In the Dark: A Thrilling Romantic Suspense Novel (The Dark Series Book 1)

by Danah Logan

  Lilly stands up to hug Wes.

  "What’s up, beautiful? I didn’t get to congratulate you earlier for beating your brother’s ass."

  Lilly blushes, and her gaze flickers to me.

  Den smirks devilishly. "What’s up, snow face?"

  Both girls burst out laughing, and Wes frowns. "Not cool, D."

  Which makes them laugh even harder. I raise my eyebrows.

  Wes catches my eyes and just grumbles, "Let it go."

  Before I can stop myself, I blurt out, "I haven’t seen you at home."

  That brings three sets of eyes to me. Lilly’s turning cold. "That’s because you haven’t been at home." Her words are like someone dumped a bucket of ice water over my head.

  Is that why she is so mad at me?

  Den cocks her head knowingly, Wes looks puzzled, and Lilly stands up, brushing past me. "Den knows."

  Wha—?

  She’s walking away fast, and I call, "Everything?"

  Lilly keeps going without a backward glance. Denielle slowly gets up to follow.

  "Everything." She almost sounds sorry when she responds, which confuses me even more. She’s been my biggest detractor for years.

  FAN-FUCKING-TASTIC.

  The girls are gone, and we drop our asses into their discarded chairs. Wes raises his eyebrows at me, waiting.

  "Dude, I can’t."

  He presses his lips in a white slash, but he doesn’t push me.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Almost two days. That was how long it took before I finally found Rhys McGuire. But it didn’t actually take me that long to find the boy. The majority of the time, I spent finding Margot a new driver and chauffeuring her around. Who the fuck would’ve expected that it was that hard to find a new personal driver in a city with four million people? It was like Margot’s previous employees had banned together and warned everyone in the business about her.

  This afternoon, I finally found someone who either didn’t know about my fiancée’s eccentrics of not walking more than ten feet from the car to wherever she is going or didn’t care because I doubled the salary. Two more days of driving her and I would’ve tripled it.

  Now, I’m sitting at my desk, three monitors in front of me, reviewing all the information about Rhys McGuire I was able to dig up in an hour. I was a little surprised to find very little about him. He has two social media accounts, but none of the information is public. I have to dig into some not-so-easily-accessible records to figure out that he lives in Westbridge, Virginia with his parents and two sisters.

  Another thirty minutes into it and I’m looking at a picture from last year’s yearbook of Westbridge High’s gymnastics team. I almost can’t believe it, but there she is, more beautiful than ever. Under the picture, I scan the name for the third time: Lilly McGuire.

  I marvel at how much she has grown up. A lot of her features are the same, her light-blonde hair untouched, no high or lowlights like every other girl or woman out there. Her hazel eyes sparkle with life. She is a natural beauty.

  Besides this picture, there are only two more in the entire yearbook. One is of her and a girl from the gymnastics team, Denielle Keller. They’re hugging in front of a banner that reads: Congratulations, WHS Gymnastics! District Champs! The other picture is her yearbook picture. Her hair is draped over one shoulder, and she smiles at the camera, though it’s not the same natural smile as in the other two.

  Over the next seven hours, I track everything I can find in Lilly McGuire’s minuscule online presence. The clock at the top of my screen reads 5:12 a.m. My eyes are burning, but I stare, satisfied, at the results displayed in front of me.

  Ten years ago, I wasn’t aware of Heather and Tristen McGuire or their relationship to Lilly and her parents. From what I know now, they moved two months before Lilly entered my life, and back then, I didn’t bother with her past. A mistake that has made me miss ten years.

  Besides her new parents, she has a brother—hello again, Rhys—and a little sister, Natty. Neither of them looks anything like her. I wonder how no one ever asked questions. It is so obvious.

  I compile a list of her friends, as well as what I can find out about the remaining McGuire family members’ acquaintances, occupations, and hobbies. Thankfully, besides Lilly’s immediate family, most of them have a very well-documented social media presence, which makes that part of my research, once again, laughably easy. You gotta love people and their need for validation; the more likes the better, and the more they post. Especially that Katherine girl I found connected to her brother, Rhys.

  I do wonder if the minimal online activity from all the McGuires has to do with Heather and Tristen’s careers, or in fact, because they were hiding Lilly from the world—from me. I’ll find out soon enough.

  Leaning back in my chair, I take one last look at everything before dialing Hank’s number.

  "This better be good. I’m still pissed at you," he grumbles half asleep into the phone.

  "I’ll fund the project myself. Let’s expand the Virginia operation."

  That wakes him up. "I thought you wanted to move to Chicago next. More options and shit."

  "Changed my mind," I drawl. "Figure we’ll see how that goes and then maybe add a few more to the mix."

  "Well, um, okay. You want me to come with?"

  I think that over for a moment. "Nah, I’ll conference you in from there. You keep an eye on the west coast for now."

  "Sounds like a plan."

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  The first week of school passes pretty uneventfully. Everything is back to pre-Thanksgiving break. Well, as much as it can be after the revelation that my entire life is a big fat lie.

  I haven’t figured out my next steps. Despite Denielle hounding me, talking to Heather and Tristen is still out of the question. I go back to my old routine: hang out with Denielle and the girls, go to practice, and get my schoolwork done. Den rarely leaves my side, and the sidelong glances tell me this whole thing has unsettled her as well. But no more Rhys—not at home, and barely at school, which is a relief and a letdown at the same time. His texts have stopped since our match on Sunday, and by Tuesday, I no longer check. I may or may not have chucked my phone across the room when the realization hit—only into the pillows on my bed, of course. I’m not a complete twit.

  At school, I see Rhys in passing between classes, but he is either with his friends or Katherine—usually both, since her tongue seems to be permanently attached to his. Every time I see them together, her hands are somewhere under his clothes, and my teeth automatically clench. Midweek, I have a perpetual cramp in my jaw, and I turn the opposite direction as soon as I spot either of them, which makes me late to class twice. It’s like two years ago all over again.

  I’ve just pulled into our driveway on Friday when Denielle’s name appears on my screen.

  Sloane and I are going to Magnolia’s. U in?

  I don’t want to be home, but I am physically and mentally drained from this week.

  Not today. Going to stay in. See u tomorrow?

  :)

  My sanctuary has become more crucial now since I can barely stand to be in the same room as Heather and Tristen for an extended period of time. I don’t get tunnel vision anymore, but the urge to flee is as strong as ever. They were the ones to suggest taking me away from my parents. Who does that?

  It’s late, and I’m curled up under my throw blanket, reading, when I hear the garage door open and close. Rhys is home. My stomach does its fluttering thing again, and I squeeze my eyes shut.

  Why? Why? Why?

  Last I checked, Tristen is still up, and it’s confirmed by muffled voices from below.

  All of a sudden, the noise level rises. "WHAT DO YOU CARE?!"

  I sit up straight in bed, my dread about the fluttering immediately forgotten. Footsteps pound up the stairs, and the door across from my room slams shut.

  What the hell?

  I bite my lip and clasp my hands in my lap. I don’t rem
ember the last time Rhys shouted at Tristen. Not even...uh, nope, not even two years ago. He just disappeared.

  I fist my throw blanket, forcing myself to stay put. Why would I check on him? He’s made his choice to move on with his life. Slowly, my grip on the blanket loosens through its own volition, and my legs slide off the bed. Opening my door, I notice the light coming from the first floor, but when there is no movement, I tiptoe across the hall.

  I don’t bother knocking. Despite the only illumination coming from the streetlamps outside his window, the outline of Rhys sitting at the edge of his bed is clear as day. His shoulders are hunched, head hanging low, hands resting on his legs.

  "Go away, Cal."

  Cal, not Lilly.

  I halt for a second, but there is no backbone in his words. My heart aches, and after closing the door behind me, I cross the distance between us. Getting closer, I see he is in black sweats with a matching black hoodie, and his hair is still wet. He looks like he came from the gym. It’s late on a Friday night; why is he here?

  Unsure what to do, I lower myself down next to him and tentatively wrap my arm around his shoulder. Rhys’s body goes rigid, but after a shuddering breath, he melts into my side. His arms wrap around my midsection, and his head nestles into the crook of my neck. Feeling his breath against my skin makes my entire body go ablaze, and I close my eyes.

  This is not about me or my messed up physical reactions; I’m here for him. I squash the urge to flee to my room and pretend I never heard the exchange between Rhys and Tristen. Instead, I return his embrace and realize I’m...home. No words are spoken. We just sit, and he clings to me.

  I’m not sure how much time passes, but I hear footsteps moving around downstairs, and Rhys stiffens at the same time. He untangles himself. "You need to go!"

  "But—?"

  "NOW!" he hisses.

  He pulls me up and, after a quick peek down the hall, pushes me toward my room and closes his door immediately, without another word. The light in the kitchen turns off, and the bottom step creaks. That’s my cue to move. My door shuts when I see Tristen’s head appear near the top of the stairs.

  Heart pounding, I stand in the middle of my room and expel all air from my body.

  I should’ve gone to Magnolia’s.

  The next few days continue the same: I hide at Denielle’s or in my room, school, homework, practice with the occasional gymnastics meet, repeat. Rhys has been absent once again. Heather and Tristen act like it’s the most normal thing in the world that their son doesn’t come home, which adds to my irritation.

  Tuesday, I get the first glimpse of Rhys. I’m on my way to third period when I spot him standing down the hallway. Wes’s head is inside his locker as he digs around like a stoner hunting for his stash before a random drug search. Not that health-obsessed Wes would ever do drugs—he doesn’t even do caffeine, though he makes people believe he’s coffee addicted. Anyway, Katherine gropes Rhys per usual, one hand under his shirt and clearly on its way down the backside of his pants. But that’s not what stops me in my tracks. It’s Rhys’s posture. He is as stiff as a board and doesn’t return her touches at all. Hands stuffed deep in his front pockets, his features are blank while he stares at Wes’s backside. As if sensing me, his head swivels in my direction, and I quickly step behind a group of freshmen. I’m wracking my brain if he’s been like that the entire time and I was too focused on Katherine’s actions that I didn’t notice it.

  Swallowing a lump in my throat, I turn and head the other way.

  After the first few nights back, I start keeping a second bag of clothes at Wes’s. That way, I barely have to go home. I stopped texting Lilly on Sunday, and I haven’t seen or talked to her in days. Not true, I’ve seen plenty of her retreating form in the hallways, and I’m not a fucking idiot to not catch on to what she’s doing. After all, I invented the avoidance tactic in the McGuire family.

  Now, it’s Friday, and I head home to repack a new bag when I run into Dad. He’s up later than usual, which I didn’t take into account. Everyone went bowling tonight since there is no party, but I decided on my third workout for the day.

  Wes is mad as fuck. I’m camping out on his couch but refuse to tell him shit. And now I also make up excuses to not hang out with him and our friends. I would be pissed at me as well.

  Whatever. I’d rather wallow in my self-pity alone.

  Despite being used to Wes’s couch for years, I sleep like crap. Constantly seeing Lilly speed in the opposite direction has me wound up tighter than a two-dollar watch. When I walk through the door, Dad’s simple, "How are you?" makes me snap. He looks at me with a mixture of concern and understanding after my outburst, which makes black spots appear in my vision. It is his motherfucking fault that I’m in this mess. With balled fists, I head upstairs to cool off. Another confrontation wouldn’t end well. I’m smart enough to recognize that, even in my current state.

  After herding Lilly out of my room, I retreat to my bed and grab the nearest pillow. Biting down on it, I let out the primal scream that has been building up the entire week. When I’m done, I call Wes and let him know that I’ll be back at his place in a few. My voice is no more than a croak, and I have to assure him three times that everything is fine. Of course, nothing is fine. He knows it, and I know it, but he stops asking. Holding Lilly for those few minutes...that can’t happen again. I need to stay away.

  Looking around my room, I draw in a deep breath and come to a decision. Grabbing a third bag, I pack almost my entire wardrobe. I’ll start washing my clothes at Wes’s or the laundromat—anything to not have to come back here.

  Kat has, thankfully, been completely absorbed with cheer practice, and I only have to play the part while we’re in school.

  Two of her girls broke something on the ski trip, and she’s had to train the replacements personally. No one else is good enough—her words, not mine. I can barely contain my relief when she tells me on the first day of school with a pout on her face, making sure everyone sees it.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  The days turn into a week, then another, and before I realize it, it has been four weeks since we returned from our trip. I’ve perfected my route between classes to avoid the daily grope session—at least, I thought I did. This weekend is our first invitational at home, and the entire team is buzzing with excitement. The last two invitationals went better than any of us had expected with the freshman that joined the team this year. Some are already talking about the Senior Showcase Invitational. I’m focused on Den discussing a fumble with one of the new girls and don’t pay attention that we are exiting through the west wing doors, not the east wing doors—my new route to class.

  "BAAABYYY, THERE YOU ARE!"

  My eyes snap up, and there he is. Shit! With perfecting my route, I thought I had also perfected the not caring again, but as soon as my eyes land on Rhys, the freaking flutter is back.

  Wonderful, I have a first-row seat for today’s show.

  Katherine is dressed in her blue-and-yellow cheer uniform. I swear, she has taken at least two inches off the skirt. Her hair is styled impeccably; her elaborate ponytail is curled to precision with a ginormous bow in matching colors, and even the loose strands around her face have been manipulated to appear unintentional. As soon as she reaches Rhys, she jumps into his arms, and he has to catch her under her ass, or she would’ve slid down him like a greased stripper pole. Sadly, for some reason, I can actually see that becoming her reality if she doesn’t find a rich heir and become his trophy wife. It’s like watching one of those terrible reality shows. You are fully aware that you shouldn’t watch it, but you can’t turn it off because you’ve somehow gotten emotionally invested despite your better judgment. She immediately shoves her tongue down his throat. The guys standing with them are starting to whistle and hoot. I feel bile rising in my throat, but I can’t move.

  I absently feel a hand on my arm, but it’s like I have tunnel vision. Rhys lets Kat slide down, and as soon as she hit
s the floor, he steps away. Wes materializes next to him and nudges his elbow, looking at me. Rhys’s eyes flick in my direction and widen when he realizes what—or more likely who—Wes is pointing out.

  Locking eyes with him is like someone pouring a bucket of water over my head, and it becomes clear what I’m doing. My jaw hurts, and I can feel the imprints of my fingernails in my palm. Rhys takes a step toward me, and my entire body goes ablaze.

  Crap.

  I turn and walk toward the nearest bathroom as fast as I can without breaking into a full-on sprint. Inside, I lean with my hands on the sink and stare at my reflection in the mirror.

  Breathe.

  The door opens behind me. Denielle steps in, crossing her arms, and leans with her hip against the sink next to mine. "Uh, what was that?"

  My breathing is still ragged, and I snap, "WHAT?"

  She gestures toward the hallway with her head. "That! I thought you were going to jump the Wicked Bitch out there."

  "Did she really have to maul his face like that in public? It’s gross," I pretty much shout.

  I need to get a grip. What am I doing?

  I look at my best friend through the mirror, and my gaze is met with a raised eyebrow. "Is there something you haven’t told me?"

  I frown at her. I don’t like where this is going—exactly where I have refused to go since the first flutter.

  "Let’s get to class. We’re late." I turn, pull the door open, and walk out without giving her a chance to respond.

  That night, I literally run into Rhys while coming out of my room and am too stunned to say anything. I don’t remember the last time he was home this early—or in general. He must’ve come straight from practice.