by Danah Logan
"Rhys?"
"Mhmm?" His response is mostly grumbled, and he doesn’t open his eyes.
I squat down right in front of him. My shadow falls over his face, and his eyes pop open, immediately zeroing in on mine.
I smile sheepishly and move back an inch. "Sorry."
Rhys raises one eyebrow in a perfect semi-circle. It’s fascinating how he does that. I either raise both eyebrows or neither, but he has complete control of his features, and it makes him even more expressive. My cheeks heat at that thought.
Change of subject.
"I, um...without you, we’d be going home with nothing, but now we actually have a chance to talk to Madeline. So, uh, thanks."
His lips curve in a small smile, and he says softly, "I’d do anything to help you."
This entire trip, he’s been very careful to give me space, and not once has he mentioned his feelings for me. Besides the two babes, that is. You’d think he is simply a good friend. But this response says it all. No more words are needed, and the fluttery sensation I’m starting to get familiar with stirs inside of me again. I move back to sit on my bed and take one more look. He has closed his eyes again, but this time, he is relaxed. I crawl under the covers and turn the light off before mirroring Rhys’s position.
The next morning, we enjoy the complimentary breakfast and are on our way to St. Louis by ten. Rhys has his phone plugged in, and various Linkin Park albums are playing over the speakers. I watch the landscape go by and think about the nurse, Margery. Was she there when I was brought in? Did she treat me? She clearly knew me and where I could find Madeline. The more I think about it, the more I understand why Rhys raced us out of there. But did she recognize me because Rhys mentioned Madeline, or did she recognize me for...well, me? He’s right; Heather and Tristen have made sure to keep me under the radar for so long, but this one encounter surely hasn’t caused any harm. Has it?
I’m still distracted when Rhys asks, "What do you want to do about New Year’s Eve? The chances of us finding your nurse that day are probably pretty slim."
I totally forgot about the date. It’s December twenty-ninth, and we won’t make it to St. Louis until the first. Dejected, I say, "Yeah, you’re probably right. I don’t know. What do you think?"
"We have to be home by Friday afternoon. We can make it in fourteen hours with breaks from St. Louis. So, we have to leave sometime Thursday. That would give us at least two days there. Three, if we push it."
Listening to him list off our options, my throat constricts with guilt. Rhys is missing the ski trip with his best friend, and to top it off, he’ll spend New Year’s in some random hotel instead of hitting the slopes and partying.
Averting my eyes out the passenger window, I say, "You’re usually at a party." It really is more of an observation. I don’t expect a reaction to my statement, but when he doesn’t say anything for several minutes, I can’t stop myself from glancing over. His face is somber.
"Rhys?"
His eyes flick to me, and for a second, I see shame in them. What the—?
"Do you remember what I told you a few days ago? That I’ve done a lot of things I regret?" He speaks in such a monotone voice that he sounds nothing like his usual self.
"Yes?"
His Adam’s apple bobs, and he gazes at me again. "Well, the partying and what comes along with that, for example. It’s not me, I mean. It’s what Kat wants, what’s expected with my...social status. Hell, this past year I’ve been fake drinking half the time. But before that..."
When he notices my confusion, he explains further. "The first year after I, uh...walked away, I did pretty much everything as long as I could ensure it wouldn’t get me kicked off the team. But even that was not a good enough excuse during my low points—when I needed to forget." The last sentence is no more than a whisper.
"Forget what?" I have an idea but can’t stop myself from asking.
He doesn’t respond right away, and just when I assume he won’t, he rasps, "You."
"Oh." I don’t know what to say. This is another reminder of how his life was impacted by what happened to me. Sure, there could be worse things than being forced to party, but he’s insinuating that he’s done extracurricular and recreational stuff I never would’ve expected—not from health-conscious Rhys. My chest tightens, and I press my fist against my sternum.
I’ve heard a lot of stories about them—Rhys and Katherine, the reigning couple—but no one ever mentioned the things he just admitted. Denielle knows not to talk about him, but others have always given me detailed recaps of the parties he’d gone to with Katherine. My mind starts to wander to some of those stories. Sex in the pool or a bathroom is nothing unusual, but hearing that about my brother was always...ugh. Now that he is no longer my brother, it’s—nope, not going there.
"It’s not your fault. You had no idea." His tone is gentle, and he mistakes my pained face for the initial guilt, not the memory of Sloane giving me a play by play about Katherine’s shouts from the first-floor bathroom at Kellan Jager’s pool party. I shake my head.
The corners of Rhys’s mouth tilt up. "I’d rather spend New Year’s in a hotel room watching a movie than be at a party with a ton of people I hardly know or like, watching them get wasted, and most likely waking up with a hangover from hell myself."
My lips tighten in a forced smile, but I can’t refrain from asking the question I’ve conveniently avoided since we left Westbridge. "What did you tell Katherine? I mean, about where you are?"
He doesn’t speak right away; his face just turns blank.
"Nothing."
"Nothing?" Lilly asks in disbelief.
I peer at her several times. Something is going on inside her head, but I can’t figure out what. I slow the car to be able to better assess her. "Cal, what are you thinking?"
She blushes and squeezes her lips together.
Oh no, she’s not clamming up on me. I just admitted one of my darkest secrets to her, something I never intended for her to find out, but I swore to myself that I’d no longer keep anything from her, either. "Cal?" My tone has a warning note to it. She is going to talk to me. My gut tells me it has something to do with me and is probably nothing good.
"Can we please let it go?" She sounds exasperated and flustered at the same time.
"No!"
"Ass," she grumbles, and the shade of her face resembles an overripe tomato.
"Come on, spill it! What has you so worked up?"
This is going to be interesting.
"Fine," she harrumphs. "I just...I was wondering if the image thing is why you always have public sex? I would want to know where my boyfriend is—I mean, if he were traveling with another girl. Not that I’m just any girl; I’m your sister, but I’m not. But they think I am, but I’d still want to know. We’re friends, and if my boyfriend was traveling with a female, I’d want to know. Right, I already said that. So why didn’t you tell Katherine?"
Uh...what?
She rambled that off so fast that I have to replay it in my head. Public sex. Wait, what? We’re friends. Does that mean she has forgiven me? At the same time, she completely jumped over the thing I just admitted to her.
I open my mouth and close it again. I have no idea where to begin. Finally, I manage to say, "I didn’t expect you to forgive me." I drop the whole sex thing. What the fuck? We’ll get back to that later.
"Yeah, me neither." She’s attempting to suppress a smile. I guess she hadn’t planned to word vomit all that.
"I’m glad." I force my voice to remain steady. My entire body has just come alive, and I want to grin like a fool. I rake a hand through my hair and glance over. Lilly watches intently for my reaction, and I feel like a little boy with his first crush. Pathetic. Well, technically, she is my first crush. There has never been a second. And Lilly knows how I feel, but that doesn’t mean I want her to see how much this affects me.
I do have some pride left.
I wiggle my eyebrows at her. "And all it too
k was finding the nurse that helped you ten years ago. Piece of cake."
She catches on, and just for that, I want to kiss her. She could’ve busted my balls for being all emotional, but that’s not her. She changes the subject.
"You didn’t answer my question."
"Huh? Oh, which one?"
"What did you tell her?"
"Oh yeah, I didn’t tell her anything. She doesn’t know I’m not skiing. I honestly don’t even remember if she knew I was going in the first place."
"Why?" I don’t expect her to remotely understand what Kat and I are. We don’t have a relationship in the traditional sense; we don’t share. I’m not proud of that. It’s exhausting to always pretend in front of everyone.
I explain, "I didn’t tell Kat because she wouldn’t have cared. She’s in Florida, enjoying the sun, probably banging some rich country club dude and heir to the next big business empire."
"What? That’s awful. Why would you be with someone like that?" Lilly exclaims, disgusted.
I sigh. "I told you before that Kat and I have a silent arrangement. We’ve never officially talked about it; it is simply understood. We give each other an image, something I needed to save face when it came to my feelings for you. She has never been faithful to me—not when she’s traveling. And she knows I know, but she probably just assumes I'm one of those dumb jocks who jump everything with a pussy."
"Crass much?" Lilly shakes her head. "Is that why you always have sex in public? The image?"
Ah, we’re back to that.
Still baffled, I ask, "When did I have public sex?" I’m honestly curious. I generally don’t pay attention to the gossip or whatever Kat tells people. I mean, we used to have sex—a lot, actually, in the beginning, since my main goal was to work Lilly out of my system, and Kat is hot as fuck. But that never worked, and over time, the sex became less and less. I don’t even remember the last time. Definitely weeks, if not months.
"Uh...um...Kellan’s party. Sloane heard you guys in the bathroom."
"Kellan?" I rack my brain. "Oh, Jager’s pool party."
We fucked there? Not that I remember, and I wasn’t hammered enough to forget that. Then it clicks, and I burst out laughing. I can’t stop, and Lilly glares with her lips pursed.
I finally gain control and declare, "That wasn’t me."
"But Sloane saw you and Kat go in the bathroom."
She’s right, we did go in there together, but I never touched her. I left through the adjoining bedroom and out the patio doors. I have no idea what Kat did after I left. A laugh bubbles up as I try again. "Oh God, that is priceless."
"WHAT?" Lilly is growing impatient. She thinks I’m making fun of her.
I explain, "Kat was in rare form that night. She was already smashed by the time I got to Jager’s, and she kept dry-humping me to make a public statement or some shit. You know her—well, the public her. Anyway, she dragged me into the bathroom with the intent of what you think happened. But there was no way I’d touch her in that state. She was all sloppy and—whatever, that’s not important. She got pissed that I wouldn’t comply, so I left through the bedroom and out the patio doors. I went home from there. I had no clue she put on a one-woman show." And with that, I howl with laughter.
Lilly gawks at me, perplexed. "You’re saying she pretended to have sex? Alone? In the bathroom?"
"I guess so." I wipe a tear from my eye.
"That is...wow. I mean, I don’t even know what that is."
Every so often, one of us randomly giggles. I can’t wait to tell Wes about that when we get home. Maybe I’ll even text him later; I haven’t checked in with him since we left.
When "Good Goodbye" comes on, I see Lilly shiver out of the corner of my eye. She has her legs pulled up, and her chin is resting on her jean-clad knees. Her head is tilted toward me, and her face heats when she realizes I’m watching. I want to question her what this is about, but instead, I focus on the road, concentrating on singing along to my favorite song.
"I almost named that one as my favorite," Lilly mumbles.
Even though her voice is low, it startles me, and our eyes meet before I focus back on the road.
"Uh...what?"
Why does my voice sound all raspy?
She turns forward but can’t hide her embarrassment. "‘Good Goodbye’. When you asked me about my favorite song, this was the first one that popped into my head, but I changed my mind to ‘Helsinki’."
Oh. This is...What is this? Is she embarrassed about it?
I’m confused and elated at the same time. Does her odd behavior mean there is...more? Otherwise, why would she be so weirded out by us liking the same song? I don’t allow myself to hope; after all, she just admitted that we’re friends again. I’m not going to push my luck.
"Well, you have good taste." I make light of it instead of feeding into the awkward tension, and it works. Lilly visibly relaxes and starts singing herself.
Chapter Nineteen
I loathe business dinners. The clients always expect to get wined and dined on the most crazy expensive items on the menu and then get shitfaced. All on my money. So predictable. I’m bored, but Hank says I have to be in this meeting. It’s for our current project in Florida, and they have questions only I can answer. We’re halfway through the project already. Why we couldn’t have done this over the phone I have no clue. I take a sip from my Chateau Petrus Pomerol—also the client’s choice—when my phone vibrates with an incoming email. I glance down at the device on the white tablecloth, and my hand with the wine glass freezes mid-air. The email came to the account I only use for one purpose. Her.
I excuse myself from the table and receive a pointed look from Hank, but I don’t care. I walk to the nearest restroom and into the closest stall. Away from prying eyes, I open the email and stare. I haven’t thought about this particular watcher in forever. Years ago, I installed a program in the Santa Rosa hospital system that watches only one file: Jane Doe, 22105017_0217. It’s just one small routine, undetectable unless one specifically looks for it and the reason why I have left it there for so long. Someone accessed Jane Doe’s file tonight. Her file. That can’t be a coincidence. It’s been over ten years. And to think that I almost didn’t reinstall it four years ago when they switched to the new patient system.
I send a quick text message to Hank with a bogus excuse and instructions to reschedule the meeting. I run this project, and I have to get home to my computer.
Fuck the client.
An hour later, I read the log file for the third time. Someone looked up the file at 7:02 p.m., but why? I haven’t had the need to hack into a surveillance feed in a while, and it takes me longer than it used to. I need to brush up on that skill. Once in, I easily find what I’m looking for. Pressing play, I watch the Emergency Room feed beginning at six p.m. Six different camera angles run simultaneously on my screen, and I scan them all meticulously. At 6:47, I pause the feed. There! Two nurses are talking to a young guy; his back is to two of the cameras and one partially shows his face. He can’t be more than nineteen. I press play again. The conversation doesn’t last more than a few minutes, and then he turns and walks out. The younger nurse leaves as well, and only the older one remains. I pause again and do a double-take. She’s about ten years older and probably twenty pounds heavier, but I have no doubt about who it is: Margery. She’s been an ER nurse for over twenty-five years and was the person I handed her to before sprinting out of the hospital.
Sure enough, Margery walks back into the nurses’ lounge and to a computer. So, she was the one accessing the file. The timestamp matches my log file.
Who is the boy?
I start accessing other feeds throughout the hospital but can’t find him anywhere. FUCK! I’m about to start over at an earlier time before he showed up at the ER when I watch the camera in the lobby. The timestamp shows 7:36, and there he is again. He is leading a girl with long blonde hair, by the hand, out of the sliding doors. No! My breath hitches. It can’t be.
My fingers feverishly fly over the keyboard until I find the right angle. There she is. My little Lilly—just not so little anymore.
Chapter Twenty
Why the hell did I admit to him that I like the song? I’ve been asking myself that for the last two days. But even more importantly, why does it bother me so much that we like the same song? I can’t shake this weird, indistinguishable gut feeling. Maybe I’m not over him lying to me after all? I’m starting to wish I could talk to Den. Well, I could, but not without telling her about the minor detail of being a kidnapping victim and having lost part of my memory. Yeah, no—I’m not ready for that conversation. I need to figure out as much as possible before bringing anyone else into this.
We spend New Year’s Eve in another chain hotel near Kansas City. We cover as much ground as possible and still get a few solid hours of sleep. From here, the last leg is not more than a couple of hours.
The room is a similar setup to the place in Santa Rosa, clean and comfortable. Rhys even pays extra for a living area and kitchenette. It’s like a little apartment, and curling up on the couch feels completely natural.
Rhys gets nostalgic and suggests a Blade marathon. How can I say no to that? Finishing this year with my all-time favorite movies and Rhys probably reciting Hannibal King word for word—I grin from ear to ear.
Smiling, I think of how Denielle makes fun of me whenever she gets the chance. "Those movies are older than you!" Followed by her famous eye roll. I’ve seen her intimidate girls and guys alike with that, but I just shrug her off with, "It’s a classic. You don’t know what’s good." And then I make fun of her for her Friends addiction.
I miss my best friend.
We’ve texted a few times, but mostly things like: How r u? Wish u were here! Can’t wait to see u next week.
I’m sitting on the couch and watch as Rhys somehow connects his laptop to the TV. When I question him about why he carries around the exact connectivity cables in his backpack, all he says is, "I’m a guy."