by Palmer, Dee
“I’m well aware this isn’t a game.” I keep my voice level and calm, despite my rising irritation at his condescending tone. However, his flippancy has pushed me too far.
“Couldn’t you just cut the guy’s clothes to shreds?” His derision is thick and ugly.
“He’s not some cheating ex, Logan,” I snap and drag the whole sheet off the bed as I stand. I start to gather my clothes. Logan regards me with a raised brow but makes no move to stop me. “Atticus’s family set me up and stole my life. I can’t ever go back and be that girl, the one with a real future all her own. I can’t be the girl with unicorns in her dreams because I have monsters, real fucking monsters, Logan. I can’t have a normal life, because I’m not that girl, anymore. I will always be a thief and a criminal because of him. He could’ve saved me any time he wanted, and the son of a bitch is going to pay.” I roughly pull my cami top over my head and slip my arms quickly into my cardigan, wrapping it around my waist crossing over the soft wooden fabric with my folded arms. My light, tightly knit coat of armour.
“I want you out,” he states flatly, and I let out a heavy sigh when I can see the genuine worry in the dark lines crinkled on his forehead and the trace of sadness in his eyes.
“Sorry, Logan, but that’s not your call. I’ll be out when I’m out and not before.” I deliberately keep my voice soft, because I know my words are resolute. His face fixes with a steely cold look, all hard dark edges and fury. I barely recognise him with the change in his expression; it’s so altered. I add a half-hearted shrug to try and ease the rising tension.
This is not how I wanted to spend our short time together.
“Look, I’m sorry, Logan, but honestly, if you weren’t such a super-snooper you wouldn’t even know. I would do my time, get what’s mine, and come home. You’d be none the wiser.” A dark cloud seems to descend in the room, whipping up a terrifying storm around Logan as he slowly rises from the bed. He grabs the towel draped over the end of the bed and wraps it around his waist. Shit, this must be serious if Logan is covering up.
“So lying is the answer?” He towers over me, but I hold my ground. It’s like the room gets smaller, and the temperature drops. I don’t like the distant look in his eyes. I’ve never seen that look before. What the hell just happened?
“I didn’t say lying. You just go looking for trouble, and I said I know what I’m doing.” I reach for his hand, but he pulls it from my fingertips, lifts his arm, and brushes the dark strands from his face.
“This only works if there’s trust, Tia.” His tone matches the recent icy temperature drop. I shake my head in confusion.
“I know,” I offer, but it sounds like a plea.
“Do you?” He dips to maintain eye contact when I make an involuntary attempt to break the gaze. Shit.
“Yes.”
“And you trust me?”
“I do.” I don’t hesitate, but my stomach drops from a sense of foreboding I can’t fathom.
“And there’s nothing you can’t tell me?” His eyes narrow, and it takes everything I have not to cave under the intensity of his scrutinising glare.
“I can’t tell you this. It’s the only thing, Logan, and you have to believe me, it’s for the best.” I snatch his hand and hold it in mind.
“The only thing, hmm?” He grabs my jaw and twists my head so I am only a centimetre from him. The hold is firm and a little painful. I don’t flinch, I can barely breathe, and my heart would be beating like a jack-hammer if it hadn’t plummeted to the floor.
“Yes.” I mouth out the words.
“Just so we’re both clear here, angel…” He grits out the words and my nickname like it is causing him physical pain. I know where this is going, and I just can’t…I can’t stop it, even as I can see the looming train wreck before me. Don’t do this, Logan. I try to shake my head and stop the inevitable from playing out; his grip is just too tight. “This would be the perfect time to come clean about anything. Anything you think might destroy us, given what you know about me, and how fucking important trust is to someone like me. You understand what I’m saying here, Tia, right?” He yells the last few words, fury and rage emblazoned across his face, anger rolling like a tidal wave from him and crashing full force against me.
“Right, I do.” I can feel my voice breaking with the untold truth he’s so desperate to hear. All I can hear is Ghost’s threat and words of warning. My gut is in knots, and I don’t know what to do. I don’t know who to trust. I fight the pinch of tears behind my eyes, blinking away the ones already clouding my vision.
Even if I could give him what he wants, what happens then? Ghost would be gone, my plan dies, and according to Ghost, so do I, so what choice do I really have? I have to believe the one person who can’t lie, the one person who proved herself when she poisoned those bitches that raped me. I snap my head out of his grasp and try to dismiss the dramatics with an accusation of my own. I can only guess at what he’s asking, and I can’t for the life of me, think how he would’ve found out. I have to bluff this out. It’s my only choice.
”I don’t understand why you’re getting so angry.”
He tilts his head and pauses, intently searching my face. His eyes flick to my twitching fingers that are itching to tug at the hair on my neck and a cruel smile transforms his face to something heartbreaking.
“This, Tia, this is why I’m so fucking angry.” He holds up the bus ticket on which Ghost scrawled Logan’s address and his real name,Logan Beckett It was the only time we met up after I was released. It was the beginning. “How the fuck did you get my details? Who gave you this address?”
“I can’t tell you that.” My shoulders drop, and I dip my eyes away from all the hurt and betrayal I can see. Fat tears start to fall, and I just fucking hate myself right now.
“Get out.” It takes a moment to realise he said those words out loud. It takes a whole minute for the devastation to take hold. The silence is deafening, and my hands fly to my ears to stop the unbearable noise. I shake my head and frantic desperation takes over.
“Logan, please don’t.” I grab his arms and he pulls back like my touch is toxic, flaying the skin from his bones.
“Get the fuck out of my house!” He yells so loud in my face the tears stop falling from pure fear alone. I’ve never seen him so angry, so hurt. He picks up my bag and thrusts it into my chest. I stumble back and whisper words that I know are too little too late.
“You said you loved me, Logan!”
“If anyone should know that loving someone isn’t enough sometimes, Tia, it’s you.”
I shake my head at the finality and bitterness of his tone.
“I’m so sorry.”
“I’m not. At least I know what the T really stands for…Traitor.” I don’t know what hurts more, the look of betrayal on his face or those last words spoken as he walks casually from my room. I crumple to the floor in absolute agony, my chest imploding, and all I feel is loss, utter, heartbreaking loss. I can’t contain the pain. Loud ugly sobs escape my gaping mouth, masking the heavy sound of his retreating footsteps. What have I done?
“Are you okay?” Cass speaks, breaking the silence. Barely five minutes have passed since I slammed the car door shut and retreated into my shell after shattering two hearts with my choice. The tender concern in his voice is just what I don’t need. Fat tears burst onto my cheek, and I fail to wipe them away quickly enough to avoid detection. The sleek Aston DB9 swerves into the coach parking along the Embankment, and I jolt with the force of the break. “Jesus, princess, what happened? Did he hurt you? The motherfu—”
I suck back a sob-filled interruption. “Not like that, Cass, no.” Sniffing back the tears, I try to downplay my desolation, but it’s futile. My heart feels so damn heavy I can barely breathe; it’s crushing my lungs. In spite of myself, the troubled expression plastered on Cass’s face has me trying to ease his concern. “I…I’m fine.”
“Yes, I can see that, what with all the tears.” The sarcasm
falls flat since his tone is thick with worry.
“I’ll survive,” I reply. His clenched jaw jumps at the impassive delivery of my apt statement.
“I can see that, too.” His hand hovers with uncertainty, his fingers poised to stroke my face. Our eyes meet, and whatever passes between us is enough to allay his reticence at my possible reaction.
I close my eyes at the contact, so familiar and strange at the same time.
My tummy tightens, and I feel a warm glow of forgotten embers rekindling inside of me, something unique to him and something I haven’t felt in a very long time. I lean into his touch, because, right now, I feel so broken I need this comfort, even if it’s wrong, even if I know it won’t last. Logan doesn’t want me, not now. He can’t trust me, and I know he’ll never forgive me, but I need this, so bad.
“Talk to me, Tia, what happened?”
“I can’t do that, and I certainly can’t do it with you.” I pull sharply from his hold like his touch suddenly scolds my skin.
“Who else then, Tia? Who do you need to help you? Who can I take you to?” His retort doesn’t sound remotely harsh. If anything, it’s more pleading, but my blood is boiling with a mix of unbearable hurt and resignation to the truth.
“No one, Cass! I have no one. Is that what you want to hear? Does that make you happy?” My voice is high-pitched and a little unstable. I take a calming breath because I am so close to a meltdown I can feel it all the way from my trembling fingertips to my pounding heart.
“You have me,” he states this with such sincerity I’m almost speechless. Almost.
“Phew, well, isn’t that just a fucking relief.” I choke out a bitter laugh, turning fully in my seat to face him. The shocked look of hurt on his face pulls me up short, and I let out a heavy breath. My voice softens from hysterical harpy to something more akin to how I’m truly feeling, beaten down and devastated. “Just drive, Cass.”
Atticus shifts back in his seat and fixes his stony glare on the road ahead. He slams his foot to the floor, the engine roars like it’s in pain, and he pulls from a stand-still with enough G-force to pin me immobile deep into the soft leather bucket seat. He eases off the acceleration just enough to screech a U-turn in the road, giving me whiplash and making me scream out like a little girl. He is sporting a killer grin, which should make me mad, but just like always, he has me at the very least, distracted.
We cross the river and head out of the city. It takes a few roundabouts for me to realise we aren’t just heading back to the apartment via a different route, and he still hasn’t told me where we’re going. We hit the motorway, and my stomach churns enough for me to have to ask the question I hope I don’t already know the answer to.
“Where are we going Cass?”
“Home.” Shit.
The hairs on the back of my neck tingle as we reach the edge of the village. We pass the bus stop I used to stand at everyday to get the school bus, and for some reason I take a double look. Like I expect to see my former self just standing there, waiting.
I let out a hollow laugh at the irony.
I spent so much of my life just waiting, waiting for him.
The village shop is closed, and the lights of the one and only pub burn with a dirty orange tint from the lead latticed windows. The sound of hearty laughter breaks the quiet of a country night like this, tables full of both young and old spill out into the car park.
My window is fully down, and the balmy wind filters through my fingers as we crawl past, and once again I strain to see if I can spot a familiar face.
I don’t.
It may have been where I grew up, but I rarely mingled. I was an outcast, and the only place that felt like home was Tartarus Hall. And then only when I was with Cass.
These feelings I had acknowledged but managed to keep at arms length, if not completely at bay, are rolling in like an unstoppable stormy wave. As much as I grew to love this place at one time, this is the last place on earth I need to be right now.
Cass swings the car to a skid turn on the gravel drive, only to slow to a crawl as we pass my old home. The Gate House is dark. Even in the fading light of the evening, I can see the thick dust on the windows. I know no one moved in after my mother died. It’s probably been empty for the whole five years.
“I thought you would’ve gone to her funeral.” I can feel his eyes on me; however, I continue to stare out the front window. The trees that line the drive are heavy with summer foliage, the canopy so dense I can’t see a single star in the sky. The car has crawled to a halt, and I turn because he’s clearly expecting an answer from the weight of the silence.
“I was tempted to go and say goodbye, but I was on kitchen duty, and you get access to the fridge on those days, so you know…”
“That’s harsh, Tia,” he reprimands, and I narrow my eyes in response to his judgment.
“Really, because I thought testifying against your only daughter was fucking harsh.” He stiffens at my reply and gives a curt nod, which I take as either shutting the conversation down or accepting my reason. Either way, I don’t really care.
It’s done, and I wouldn’t change it.
Another item for the list of evidence that the girl he loved no longer exists. Hopefully, it will start to sink in.
“Have you been back at all?” He presses his foot down, and we speed up the drive.
“I came back when I got out. I haven’t been back since then, no point.”
“I didn’t know. Was there someone to let you into the place, or did you just go to the gatehouse?” He turns briefly to face me. I keep my eyes ahead for fear he will see the truth. He was always so good at that, and I know I’ve held my own so far. I can’t risk that changing now.
“I collected my stuff from the Lodge and had a bit of a look around the Hall.” I nod toward the looming gothic structure blocking the horizon.
“This place is mostly always locked up. You were lucky to come when there was someone here.” he adds and raises a quizzical brow. I bite my lip and just give a flat smile in response. Not sure what telling him that I broke in would accomplish, except maybe adding one more thing to that list.
“I come back all the time.” He puts a little more force on the pedal and the car leaps forward, eating up the distance. The house rises like a monolith or, given what died here, a mausoleum.
“Really?”
“Yes, it was the only time I was ever happy.” He glances my way, and even in the darkness, I can see the depth of the truth he holds in his eyes.
“Yeah, me, too,” I reply, but the rough sound of braking car tires on gravel swallows up the softly spoken words and my own truth.
“Come on, we’ll need to open up the place a bit. I was planning on doing this next weekend so not everything is set up.” We both stare up at the building that holds so many memories and so many secrets.
“Set up?”
“Clean up a bit, let some fresh air in, that sort of thing, and the supplies will be mostly frozen until I can go the shop in the morning.” He quirks his lips apologetically.
“And clothes?” I ask. He drops his head and holds my gaze.
“Oh, I’m not sure we’re going to be needing those.” The deep timbre of his voice sends a shivers up my spine, and the serious intent in his tone makes me shift in my seat. He notices, but opens the car door and is out before I can feign nonchalance and scoff at his misplaced arrogance. Despite what signals my traitorous body is firing off, he needs to remember I’m heartbroken, not stupid.
He rounds the back of the car, and I get out my side. Lifting what looks like my overnight bag from the trunk of the car, he walks my way, stepping right up close and very personal. I have to tilt my head to maintain the eye contact, and it takes everything to stand my ground and not step back when he not only invades my space but dominates it. “Clothing is definitely optional inside the Hall but you will need what I’ve packed, since I thought we’d get some walking done while we’re here, and I don’t really want
anyone else seeing what’s mine.” His body seems to cloak mine. I place my hand on his chest to steady myself.
“I’m not yours, Cass.” I can hear the quaver in my voice, and judging by the instant smile striking his face like a slap, he can too.
“I think you’ll find you will always be mine, princess.” He slings the two bags over one shoulder takes my hand in a firm, no-argument grip. I run to catch up with his long strides, jumping two at a time up the main stone steps to the front doors.
Fishing a set of keys from his jacket, he starts to sort through the weighty bundle. Picking out the longest black-pitted iron key, he unlocks the door, and I am hit with a tsunami-sized wave of nostalgia and so much more.
We shouldn’t be here.
He steps across the threshold, but I find myself rooted to the spot. It suddenly feels like crossing that line is more than just entering the building. “I’ve got you, princess. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
“It’s not me I’m worried about,” I mutter as my eyes take in my former playground.
“Tia, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.” He cups my face in both hands, and the thump of the bags on the floor brings my focus to the two crystal blues staring right through me. I have to physically shake the sensations assaulting me.
“Felt one, more like, and not a ghost, our ghosts.” I pull his hands away from my face. “I don’t know what you’re expecting, Cass, but I’m not the same girl I was back then. She died, and she’s never coming back.” I squeeze his hands to try and soften my stark revelation, and I am surprised when, unfazed, he squeezes me right back, adding his own blend of comfort with the hold.
“We’ll see about that. Come on, let’s light up the fires.” He tugs me forward, and I let out a relief-filled sniff and weak laugh.
“There’s really no one here?” I ask, looking over my shoulder at the portraits, hanging from the main gallery and lining the corridors, vacant eyes everywhere. I smile; they stopped being scary the moment I met Cass’s mother. An ancient oil painting ceased to hold any horror when faced with pure evil.
