it-together looks all day. I’m waiting for Heather and Tristen to call us out.
We have our traditional Christmas dinner of turkey, cranberry sauce, stuffing, mashed potatoes, corn, and green beans. Every year, Heather makes a tri-color gelatin mold in the shape of a Christmas tree. White, red, and green, but no one ever eats the white. She mixes nuts in it to make it appear like Christmas lights. Red and green are spared the disgrace as the nuts wouldn’t be adequately visible, according to her. Rhys and I always say that this is just plain wrong. Why would anyone ruin perfectly good Jell-O with nuts? Heather doesn’t care, though; her mom made it that way, and so does she. That doesn’t stop us from making fun of her all night.
At one point during dinner, Heather starts talking about a Christmas party when Rhys and I were little. Heather laughs at Tristen but talks to me. "Rhys chased you with a fake snake through the house. Who gave him that thing again?"
Tristen is focused on Rhys, but he only shrugs, keeping his face expressionless.
No idea if he does or doesn’t remember.
She snaps her finger. "Rob Drager!" When she notices the question mark on everyone’s face, she adds, "He used to live a few houses down. He worked at the zoo. Don’t you remember, Tristen?"
Tristen just mumbles between bites, "Uh, yeah. I think so."
I doubt he does.
"Anyway..." The attention is back on me. "You come around the corner and run straight into the camping table that was set up next to the kitchen. The table folded down on itself, and you were covered in vanilla pudding and cranberry sauce. You were so upset that you ruined everyone’s evening. Rhys was laughing like a hyena, and I had to send him to his room." She winks at Rhys.
Then, she adds with a bright smile, "Only the Jell-O mold survived."
I glance over at Rhys next to me, who watches me carefully, before I ask softly, "When was this?"
His eyes widen; he understands immediately. I don’t remember any of this.
Heather looks at Tristen thoughtfully. "Hmm, I think that was our last Christmas before moving to Virginia. Tristen?"
He nods in agreement. "Sounds about right."
My entire body goes rigid. They are talking about the Christmas before everything happened. When I was not part of their family. And yet they talk about it as if it were the most normal thing ever. Like I lived there.
I’m being choked by the rage that instantly starts building inside of me. How. Dare. They. Trying to control my breathing, I count backward, but it’s not working.
Then, Rhys touches his leg ever so slightly against mine under the table, and I gain control again. Heather and Tristen keep talking, oblivious to what just happened here. When my breathing has evened out and the red haze lifts, I return Rhys’s gesture to let him know that I’m okay.
I remain silent for the rest of dinner. I am terrified I’ll say something that gives away that I know. At the same time, I also try to figure out why Rhys seems to be the person who can always make me come back. Without him, I wouldn’t have been able to keep up the pretense. Another layer of the wall of betrayal and distrust toward Rhys has been chipped away tonight.
After the table is cleaned up, the dishes are in the dishwasher, and the leftovers are in the fridge, we watch A Christmas Story together. I purposefully position myself at one end of the couch and pull Natty down next to me when she walks in. Rhys is at the other end of the sectional, as usual when we do something as a family. We keep as much space as possible between each other. That leaves the middle for Heather and Tristen. Before settling down, Heather grabs my favorite navy-blue throw blanket from the back of the couch and drapes it over Natty and me, smiling down at us.
I mumble, "Thank you," avoiding eye contact. Rhys observes me; he’s probably waiting for me to snap. Only Natty, Heather, and Tristen don’t notice anything.
My little sister cuddles against me, and the movie keeps me semi-distracted until I can escape to my room.
Thank goodness Christmas Day goes by fast. We open presents after breakfast, and I focus on Natty the entire time. We retreat to the couch where she immediately starts reading the book I bought her during my shopping trip with Denielle. I get a play by play while she is skimming through. For a ten-year-old, this child can read incredibly fast. Heather is on the phone with her mother and sister, and Rhys keeps Tristen involved in random sports conversations. I wonder if he’s doing it on purpose.
After lunch, I head upstairs to finish packing. I hear a soft knock on my door, and before I can say anything, Rhys slips into my room, quickly closing the door.
"They’re Skyping with Aunt T, so I figured it’s safe."
I nod and turn back to my suitcase. Aunt T is Tristen’s older sister, Teresa, and once she starts talking, it’ll be hours before Heather or Tristen can get off the phone. I have one pile of clothes I need for the fake ski trip, just in case Heather or Tristen end up checking my luggage or c
loset and find my ski gear there, and one pile that I actually plan to wear. I stash the ski clothes on top of the less-insulated outfits and turn back to Rhys.
He is leaning against the door, watching me.
I raise my eyebrows, waiting.
Taking a step away from the door, he pulls a small square, purple box out of his back pocket. The ribbon—in the same color as the box—is slightly smashed from where it was stashed.
"What is this?"
He hands it over. "Open it."
He is careful not to show any emotion, but for a fraction of a second, I see the eagerness in his eyes. My palms suddenly begin to sweat. Glancing between Rhys and the small box one last time, I pull on the ribbon. When I lift the lid, I find a tiny purple pouch nestled inside. I don’t dare to glance up. Shaking the contents of the pouch into my palm, it’s a small silver bracelet with a thin bar in the middle of a dainty chain. At closer inspection, I notice that it has coordinates engraved in it. This time I do raise my eyes back up and wait for Rhys to explain.
"They’re the coordinates of the house you grew up in. I wanted you to be able to have something from your past, even if you don’t remember it." With a cheeky grin, he adds, "Merry Christmas, Cal."
I’m speechless. I wipe away the tear that’s running down my cheek. This is by far the best gift he could’ve given me, and with that, another layer of the wall is gone. He either knows what he is doing, or I have completely misjudged him.
A hiccupped laugh bubbles up. "I—I don’t know what to say. Now my gift doesn’t feel very original. Thank you so much."
"You got me a present?" Rhys says it so softly that it’s barely audible.
"Uh, well...yeah. You got me something."
He just shrugs, staring at his feet, and I take that as my cue to head into my closet to retrieve the gift bag I hid between my winter and rain boots.
When Rhys pulls out the quick wraps his entire face lights up. "No way! I’ve been looking at these. This is fucking awesome, Cal! How did you know?"
I blush at his excitement. I didn’t think they would be that special. "I, uh, saw them when I was buying new shin guards and thought of you. Spence told me once you complained about your old wraps. They’re supposed to be one of the best," I babble.
Rhys grins from ear to ear. "They are!" With one step, he’s across the room and has me in a bear hug. "Thanks, Cal!"
It feels natural to return the embrace, and for a moment, we’re just us again. Rhys and Lilly. No secrets. No lies. No baggage.
It’s almost dark when we put the last of our bags into Rhys’s car. The street is quiet, and I scan the other houses while I wait for Rhys. Lights are on in about half of them. In some, you can see the Christmas tree in the window, and it gives the entire street a peaceful feel.
Rhys parked in the driveway so I could move the Jeep into the garage and it wouldn’t be outside while we’re gone. Rhys’s car is the one that usually needs safekeeping. No one cares how my car withstands the weather. I get it, though. I would probably tuck my car in every night and sing it a lullaby if the roles were reversed.
Rhys maneuvers another one of the bags around when I say, "I still can’t believe Tristen gave you his baby for your birthday. I admit I was a bit jealous."
Rhys is finally satisfied with the luggage arrangement in the back and turns toward me. One would think he is playing a real-life version of Jenga instead of loading the car.
He winks. "You got your dream car for your sixteenth birthday. I had to wait a lot longer."
"Well, my dream car didn’t cost a small fortune," I shoot back, smiling. "You can’t compare the two. The Defender was Tristen’s baby long before you came along."
That gets me a chuckle.
"Ha, very true. I was actually saving for a used Bronco when Dad came up with that idea."
"I think it’s great. She suits you." Rhys’s Defender is a girl, you see. However, I’ve never asked how he determined that. "With the eight-cylinder engine and four-wheel drive, you just run over everything in your way, exactly like in every other part of your life."
I genuinely enjoy that we can banter again like we used to. The small voice in my head that has continuously reminded me of Rhys’s part in the betrayal has lessened. It still perks up, but not as frequently anymore.
His eyes crinkle, and he bumps my shoulder. "No wonder guys are scared of you. You know your cars, you’re a black belt, and you can hit your mark with Dad’s .45 better than anyone I know—including me."
Now I roll my eyes, but my cheeks heat, nonetheless. His compliment makes me self-conscious. I don’t think I’m anything special; I like what I like. And that includes gymnastics, martial arts, cars, and being on the range.
I don’t want him to see how his words affect me, so I just return the shoulder bump, saying, "Whatever," and walk into the house without turning back.
Tomorrow morning, we leave on our trip, and if everything goes well, I will find out what happened to me.
Lilly disappears to her room after dinner with the excuse that she needs to talk to Denielle about the schedule for the next few days. She’s avoided making eye contact with me since I complimented her by the car.
I’m aware that I made her uncomfortable but couldn’t stop my stupid mouth before the words came out. Damn brain-to-mouth connection went offline as it usually does when I get too comfortable with her. I contemplate if I should say something. Apologize? But in the end, all I did was tell her the truth. Most guys in school tuck their tails and run when it comes to her. And that’s not because she’s the QB’s little sister. She may not realize it, but she can be pretty intimidating all by herself. Add Denielle to the mix, and you get a recipe for "don’t fuck with us." Denielle is fiercely protective of Lilly, which earned her the nickname "Bulldog" a few years ago—not that I’d call her that to her face. She’s scary as fuck to anyone who is not in her inner circle. No one without a vagina voluntarily approaches her. Not that I’m complaining, either. That way, I don’t have to worry about potential boyfriends. I’m a possessive dick when it comes to my girl—sue me.
It was bad enough when I saw Scott Grier, one of Charlie’s friends, tongue-diving in her mouth at Sloane’s end-of-summer party. Let’s just say that night did not end well for anyone involved. I almost blew my cover. The urge to beat the shit out of the asshole was overwhelming. It also didn’t help that none of us were sober. When Scott stumbled into me on his way to the patio, I had my opening. I ended up getting a good punch in, but Kat was livid. Her boyfriend does not behave like a pubescent Neanderthal.
Yes, ma’am.
It was one of the few times we fought. Usually, I just let her rant and move on. But that night, I yelled back and stormed away like a little bitch. Not my most manly moment, but I was also pissed at myself for dropping my act. Immediately after my embarrassing exit, I ran into Lilly in the hallway to the downstairs bathroom. Still amped up from sucker-punching the little tongue fucker, followed by getting ridiculed by my pretend girlfriend, I lost it on her. Asking if she enjoyed having Scott’s tongue down her throat in front of everyone like a cheap cheerleader was probably the low point of our relationship. Her eyes had widened, and that was the last I’d seen of her at a party I attended.
Yup, I think I need to apologize to her—at least for that stunt.
I’m finally in bed by ten, after Dad gives me another lecture on how to keep Lilly safe as if I am still the sixteen-year-old boy he told to stay away from his sister. When he is satisfied that I understand all his instructions, I’m dismissed. It takes a lot of self-restraint not to salute him. I wonder if he’ll ever get that I’m not one of his little soldiers. I want to remind him that he’s freaking retired from the Marine Corps, and I’m his son. His. Son. Not his Marine. But that probably wouldn’t go over well, so I swallow my retort and leave, closing the door a little bit more forceful than necessary. My bad—not.
It’s 3:47 a.m., and my alarm is set for four. I’ve barely slept all night.
I rotate through my three pillows and change positions for the hundredth fucking time, but nothing helps. At one point, I’m so frustrated that I hurl my comforter off the bed but start freezing almost immediately—not surprising when one has the window open in the dead of winter. I pick it back up with a sigh.
I can’t stop thinking about Lilly, about what we’ll potentially find and how it’ll impact her life. I seriously question if we’re making a mistake going to California. Mom and Dad have been paranoid for ten years, and there has to be a reason for it. Then, there is the fact that we’ll be spending a lot of time in close quarters. I hope I can keep it together and not dry hump her in my sleep—that wouldn’t be weird at all, nope. It’s been fairly easy to stay in control since we can’t be seen together, but that’ll change as soon as we hit the road. Ten days, here we come.
I. Can. Do. This.
My little pep talk done, I throw my covers off and disable the alarm.
The coffeemaker takes unusually long this morning; at least, that’s how it seems while I wait. I need caffeine—a lot of caffeine—if I want to make it through the fifteen-hour drive.
While waiting for my fix, I decide to make Lilly her usual morning drink: Earl Grey tea, no sugar or anything. I have no clue how she can drink that.
Lilly walks in around four-fifty and smiles broadly when she sees me holding out her white Yeti travel mug which she bought to match her white Jeep. To say that she has a fixation for color coordination is an understatement.
She is wearing black yoga pants with a white tank and a black—what I’m told is a Barre sweatshirt over it. Don’t ask me what a Barre sweatshirt is, but Kat had a whole ten-minute lecture for me when I had called something similar a sweater a few weeks ago. Lilly has a massive scarf wrapped around her neck and her chocolate-brown UGGs on. The entire outfit is casual, but the way it accentuates her toned body, I have to pick my jaw up off the floor. Holy shit, this trip is going to test my self-restraint.
