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

by Danah Logan

  We’re in a standoff until he clears his throat. "Cal, uh, about today..."

  Oh no, he’s not going there. I look past him at the wall, feeling my ears heat. I notice movement out of the corner of my eye. Natty and Heather are coming out of Natty’s room.

  "There is nothing to talk about." It’s not more than a hissed whisper.

  His shoulders slump, but I am in self-preservation mode. The whole encounter has me unsettled enough, especially with Denielle eyeing me for the rest of the day. I turn on my heels and go back to my room. I can’t face anyone. Leaning against my closed door, I sink to the floor, no longer able to hold my tears back. Slamming my fists against the floor, I almost wish I had never found out about my past. I was content with my pre-Thanksgiving-break life.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  My alarm goes off at six-thirty. I stay in bed, digging the heels of my palms into my eyes and letting out a low growl. We’re hosting today’s invitational. We’ve been practicing more than usual all week, and my body feels like I’ve been run over by a car which then backed up and repeated the motion about twenty-three times. I’m pretty sure my face is blotchy, and no amount of concealer will erase the hours of tossing and turning.

  After my run-in with Rhys last night, I sat on the floor for an hour until the constant flow of moisture dried up. I’m so tired of Rhys’s presence messing with me. I have enough to deal with, trying to figure out who Lilly McGuire—or rather, Lilly Sumner—is. I don’t need my body to have weird physical reactions that make no logical sense.

  Something needs to change.

  It’s my turn to drive, and I pull into Denielle’s driveway at seven-fifteen. I haven’t bothered with a shower since my hair goes up in a tight bun anyway and I’m just going to smell like before within the hour. I spend all of the time on my makeup, and thanks to the new foundation Denielle made me get months ago, I am semi-presentable.

  We’re stretching on the far end of the gym when Denielle mutters, "What the fuck is she doing here?"

  I slowly follow her gaze and freeze in my straddle. Katherine Rosenfield, head cheerleader and self-proclaimed gymnastics-is-for-girls-who-didn’t-get-on-the-cheer-team hater is here. All my senses go into overdrive.

  "WHAT. THE. FUCK!" I clamp a hand over my mouth. I rarely use the f-bomb.

  Denielle snickers beside me, and I throw her a glare that hopefully conveys, Whose side are you on?

  I scan the gym, and sure enough, there he is. A knot forms in my stomach. Rhys is standing by the doors, talking to Camden Sewall, another senior, who’s probably here to support his girlfriend, Grace.

  This can’t be real.

  My eyes swing back to Katherine. She is talking to a girl I don’t know, wildly gesturing with her arms like Miss Howard, our crossing guard in middle school. Katherine’s uber-cheery demeanor doesn’t meet her eyes. It’s obvious she’s enjoying being here as much as I enjoyed my first gynecological exam.

  I’m still in my stretch, and my upper body drops forward, resting my forehead on my arms. The pounding in my ears makes it hard to concentrate.

  I lift my head and peer at my best friend. "Unbelievable!"

  Den gazes at me sideways, lips pinched together, but she doesn’t comment.

  For the next few hours, I avoid Rhys’s general direction. I don’t have to see him, my body is automatically aware of where in the room he is. There is a constant buzz in my veins with the occasional flutter in the stomach region. I go through the motions, but my performance is a joke. I can’t clear my mind. I fumble during my back handspring, which almost lands me on my ass. As the morning progresses, the low buzz is replaced by a roaring in my ears.

  I need to call Spence when this is over to schedule a training session ASAP.

  Our team, overall, makes second place, which is at least something, but I can’t take any credit for that. We pack up, and Denielle and I walk toward the locker room when Rhys steps in my way. I try to walk around him, but he follows my movement and blocks me. The tunnel vision returns. How dare he show up here? With her! I’m exhausted and frustrated with my performance. My entire body tenses. I’m itching for a fight.

  Den puts a hand on my forearm, and I force my eyes to meet Rhys’s.

  "Hi." He sounds hesitant.

  We stare at each other. I’m unable to form a coherent thought.

  He opens his mouth to say something, but something inside of me snaps, and I sneer, "Why are you here? With her of all people!"

  "Because you won’t talk to me at home."

  Is he for real?

  "ARE YOU KIDDING ME?" I stomp my foot like a five-year-old throwing a temper tantrum, knowing how ridiculous I must look, but I can’t help it. "ARE. YOU. FUCKING. KIDDING. ME?"

  Eyes swivel toward us. I’m making a scene. I take a deep breath to regain some restraint and seethe, "You have not talked to me since we got home. You went back to your normal life with your perfect, fake relationship while I sit at home. Alone. My life is a big fucking farce. I live with people who have lied to me for ten years. TEN YEARS, Rhys. And you go back to banging your cheerleader whore who cheats on you at every opportunity and who you don’t even like. And then you have the audacity to rub it in my face. Do you have any idea what that does to me?" My chest is heaving, and I can’t stop the moisture from building in my eyes. My hand clamps over my mouth for the second time today.

  Where did that come from?

  Denielle is frozen with her hand still on my arm, and Rhys gapes at me with an open mouth.

  Mortified, I glance around. People are still watching, but I’m pretty sure no one heard my rant. At least I had the foresight to lower my voice. However, that doesn’t change the embarrassment factor.

  Almost lightheaded, I shrug Denielle off and dart around both of them to the locker room.

  Oh God, oh God, oh God.

  "I’ll talk to her," Denielle tells Rhys before I’m out of earshot.

  The locker room is bustling with girls in various stages of changing. I pass everyone, ignoring the ones calling my name, and head to the far end. Between the showers and the last row of lockers is an unused nook, probably because the drain back here always smells like sewage and the school has never been able to fix the issue. I sit on the floor with my forehead resting on my knees and arms wrapped around my shins when my best friend sinks next to me.

  Denielle bumps my shoulder. "Umm...babe?"

  I turn my head to look at her, letting my temple rest on my knees. "Don’t say it. I don’t know what happened out there." My voice sounds strangled.

  She frowns at me and sighs, "I’m pretty sure I do."

  I scan her face. Huh?

  She wraps one arm around my shoulders and squeezes. "From what I have seen these past few weeks, Rhys’s feelings are not one-sided."

  She really went there.

  "Den, he’s my brother. Crap, no. He’s my friend. At least, I thought he was while we were gone. But he just went back to his old life as if our trip never happened. As if nothing has changed. At. All." My heart starts pounding in my chest.

  That gets me another squeeze. "Babe, first, he is not your brother, nor has he ever been. And second, I think you guys are way past the friend stage. You may have been running the opposite direction every time you saw him anywhere, but he saw you too. And the look on his face said it all. He doesn’t think anyone notices, and I might not have if you hadn’t filled me in on this fucked up situation. I can tell you...he most certainly has not gone back to his old life. His feelings for you are written all over his face. It’s obvious."

  I’m about to tell her that this is not news; he admitted it himself, but Denielle holds up the hand that is not wrapped around me.

  "Don’t think I haven’t watched you too since you told me. You are just as gone as he is."

  What?

  My eyebrows scrunch together. I can’t be. That’s...I just can’t.

  After a pause, she adds, "And you know what...in its own twisted way, it probably m
akes sense."

  I rub my forehead. "Uh. Huh?"

  Den chuckles. "Okay, let me make it clearer. Babe, when you and I met, the two of you were joined at the hip, with an occasional Wes on the other side. You were closer than any brother-sister relationship I’d ever seen. When Rhys stopped talking to you, you were distraught. And not just in an I-had-a-fight-with-my-brother kind of way. It was as if you got broken up with, like you lost the other half of your soul. I didn’t understand it at the time. I mean, I love my brother, but if Oli stopped talking to me over a fight or whatever...oh well, I’d get over it. But you didn’t. Even when you started functioning again, you never were the same. Now it all makes sense."

  "Huh?" is my very profound response once more.

  "Whatever that memory doctor did to you, he didn’t fully erase what you and Rhys already had before the you-know-what. I’ve thought about it a lot, and I think it’s always been there. Now that he’s come clean, and with everything you guys went through together on your trip...well, you can finish that sentence."

  "Huh?" I’m convinced I have a uni-brow by now.

  "Oh, come on, you’re not that dense. Wes maybe, but not you," she chastises. "Or are you in denial?" She squints and scans my face. "Oh my gosh, YOU ARE!"

  Her outburst makes me jump. I turn away, and I narrow my eyes at the blue locker across from me, replaying everything Den just said. What Rhys and I had before I got kidnapped and had my memory erased. That I acted like I had lost my other half. My mind wanders to the hotel room. The butterflies in my stomach. The sparring a few weeks ago. And despite my initial anger at Spence for putting me in that situation, it was the happiest I’d been since we got back. The fluttery feeling in my stomach. Butterflies. I blink. Oh! Oh. My. God.

  "I’m in love with him," I say in a strangled whisper. I rub my hands over my eyes. I can’t be. It’s wrong.

  I’m scared to look at Denielle, at what I’m going to see in her face. Pity? Revulsion? Disappointment? I chance a glance and am shocked for the second time. She genuinely smiles at me, and all I see is understanding and happiness. But for what?

  "Why are you not disgusted?" I rasp out.

  This is all just so wrong.

  "Huh?"

  I have to laugh. I guess I’m not the only one here who doesn’t have the most intelligent way of expressing confusion.

  "He’s my brother. This should disgust you. Gross you out," I clarify my statement.

  "Oh." She purses her lips and looks away for a second. Meeting my eyes again, she says, "Why would I be? You are my best friend, and your feelings are important to me. But even more importantly, he is not your brother. He never was. Besides being a bit slow, you have done nothing wrong. None of this is your fault."

  "I doubt anyone else will see it that way. It’s wrong."

  "No, it’s not. Fuck everyone else. Who gives a shit?"

  My insides warm at her outburst. Denielle has always had my back. I couldn’t wish for a better best friend. For the first time, I look around to make sure no one is listening to our conversation.

  "What am I going to do? I mean, it’s not like we can be together."

  There is a sour taste in my mouth, and I feel like someone has deposited a fifty-pound weight on my chest.

  "Well, as I see it, it’s whatever you two make of it. It can be nothing. You can keep going as it is: he dates the Wicked Bitch, and both of you are miserable, or it could be everything for the two of you."

  "But we can’t be together." She doesn’t get it. To everyone else, we’re blood-related. That’s incest.

  Denielle moves so she is facing me head-on and puts her hands on each side of my face to force me to look at her.

  "Yet," she says with a stern tone. "This will not last forever. Eventually, you’ll have to come clean to Heather and Tristen, and one day, this whole cluster-fuck will be cleared up. That’s when you can officially be together. But it’s your choice."

  My choice.

  My forehead tilts forward to rest on hers. "Thank you."

  She moves her hands, gives me a kiss on the cheek, and stands up, holding out her hand. "Let’s hit the shower and go find your soulmate."

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Approaching the locker room doors, my heart rate triples with every step. I fight the urge to dig my heels into the ground, and Denielle pretty much pushes me through the double doors.

  I scan my surroundings, but Rhys is nowhere in sight. A sigh of relief and disappointment escapes me, which makes Denielle cackle at my side. In the shower, I asked to spend the rest of the weekend at her house, and she just doubled over laughing. I’m so glad my best friend finds my situation hilarious. I just can’t face anyone until I figure out what I want to do about my newest revelation. I’m in love with Rhys.

  I send Heather a text that I’m staying at Denielle’s and prepare myself for some sort of argument since I’ve always had to plead in advance before I was allowed to spend the night there.

  Have fun, sweetie. Dad is taking Natty and me to the museum tomorrow. We’ll be back after dinner.

  I read the message twice before tilting the screen toward Denielle. "Umm...does she have the wrong child? She has to have confused me with Rhys, right?"

  Den shrugs. "I don’t think Rhys would even tell them if he wasn’t coming home."

  Fair point.

  We’re in Denielle’s room, lounging on her king-size bed while her 60-inch flatscreen is showing reruns of one of the CW’s vampire shows. Usually, I would be totally into it, but not today.

  A lump forms in my throat. When I go home tomorrow, I’ll have to face Rhys alone...unless I wait until the evening, which is the coward’s way out.

  Why is it all of a sudden so hard to breathe in here?

  Before we go to bed, I text Spence that I need a training session ASAP. I hope that a good workout will help me clear some of the fog in my mind, and maybe I’ll have an epiphany about what to do about Rhys. My phone vibrates not a minute later.

  No problem, kiddo. Your brother canceled his session tomorrow. Meet around 9?

  Rhys canceled his session? Why would he do that? Unless he is waiting for me to come home.

  Oh great, the butterflies in my stomach made room for hornets on steroids.

  I walk into our usual training room at eight fifty-five with Denielle on my heels. She has not stopped muttering obscenities at me since I dragged her out of bed an hour ago.

  She just settled in her usual spot on the floor against the far wall, steaming vanilla-caramel latte in hand, when she whispers, "Ohhh, he’s back."

  Huh? One arm across my chest, stretching out my shoulder, I look at her questioningly. She nods her head toward the other side of the room, and I try to subtly look over my shoulder. However, what I don’t expect is my eyes colliding with a pair of hazel ones right on the other side of the glass wall. It’s the friend of the Asian guy who winked at us the other day. Personally, I thought that was pretty sleazy. I mean, who winks these days? This guy is tall—taller than Rhys’s six-one—with light-blond, shaggy hair. His eyes are striking, even from a distance, no question there. I can’t determine if the brown or green is more dominant. It’s almost as if his eyes are changing color right in front of me—it’s captivating. This close, there is also no denying that he is in shape. Like, really in shape. His broad shoulders are emphasized even more by the wifebeater he’s wearing paired with gray sweats. His sweats are loose-fitting, but I can see that his lower body is just as defined as his upper body. My eyes wander back to his face, and his mouth quirks up on one side with an eyebrow raised. Heat creeps up my cheeks, and I spin around, squeezing my eyes shut.

  Oh God, how embarrassing.

  A sudden knock on the glass makes me stiffen, and I glance down at Denielle, who is peering around my legs, wiggling her fingers with a seductive smile. I swivel on my heels. Another set of eyes has joined the first. Asian guy is standing next to his friend and is intently staring at Denielle. As Wes once phrased it, h
e is eye-fucking her.

  "Den!" I hiss.

  Spence chooses that moment to walk in the room and lets the glass door fall shut.

  "Let the fun begin!" He grins broadly.

  Oh, thank goodness.

  I fight the urge to hug Spence. Who knows what would’ve transpired otherwise? Denielle loves Charlie, but she flirts like there’s no tomorrow. I once asked Charlie about it, and he just said, "That doesn’t bother me." Nothing else.

  "Get your wraps."

  I’m pulled out of my thoughts and grin.

  YES!

  Spence is in full-body armor as if he sensed what I needed. He pushes me hard, and for ninety blissful minutes, I forget everything. Nothing matters, and I am just me. No kidnapping, no lack of memories, no brother turned lover. I’m at peace, punching and kicking my trainer in whatever body part he commands.

  Denielle and I sit at our usual table with our usual post-workout shake when I tell her, "I’m going home."

  I can’t avoid Rhys forever. Well, I probably could, but do I want to?

  She just nods as if she knew all along.

  She probably did.

  I pull up to the house in the early afternoon. Pushing the button on my visor, the garage door slowly lifts, and as expected, Tristen’s car is gone. However, Rhys’s car is not. I swallow hard. I wipe my hands on my borrowed pants since my overnight stay hadn’t been planned.

  I’m still unsure what I’m going to do. I can’t avoid him all day—maybe a little bit longer.

  Sounds resembling an action movie are coming from the family room, and I duck past the opening without looking and sneak up the stairs.

  I showered at the gym, so I only have to change into my own clothes: my go-to home attire of black yoga pants and a long-sleeve, crew-neck shirt. I grab the first shirt I find, which has a gray herringbone pattern. Good enough.

  That didn’t take nearly enough time to calm my nerves. I feel like such an idiot. My body gave me all the signals, and I refused to acknowledge them. I smack my hand to my forehead. Den is right. Logically, I haven’t done anything wrong. Rhys and I aren’t blood related, but the thought of what others will think makes my stomach churn.