by Danah Logan
I lower myself down and slowly kiss from her ear to her neck, letting the tip of my tongue slide across her flesh between nips and kisses. She shudders every time my lips make contact with her flushed skin, and my need to take care of her consumes every cell of my body. At her collarbone, I place a soft kiss on the small birthmark she has there and continue my trail to the valley of her breasts, pausing there to give each of them the appropriate attention even with the layer of fabric in between. Lilly is writhing underneath me, and I move on to her flat stomach, hooking my thumbs inside her tank top. Beginning to slowly push it up, my tongue continues the expedition of her body downward, placing a kiss on each of her defined and sexy-as-hell abs.
When Lilly moans and arches into me again, my last bit of self-restraint is lost. My fingers move from the edge of her shirt to the waistband of her shorts. When she doesn’t protest, I pull further until her hip bones are exposed. My own breathing has become labored at this point. God, she is so fucking sexy. She has no intention of stopping me, and I’m not sure I still can or even want to. Wanting her is overpowering all my senses.
So much for my earlier speech.
At that precise moment, her stomach growls so loudly that her eyes widen, and we both burst out laughing. I put my forehead to her stomach and murmur, "That’s a sign."
She places a hand on my head and gently strokes my hair.
I’m in heaven.
I move next to her on the bed and say, "Let’s get your physical needs fulfilled first before we continue anything else."
Lilly raises her eyebrows, and I repeat in my head what I said. I slap myself against the forehead, and we both grin like idiots.
"Let’s go, or I’m going to strip you all the way, and you won’t get anything to eat for a long time." True statement.
She pretends to pout but doesn’t resist me.
We end up on the living room couch, both of us holding a steaming mug. Lilly’s contains her usual tea versus mine which is filled to the brim with coffee. She balances a plate of muffins on her lap while I have my arm around her. I’ve turned one of her shows on, and we just sit together. Content.
At one point, I glance over at Lilly and notice that she is staring out the window, deep in thought.
"What’s going on in your head, babe?"
Her eyes snap to mine, and she smirks. "I think I knew all along."
I narrow my eyes in confusion. "Knew what?"
"That I love you." Her focus is back out to the yard.
"Oh?" My pulse accelerates, like every time she says those three words.
She is sorting through her thoughts, and I wait. "The more I think about it, the more I’m convinced they forgot to rewire some parts of you in my head. Otherwise, it wouldn’t have hurt so bad two years ago."
My insides turn to knots, and when she sees my expression, she rushes on, "I don’t mean to make you feel guilty. I’ve just been thinking a lot about everything."
I tighten my arm around her, and I press a kiss to her forehead. "I know, babe. You have no idea how sorry I am. There were many times where I was so close to telling you the truth, but I was terrified you would never look at me again because I kept this secret from you."
Her lips tighten, and she remembers the night I came clean. "I did feel betrayed. For a while, I wasn’t sure if I could forgive you."
Her honesty is brutal, but what did I expect? "But you did?" I know she has. She’s told me as much, but I need to hear her say it out loud again.
Lilly must sense that and turns to me, placing a hand on my neck. "I have. You only did what you were asked to do—keep me safe. The past is the past. Let’s move forward?"
She can feel my racing pulse under her hand. I slowly move toward her, and before placing my lips on hers, I say, "Forward."
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Our freedom is going to end. Whenever Tristen travels, Heather makes sure to give one hundred and ten percent to Natty, which means she is busy all day, retires early, and Rhys and I can be in our little bubble for the rest of the evening. I’m not sure if Heather notices the change in us and turns a blind eye or if she’s too busy. My gut tells me she knows. She’s our—well, Rhys’s—mother, after all. At the same time, the thought of it freaks me out. What if she tells Tristen, and he takes the necessary steps he threatened Rhys with so long ago?
When it’s the two of us, Rhys is the attentive and loving boyfriend every girl dreams of, but at school, he doesn’t spare me a second glance. Something has changed over the past week. Up until Friday, when he didn’t come home as planned, our gazes would meet, and even in that fraction of a moment before he’d avert his eyes, the underlying promise of what he’d do to me later was as clear as day. Now...there is nothing. His face is expressionless, and the heavy blanket of the past, of not knowing why he’s changed, starts settling over me again. I’m so over this. I’m tired of being a puppet for everyone to play with as they please. At the same time, I can’t say anything; we’re not supposed to talk or make eye contact in public.
I try to catch a glimpse of him every chance I get. My Rhys radar is stronger than ever. I’m aware of his presence as soon as he enters a hallway or the cafeteria without searching for him. However, besides the initial acknowledgment paired with an impassive look of boredom, he won’t pay attention to me. Katherine, however, gets the opposite. At first, I thought I had imagined it, but by Wednesday, I’m positive that Rhys is watching her. He’s assured me that I’m it for him, and deep down, I believe him, but something is going on between those two, and he’s keeping me in the dark. Katherine, in return, tracks me like a hawk, and whenever our gazes meet, she gives me a smug smile that makes my blood run cold before she throws a significant look in Rhys’s direction as if to tell me he’s mine, you’ll see.
Most of the time, I’m able to shrug it off as misplaced paranoia. There haven’t been any more messages from my psycho stalker in almost two weeks, but the chance of everything being back to normal is just too far-fetched.
Tristen will be back early tomorrow morning. Today was the gymnastics league championship, and I’m beyond exhausted. We placed second, so we didn’t get the bragging rights of being league champs, but to be honest, I was relieved. Not that I would admit that to the team or even Denielle. With what’s been going on the last few weeks and the fact that Rhys will go back to staying at Wes’s, I can’t focus on it.
Heather, Natty, and I are downstairs watching a movie together when the garage door opens, and my body immediately starts buzzing with anticipation. Rhys is home. He marches into the kitchen and abruptly stops in the doorway to the living room when he notices us lined up on the couch. "What are you guys watching?"
Before I can turn, Natty flips around and beams at her big brother. "It’s the new Disney movie. The one I told you about this week. Mom rented it for us." She’s bouncing up and down like she’s on a trampoline, and I snort a laugh. Rhys’s eyes snap to mine, and the laughter dies in my throat. In the past, it would’ve been because we couldn’t stand each other. We didn’t interact—ever. But that’s not the case anymore. It’s because my throat closes up and my mouth turns dry. My mind is instantly upstairs in bed with him hovering above me, tracing my body with his tongue while his hands roam freely under my clothes. My eyes widen, and Rhys is pressing his lips together in an attempt to remain expressionless. He knows exactly where I just went, and the gleam in his eyes is assurance of him doing exactly that later. I fight the urge to cover my face with my hands, and when I peek at Heather, she is watching me closely.
Crap.
My adrenaline level increases even further—and not in a good way. Does she know?
"I’m gonna crash. I’m meeting Wes early tomorrow before my session with Spence." Rhys’s voice snaps me out of the stare-down with his mother, and we both turn.
"Sounds good, honey. Have a good night." Her voice doesn’t betray anything, and I wonder if it’s all just in my head.
He leaves, and we resume the
movie as if nothing happened. Natty comments enthusiastically on various scenes, but my interest went with Rhys.
As soon as Tristen arrives home, Rhys moves back to Wes’s, and the nights become endless. In our short time together, I’ve gotten used to sleeping in his arms. I keep replaying our last night over and over—Rhys fulfilled his promise and spoiled my entire body until he snuck back to his room in the early morning hours.
But he’s not here anymore. It’s been a week, and as if on cue, the nightmares are back. It’s always the same dream, ever since the very first time on the road trip. Sometimes he just talks to me; other times, he anxiously forces me to drink something that makes me sleepy. But I never see his face. I wonder if I have ever seen it. If the memory doctor erased it, or if my subconscious is suppressing it. Whatever it is, when the dream ends, I wake up with a stifled scream, racing heart, and am covered in sweat—every single time.
Rhys texts me, asking if I’m okay, and I assure him that I’m good and just miss him. It seems to appease him—or he’s humoring me. I don’t know.
I don’t want to dream anymore. On Friday—day six of the never-ending cycle—I manage to stay awake until one-thirty. That’s the last time I glance at my alarm clock. Next thing I know, I wake up with a start, sitting in bed, every limb shaking.
Not again.
I crave Rhys’s voice and having him assure me that I’m safe, but it’s four in the morning, and I can’t bring myself to call him. He’d be over here in minutes, and that would instantly raise questions with the parental units sleeping upstairs.
Slowly, I pad into my bathroom to wash the cold sweat off. Closing the door behind me, Rhys’s hoodie, which is hanging on the back of it, comes into view. Without thinking, I strip out of my sweat-soaked clothes, wash off the grime, and pull it over my head. He gave it to me freshman year, right before we completely stopped talking, and for the longest time, I had it stuffed in the bottom drawer of my dresser. But when the migraines started, something made me dig it out. I think I even wore it to school one day, as out of it as I was.
No wonder I’ve drawn attention.
The sleeves have always been too long, and there is a hole under one of the arms where the seam has come undone, but I don’t care. I cover my face with my hands hidden inside the fabric and inhale deeply. Rhys wore the sweatshirt the other night, making fun of me for still having it. It was way too tight and short, revealing his lower abs. He looked like the Hulk about to burst out of his clothes. He explained that he wanted it to smell like him, which at the time made me laugh, and I replied how cheesy he sounded. Now, in the middle of the night, I’m beyond grateful for this small piece of him.
In the morning, I cancel my session with Spence and text Denielle that I don’t feel up for a workout. Her response is immediate.
What’s wrong?
Sometimes I hate that she knows me so well. I don’t cancel a workout—not unless I’m deathly ill. Putting my phone down, I debate what to type back. I don’t want to tell her about the nightmares. I haven’t even mentioned them to Rhys. I’m sick of being treated like the victim.
I’m just tired.
Try again.
Ugh.
I haven’t slept well since Rhys has been staying at Wes’s.
When Den doesn’t respond, I plug the phone back in its charger and take a shower. I only washed up last night and still feel gross.
Emerging an hour later with my hair smelling of my new favorite shampoo, slightly curled, and some light makeup, I feel semi-normal. Checking my phone, my best friend texted at some point to come to her house at eleven instead of meeting at the gym. Her parents are gone for the weekend—a spontaneous ski trip or something like that.
I can do that. Hanging out and watching TV.
I’m on my way to Denielle’s when a message from Sloane lights up the screen. We had been texting about a potential shopping trip with Emma and Den last night, and she probably wants to iron out the details. I plan to respond when I get to Denielle’s since I refuse to text and drive. I have to admit that I used to do it. But then a senior from WH got in a horrible accident last year because he was texting and spent weeks in the hospital. It was a wakeup call for a lot of us, and I haven’t done it since.
When I pull into the drive, I hit the brakes. A spike of adrenaline makes my pulse increase, and I grip the steering wheel. Rhys’s Defender is parked in front of the garage, and I can’t get out of my car fast enough. He’s here. By the time I ungracefully scramble up the front steps, the front door is already open, and I fly into his arms.
Home.
Catching me under my butt, he lifts me up like I weigh nothing. My arms and legs are wrapped around his body like a monkey, and he opens his mouth to say something when I capture his lips with mine. God, how I’ve missed this. He hums in approval, and I’m about to pull a Katherine when someone clears their throat behind us.
Denielle’s voice penetrates my foggy mind from far away. "Maybe we should take the welcoming scene inside?" She doesn’t sound upset, more amused.
I pull back from my Rhys as he walks back into the house with me in his arms, and the door closes. Den is behind me, and when I scan the foyer, Wes is standing on the bottom step of the wide staircase. Arms crossed over his chest, leaning with his hip against the rail, Wes grins like a loon. I wonder if Rhys has been just as mopey as me. He’s done a one-eighty and is moving us toward the kitchen. I tighten my hold, resting my chin on his shoulder. Zeroing in on Den, I mouth, "Thank you!" I can’t stop smiling.
Her eyes crinkle, and she gives me a nod. Her mission is accomplished.
Not letting go, Rhys deposits me on the kitchen island. He pulls me forward until my chest is flush against his, and we’re at eye level.
"I missed you." The three words are spoken in a murmur as his lips flutter over mine. Inhaling the smell of his minty toothpaste in combination with his own scent that is all Rhys, my body heats to an almost uncomfortable level, and I can’t stop the moan escaping my throat. Instinctively, I roll my hips forward, and he lets out a groan.
"Ohhh-kaaay, you two, take it upstairs before I start making out with Wes to alleviate all the sexual tension you two are emanating." Den’s words make me pull away and bury my face into Rhys’s chest, hiding my flushed face.
We stayed up way too late again, but this video game is addicting, and it is the only reason I can tolerate being here.
Dad came home Sunday and gave me the oddest look as soon as he noticed me standing in the kitchen. So, I packed my duffels—all three of them—and left with the comment that I’d be staying at Wes’s. Of course, he didn’t even blink. Camped out with his computer and files on the kitchen table, he barely acknowledged me before lowering his gaze back to the screen. Mom was prepping lunch, and despite her initial glance toward her husband, she didn’t try to stop me either.
Unclenching my fists, I force one foot in front of the other before I give in to the urge to haul his fucking laptop against the wall. Keeping Lilly safe is one thing, but cutting your son loose over it—who the hell does that?
This morning I wake up to a text from Denielle.
Call me.
My hand tightens around the phone. Something is wrong with Lilly; there is no other reason for Den to message me this early—or at all. Wes is still snoring, but I don’t give two shits if I wake him up. Den picks up on the second ring, and before she can say hello, I blurt out, "What’s wrong with her?"
She sighs, "Good morning, Rhys. I’m good. Thanks for asking."
"Den, don’t fuck with me. You’ve never asked me to call you. What. Is. Wrong. With. Her?" I’m shaking at this point, and Wes has opened his eyes, staring at me, alarmed.
"Dude, chill. She’s fine. I think."
She thinks?
"YOU THINK?" Great, now I’m shouting.
"Lilly canceled our workout this morning."
That’s all I need to hear. I’m off the couch that I’ve called my bed for the past week, scrambling
to find my pants.
"Hold your horses. I’ll send you a screenshot."
There is silence on the other end, and then my phone vibrates against my ear. I pull it away and read the short text message exchange. Fuck. Me. How did I not consider the nightmares when I chose to stay away like a freaking pussy?
When I don’t speak, Den says, "I’m going to tell her to come over. My parents are gone this weekend. You guys can all stay here ‘til Monday."
Two days with Lilly. Alone. No hiding. My lower region immediately stands at attention—no need to think about what I’m going to do. "What time?"
"Eleven. Be here before that."
The small alarm clock on Wes’s bedside table shows ten-fifteen.
"Give me twenty." Den lives only a few blocks from Wes’s house. Twenty minutes gives me plenty of time to shower and drive over.
Before I hang up, Denielle says, "Bring Wes, since I’m safe to assume that I won’t see much of you or my best friend for the rest of the weekend." Her tone is light, and all the tension leaves my body.
"Den?" My voice is soft.
"Yeah?"
"Thank you." And I mean it.
She chuckles. "Anything for our girl."
After Lilly’s best friend all but threatens to make out with Wes, I pick Lilly up and throw her over my shoulder, smacking her butt.
"Rhyyyys!" she squeals and swats at my ass.
Ignoring the laughter following us up the stairs, I make my way to the first guest room I can find.
At least I hope it is a guest room.
Inside, I can’t kick the door shut fast enough and almost lose my balance in the process.
Lilly giggles at my haste. "Slow down, big guy. I’m not going anywhere."
