by Danah Logan
I could’ve guessed maybe a quarter of his answers; the rest I had no idea. His response to his favorite song caught me off guard, though. When picking my song, I was between "Helsinki" and "Good Goodbye," and when Rhys said Linkin Park, I experienced this fluttery feeling in my belly. But I mean, it’s just a song—no big deal.
The morning stretch goes by pretty quickly, and Rhys tells me this story about Wes dating a girl from another school that has me in tears—the laughing kind.
"She was cute and actually really nice—not like some of the other chicks he’d been seeing, where all that counted was their ass or the size of their rack." Rhys rolls his eyes. "Anyway, he tries to surprise her and sneak in her window one night; he’d done it before. But he doesn’t know that her grandmother is staying with them for the week, and the girl is bunking with the little sister across the hall. He ends up waking up the grandmother, who screams bloody murder and beats him with her cane until he just jumps out of the window and takes off running for a good five blocks. His car was still at the house." Rhys is cracking up while he talks, and by the time he finishes, I have tears running down my cheeks.
That could only happen to Wes. He could have almost any girl by merely snapping his fingers. With his naturally bronze skin and shaggy blond hair, he looks like he belongs in a surf ad. This year, he showed up with a mohawk on the first day of school, which gave him an Abercrombie-model-turned-bad-boy vibe. Every girl in a thirty-foot radius stopped what they were doing and instantly started drooling—well, besides Den and me. But even Denielle admitted that he looked smokin’—her words, not mine. Don’t get me wrong, Wes is absolutely gorgeous, but I’ve known him most of my life. I’m probably one of the few females that doesn’t want him that way. He’s been Rhys’s best friend for a decade, and he was a good friend to me, even during the last two years. Though, I don’t think Rhys is aware of that. When we first moved back, years ago, he had started flirting with me, but I’m positive it was never anything serious. However, I can now see how it could’ve pushed Rhys in ways I never anticipated. Long story short, Wes and me—not going to happen.
I pull down the visor and see that I have raccoon eyes. I try to fix my mascara as much as possible without having my makeup bag in reach.
We talk about our sessions with Spence. Rhys explains how Spence has been incorporating wrestling moves into the sparring lessons, and I’m intrigued. Spence and I have been mostly working on defense moves, and now I realize that this must have been on purpose. I’m supposed to learn how to defend myself against an assailant. But I’m not sure if that means Spence is in on the secret or if he just follows Tristen’s orders. Either way, I don’t like it. That’s another part of my life that was manipulated. My teeth automatically clench.
I wish I had already called home. Now I have to make sure to sound calm and like someone who’s having the time of her life on her first real trip away with her best friend. I’m going to need mental prep time. And I’m definitely calling Heather’s cell; there is no way I can pretend with Tristen.
Rhys pulls me out of my internal rant. "Maybe we could start training together again sometime?"
The idea makes me smile. "I’d like that."
I really would; our joined sessions were always fun. We could spin it in a way that I need a different opponent whose moves I’m not used to.
Not anymore.
We stop at a small Mom-and-Pop diner attached to the local gas station for lunch. It’s almost noon, and between bites of my chicken sandwich, I suggest that we should push it as far as possible again. Rhys pulls up the route on his phone, and we settle on Salt Lake City. That’ll make the last day only around ten hours if everything goes smoothly.
We trade off every few hours, which allows both of us to nap some throughout the afternoon. As before, we settle on a motel close to our route, and the entire setup is similar to last night. Rhys gets ready for bed first today, and I use the time to dial Heather’s phone. I make up a story about Charlie tripping as we got off the lift and Den faceplanting in the snow. Heather laughs, and the entire check-in takes less than five minutes. Yet, it drains the last bit of energy I have left.
Rhys suggests ordering something from the room service menu. Well, menu is an overstatement. It’s a piece of paper with three items scribbled on it and has been copied one too many times. We settle on grilled cheese and scrambled eggs with bacon. The menu must be for all three main meals.
While we wait, I take a shower and change into my flannel pajama pants. I throw on an oversized Henley that was on top in my bag and realize that it’s not mine. I look down at myself. I must’ve grabbed Rhys’s shirt from last night when I threw everything into my bag this morning. I can’t go back out since this is the only top I have with me in the bathroom. The shirt I wore all day smells like I ran a marathon. I guess this will have to do. It’s comfy and, taking a whiff of the armpit area, doesn’t stink.
Rhys hollers through the door, "Dinner is here."
I step out of the bathroom, and his eyes go wide, followed by him scrambling for the remote.
Thanks to the shower, I’m awake enough to eat my grilled cheese.
Seeing Lilly walk out of the bathroom, my eyes widen, and my breath hitches in my throat. I choke on my saliva and start violently coughing.
Holy fuck!
Heat shoots through my body. Never in a million years could I have imagined seeing one of my fantasies come to life, and definitely not here. When I checked my bag, I thought I had left that shirt at the last hotel, which sucked since it was one of my favorites.
I can’t stop gawking and stifle a groan. Blood is traveling to places it definitely should not be. I shift around to find a less...constricting position. Even though my shirt is way too big on her frame, the way the neckline slides down to reveal the top of her right shoulder is sexy as hell. It is by far the hottest thing I have ever seen.
My palms are sweating, and I’m fighting the urge to grab her, push her against the wall, and devour her mouth with mine. This is not good. Not. Good. At. All.
I need something to distract myself, something to snap myself out of staring like a complete perv. I fumble for the remote and turn the TV on. I start scanning the channels like a maniac—there has to be something. I stumble upon an old episode of Baywatch.
I didn’t realize they’re still showing reruns.
Half-naked chicks are so not helping my current dilemma. I shift again for some subtle rearrangement in the groin region and press the channel button. Bingo! It’s the History Channel. It looks like it’s a show about hairy dudes living in the back country somewhere.
Much better.
I settle down on my bed and shove a forkful of eggs into my mouth. Crisis averted.
When I’m fully in control, I peer over at Lilly and notice she’s asleep with her plate still sitting next to her. I remove the plate, put it on the nightstand, and cover her with the blanket she, thankfully, already pulled back. I don’t know if my self-restraint would’ve lasted if I had to touch her to move her under it. I need to get back to the bearded dudes. Like. Right. Now.
I wake up completely disoriented. It’s pitch black, and the alarm clock by my bed displays three-twelve.
What the fuck?
Still trying to figure out why I’m awake, I hear it and bolt right up. My eyes have adjusted to the dark, and I can make out Lilly curled up in the middle of her bed, covers tangled, and whimpering.
I jump out of bed but stop with my shins pressed against her mattress, hesitant to move any closer. I’m not sure what to do. Long strands of her pale hair are plastered against her forehead and cheeks. Even in the dark, I can see she is drenched in sweat. I don’t want to scare her, but when her whimpering starts back up and she mumbles, "No, no, no," I can’t watch any longer. I carefully lower myself down onto the edge of her bed with my hand hovering above her. The whimpering turns into something resembling a strangled animal, and I gently put my hand on her back, trying to soothe her. "Calla
? Cal, wake up. You’re dreaming."
How original, dude.
It takes a few more attempts of rubbing her back and calling her name before she jolts upright and scans the room wildly. She zeros in on me, eyes wide, and scoots to the far end of the bed, pulling her knees to her chest.
Shit, that’s exactly what I didn’t want to happen.
I’m turned toward her, one leg on the bed, the other still on the floor, and I hold my hands up. "Cal, it’s me."
She blinks once, twice. "Rhys?" Her voice sounds so unsure.
"Yes, you’re safe." I slowly lower my hands to my leg on the bed.
She briefly closes her eyes before she launches herself into my arms and starts sobbing.
Holy fuck, what is going on?
I’m completely helpless. My arms wrap around her, and I rub her back, rocking her back and forth. "Shhhh, it’s okay. You’re safe. I won’t let anything happen to you, babe."
Babe?
I want to smack my forehead. The last thing she needs right now is her horny, adopted-brother-slash-friend making a move on her.
After a while, she calms down, and I risk asking, "What happened?"
But she shakes her head against my chest.
Eventually, her breathing slows, and she is falling back asleep. I maneuver her back under the covers, and I stand up to go to my bed when her hand shoots out, grabbing my wrist.
"Don’t go!"
I glance back at her. She looks so small.
"You need rest, Lilly." I consciously use her name this time; I don’t want another slip-up.
"I know." She pauses. "Please stay." The last two words are barely audible.
I freeze at her request, heart pounding in my chest. She makes room but remains propped up on her elbow, holding my wrist with her other hand. I shouldn’t, but this may be my only chance to be close to her. My head is telling me to go to bed, she’ll be okay, but my heart wants to stay and comfort her. I stare down at her, and neither of us makes a move.
Fuck it.
I climb in and pull the cover over both of us. Without a word, she curls into my chest, and only seconds later, her breathing evens out. She is tucked under my chin, and I can smell remnants of her coconut shampoo. Carefully wrapping my arm around her, I make sure it’s above the covers to avoid something inappropriate happening in my sleep.
At this point, anything is possible.
As I start to drift off, I think about how I’m going to give in to my selfish side only this once, but before I even finish that thought, I know deep down that’s not true.
If she asks me again, I’ll cave.
Chapter Sixteen
I’m in the foggy state between sleep and awake. That point when reality slowly seeps in but you’re technically still asleep. When the fog starts lifting, awareness crashes down on me with lightning speed. I can’t move.
What the—?
Arms are wrapped around me, and instant panic sets in. I’m about to fight when I get a whiff of Rhys’s signature shower gel scent, and the events from last night come flooding back. My body immediately goes still.
The nightmare. No, not nightmare—memory. I’m sure of it. The most vivid—and worst—one yet.
I remember when I came to, all I saw was him sitting on my bed again. I had to blink several times to comprehend it was Rhys in front of me, not him. My clothes were drenched in sweat, and I had no control over the violent tremors wracking through my body. Not wanting to be a victim anymore, I fought the urge to cry, but at that moment, I was six years old again. All I wanted was my best friend—exactly like it was ten years ago, which this memory revealed to me as well.
After my flood of tears subsided, I felt calmer, but then Rhys attempted to go to his bed, and my insides were gripped with terror. I can’t be alone. I don’t want to be alone kept running through my head. Instinctively, my arm shot out and locked onto his wrist. "Don’t go!" I’m sure he could hear the quiver in my voice. The internal struggle was visible on his face even in the dark, but then he slid into bed next to me, and...I was safe.
Lying here like this, wrapped in this safety cocoon, my head tells me I should be embarrassed. I shouldn’t have asked him to stay. I should’ve been stronger. Rhys has a girlfriend—maybe a fake one, but a girlfriend. The voice in my head hurls one accusation after the other at me, and I cringe inwardly. It’s all true, but when I am honest with myself, for the first time in weeks, I feel completely and utterly safe.
I relish that sensation a moment longer before I slowly ease out of his arms, and Rhys flops on his stomach. I look down at him, grateful for his presence on this trip, and head to the bathroom to wash last night’s grime off my body.
As I step out of the shower, I hear the alarm go off and Rhys scrambling out of my bed to his phone. I finish getting ready and step back into the hotel room, finding Rhys sitting on his bed. His arms are resting on his thighs, head hanging low, and shoulders visibly tense. My steps slow.
"Good morning." I announce my entrance tentatively, hoping he doesn’t feel weirded out after last night. I broke down in his arms for the second time in three weeks. We never established new boundaries after his love declaration. I’ve been too preoccupied with myself and have completely ignored his feelings.
"Hey." He looks slightly more at ease when he sees me, and his posture relaxes, but there is still a wary undertone. I brace myself for him to say something about what happened, to ask questions, but all he does is get up and duck into the bathroom. "Let me get ready, and we can hit the road."
Avoidance it is. Works for me.
We’ve been driving for two hours in complete silence when Rhys finally asks the question I’ve been waiting for.
"Do you want to talk about it?" He keeps his voice at a whisper as if not to scare me.
I’ve been facing the window, thinking about exactly that since we left the hotel. Do I? Since last night, all the rage and betrayal has been replaced by the desperate need for safety. The safety I felt waking up this morning. I know this can’t last. I need the other emotions to see this through, not to be a victim. But at this moment, the need to be anchored wins. I take a deep breath. "I had a nightmare." After another long inhale and exhale, I turn toward him and add, "I think."
Rhys draws his eyebrows together. "You think?"
"It wasn’t just a nightmare. I think it was a memory." I sound hoarse.
The car is slowing down. "What do you mean?" His gaze keeps switching between the road and me.
Blood pounding in my ears and hands shaking uncontrollably, I know I have to tell him. I rush it out before changing my mind. "I was back in that room. I was so scared. The man was in the room with me, and he, uh...he was talking to me."
Rhys slams on the brakes and moves over to the side of the road, ignoring the car behind us honking ferociously. As soon as the car comes to a stop, he turns to me. "Did he hurt you?" His face is chalk white.
"No!" I force my mind back to the memory, trying to recall his words. "He was sitting at the foot of the bed. He kept saying things like, ‘I had no idea you existed. I’m so happy I found you after losing Audrey. You’ll be happy. We’re family.’ He didn’t threaten me or anything, but..." Panic rises back up, and I try to calm my breathing. "I could feel how confused and scared I was. The fear of not seeing my parents again. Or you."
Rhys is rigid, and his eyebrows shoot up almost to his hairline. "Me?"
I look at my hands in my lap, heat creeping up my face. "Yeah, I, uh...I remembered wishing you’d be with me and that you’d...um, come and take me home."
Rhys’s hand is over mine, interlacing our fingers, and he gives my hand a gentle squeeze. "You’re safe now. Did he say anything else?"
I contemplate if I should tell him the next part. He’s already way too worked up. But if not him, who else?
"He..." Deep breath. "He gave me something—drugged me." I keep talking to our joined hands, and the more I say, the more Rhys’s hand tightens on mine.
; "I think it was in the water. I kept telling him I didn’t want it, but he said that until I trusted him, it’d be safer for me. He didn’t want me to hurt myself again."
Rhys goes completely rigid; my hand is in a vise in his, and he rasps, "Again?"
A whimper escapes me, and he releases his death grip. Instead, he latches onto the steering wheel.
"I don’t remember being hurt. What does this mean? Rhys, who is Audrey?" Not that he would know any of that. If it is even real. I mean, that guy was crazy, right?
I watch Rhys closely as he works on gaining control again. The color slowly returns to his face, and his white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel loosens. Taking a deep breath, he says, "I don’t know, but we’ve got more clues. This is good." His voice sounds disconnected, and he won’t make eye contact. He puts the car back in drive and pulls out onto the road without another word. I don’t like it.
The only sound during the next few hours is the radio. Neither of us connects our phone. It’s like the wall has reappeared. He only asks what I want to eat when we stop at a gas station and then goes back to driving. He doesn’t give me a turn either. I can’t read him, and I’m starting to freak out. I haven’t done anything wrong, but he has completely withdrawn. The distance between us brings the loneliness back. Fear and anxiety start churning deep in my core. The safety I felt this morning has evaporated, and I need to fix this. Whatever this is.
Finally, I can’t take it anymore. "Rhys, talk to me. What did I do?"
His gaze flicks over to me. "Huh?" The wheels start turning, and I wait. Then it clicks, and the light comes on. "Uh. Oh! Fuck." He expels a long breath. "I’m sorry, Cal. This just...I’ve been thinking. What you said earlier...I asked, but hearing it...what happened to you. Fuck." He shakes his head. "You were scared, and you wanted me to save you. ME! I feel like someone gutted me. I let you down."
