by S. Massery
He hesitates. “Liam… you can ask for a lawyer. If you want. Call Eli’s dad.”
“Why?”
“Detectives sometimes get things wrong,” he mutters. “Sometimes they go after the wrong people. Don’t you know that by now? From what happened to Caleb?”
A bullheaded detective at my door.
But he’s asking for Sky, not me. He’s asking because she has something to do with the missing girls.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I say.
I release Sky, and she releases me. It must be automatic, because her expression doesn’t change. I press my finger to her cheek, then follow Dad upstairs.
Detective Masters is as I remember him. He’s a middle-aged man who’s managed to keep himself fairly trim over the years. There’s a little beard on his face that wasn’t there the last time I saw him. He keeps it trimmed close to his face. There are flecks of gray in there, too.
“How long has it been?” he asks me. “Six years?”
Since he was here last? Investigating Sky.
“Well, only about four if you count the time you arrested my best friend under false charges.” I cross my arms over my chest.
Masters nods once. “That was an unfortunate error on my part. I apologized to Mr. Asher.”
“Right.”
“Where is Skylar?” he asks.
I shake my head. “She’s sleeping. It’s been a long week. To what do we owe this pleasure?”
He grimaces. The careful facade he usually wears has slipped. “The Travers family received a ransom note this morning.”
Something smashes behind me, and I whirl around.
Mom stands there, barefoot amidst a shattered glass. Her hand is still out, curled into a fist, like it just slipped from her grasp.
“Don’t move,” I say, picking my way toward her. I’m wearing shoes, but even if I wasn’t I would’ve gone to her. She doesn’t breathe until I get to her and scoop her up. She’s a bit heavier than Sky, less birdlike.
She huffs out a breath, then shakes her head when I set her down on the rug. “Thanks.”
“You okay?”
She nods, then eyes the detective. “That’s why you’re here, right? Because of the ransom.”
He nods once. “It means she’s still alive, and the police in Boston are growing a bit more desperate to talk to Sky. See if she knows anything.”
“She barely remembers her own—”
“Liam,” Mom snaps.
“So they sent you, then? To see if Sky knows anything.” I glare at him, the memory of the time he came to Theo’s house to interrogate Caleb fresh in my mind. “As I said, she’s sleeping.”
He shrugs. “That’s easily remedied.”
“She’s been through a lot,” I say through my teeth. “And when she wakes up, she can call the detectives actually involved in the case.”
“What do you both remember about her disappearance?” Masters asks us. “It was a traumatic situation for all involved. I imagine that hit rather close to home. Literally and figuratively.”
“It was a long time ago,” Mom says. “And you’re right: it was traumatic for everyone. She was gone far longer than necessary.”
Masters squints. “Necessary?”
She shrugs.
“Detective Masters,” Dad says, crossing the room. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
He shakes hands with Masters, and they both regard each other for a moment.
“How did they receive it?” Mom asks.
The detective’s smile is brittle. “Email.”
“Receive it?” Dad parrots.
“A ransom note for Skylar’s missing roommate,” Mom whispers.
Dad stiffens. “Ah. A shame, that.”
Mom clears her throat. “Kathy might be more receptive to talking with you about it, Detective. You know as well as I do that Sky won’t have anything helpful to add to their investigation.”
He dips his head. “Very well.”
I walk him to the door, watch him as he picks his way down the porch steps and across the yard. His car is parked in the center of the driveway, and he doesn’t try an ill-fated three-point-turn. I’ve seen too many of my parents’ friends try it and fail, especially in the winter. There’s nothing quite as funny as seeing someone stuck, their car perpendicular to the drive, with the sloping lawn on either side threatening to suck them away.
But he backs out, his headlights illuminating the porch, the front of the house, and me. He might wave, or lift a hand, or maybe he’s already preoccupied with that the hell he’s going to say to Skylar’s mother.
I return inside to Mom sweeping the shards of glass into a small pile, a trash bin by her side.
“I could’ve done that,” I protest.
Mom shakes her head. “Nonsense. It was my slippery fingers…”
“He freaked you out,” I observe.
She pauses, gaze on the floor, and finally nods. “It’s been a while. I thought we were past it.”
“Kathy is selling the house,” I say without preamble. “And I don’t…”
I, what? Sky isn’t there anymore. She’s not in that house, and I’m not here.
“Your relationship with that girl doesn’t depend on where her mom lives, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
I shrug, because she’s right. I am worried about that. I’m worried about a lot of things.
“She’s remembering,” I admit. “And I… I don’t want to hurt her.”
Mom reaches out and cups my cheek. “I don’t think you could, even if you wanted to.”
There it is again: the cold shame I’ve been suppressing. I have hurt her, have scared her. Wasn’t that my goal when I broke into her apartment? I wanted to scare some sense into her, make her rush home. She didn’t, though. She carried on as normal, and the people around her kept abandoning her.
Her friends. Her roommate.
“A ransom means Whitney is alive.” I step away from Mom. “That… that should give us hope.”
She nods once, but warily. “Hope is a dangerous thing, Liam. Just remember that.”
I head back for the basement, to my girl.
That thought knocks me back. My girl. And then, in a split second, I embrace it. I already called her mine once, to her face. What’s wrong with admitting it to myself?
She’s always been mine.
She’ll always be mine.
And nothing—and no one—will take her away from me.
34
Sky
Once, I wanted to be normal.
I dreamt of going to school, studying, having a boyfriend. I wanted the apartment in the city, a good number of friends—whatever that meant—and… happiness.
That’s not what I got.
This is our third night in Stone Ridge, and I’ve had nightmares both previous nights. It’s gotten to the point where I’m afraid to close my eyes, and Mom’s even more on edge than she used to be.
Those boxes in the back of my mind, the ones with the memories in them? They’re tearing. Darkness is slipping out, poisoning the rest of my thoughts.
It’s almost one o’clock in the morning, and my light is on. It’s a steady, warm yellow glow that keeps me company until I cannot fathom keeping my eyes open for a second longer. Tonight I’m reading and forcing myself to not stare through my window toward Liam’s house. I can’t help but notice his light is off. The whole Morrison house is dark.
My phone vibrates, and I jump.
Liam: Come outside.
I immediately quiver.
I haven’t seen him since he took me into the woods, and I think… I think I had a nightmare. He was there. Or maybe I was still in dreamland, wishing he was next to me. I only remember the sway of his steps, and his breath, and his lips touching my knuckles.
When I woke up, I was home. In my bed.
That was yesterday, and Liam never appeared. To be fair, I didn’t reach out to him, either. We both seemed to get stuck with the universe
between us.
Me: It’s cold out there.
It snowed yesterday. I sat in the picture window in our upstairs hallway and watched it fall.
Mom’s been working, his parents have been working. We could’ve been hanging out together.
I’ve sorted through all the boxes in my room, kept aside two that I plan on taking to Liam’s apartment. The rest of the stuff will be donated or sold.
Liam: Fine, then let me in.
I don’t smile, but… I almost do. And that’s what counts. I secretly think Mom has been trying to see a smile on my face for the last few days, because when I see her, she makes these remarks. And they should be funny, they should be amusing, but everything falls flat.
“No need,” Liam whispers, pushing my door open. “Your back door was unlocked.”
I rise on my knees, setting the book aside. “What? Anyone could sneak in.”
He comes closer, and I lift my arms. He steps into my embrace, holding me close. “I’m the only riffraff you have to worry about. But I know. It’s why I locked it behind me.” His gaze goes to the closet. “Shall we go up?”
Up and up and up.
My room is unique: it has a staircase to the attic in its closet.
As a kid, it freaked me out. I was convinced someone lived up there and came down to spy on me while I slept. Once I developed the need for privacy, and a place to hide, I realized how special it was.
There’s a couch up there with a pull-out sofa. The few times I had sleepovers, we piled up the narrow staircase and slept in the attic.
I nod, and he lifts me. I don’t think twice, just wrap my legs around his hips and let him carry me. The light switch at the entrance to the attic connects to Christmas lights, and a few strands sputter before solidifying.
“You remember what you promised?” I whisper.
He pulls back, but only to look me in the eyes. “Do you need me to find you?”
I nod slowly.
The first touch of his lips to mine is gentle. So soft, I barely feel it. Butterfly wings on my skin. I press in, but he holds me back. Slowly lowers me to the couch, where he kneels beside it.
“Come back to me,” he says.
My gaze goes to the rafter ceiling. If I was in the right mind, I might cry. My eyes would burn with the care he’s taking.
His lips go to my throat, and he pauses. I wonder if he can feel my heartbeat. It’s slow and steady, unlike the familiar rush of blood that tends to block out everything else when he touches me.
He kisses a hot path down the center of my chest. He stops at the collar of my shirt, meets my gaze, then…
He rips it off of me.
It tears with a spectacular rip, and we’re both stunned into stillness for a moment.
“Stop me if…” He meets my gaze.
I shake my head slightly. No, I’m not going to change my mind. I grab his face and pull him closer, kissing him firmly. His lips are unyielding against mine—and then, suddenly, they’re not. He nips my bottom lip and takes control. It’s all I can do not to groan aloud. Familiar heat licks along my core, zipping up my spine.
He’s thawing me out.
His fingers brush over my stiff nipple. I arch my back and grab his neck with both hands.
“Like that?”
I nod slowly.
He rolls my nipple between his fingers, pinching lightly. I squeeze my eyes shut, lips parting. I’ve never felt anything like this before. His kisses once again travel down my throat, licking and sucking. He presses his lips to the swell of my breast, the one he’s been ignoring, and then his mouth closes over my other nipple.
“Oh my god, Liam,” I gasp.
His responding grin causes his teeth to graze me, and I jerk under him.
“We haven’t even got to the good part, angel.” He moves lower.
“Liam.”
He pauses and glances up at me.
“What if…” I cover my face with both hands. “What if I was…?”
“Raped?”
He crawls on top of me, and oddly enough, the weight of him grounds me. He gently tugs my hands away.
“I don’t know the right thing to say here, Sky. If sex brings up memories, tell me. We can work through it. I can…” He shakes his head and gives me a small smile. “I can be gentle.”
I raise my eyebrows. “You, gentle?”
He chuckles and steals a kiss from my lips.
“And if you are a virgin,” he continues, “then it might hurt. And we should probably hide any evidence from your poor mother.”
I grimace.
But then again, the last thing she needs to see are blood stains on the couch cushions.
He glances around and spots a tote of extra linens, and gestures for me to stand. He folds the sheets, then presses me back into position. My cheeks are on fire.
More kissing, tongue, and I barely notice the pull of fabric down my legs. He draws back and smirks at me. It’s not really fair that I’m now fully naked and he’s clothed—again.
I yank his shirt up and over his head, and I automatically undo the button of his jeans.
I keep my attention locked on his face as I do what he’s done to me a few times now: I slip my hand in his pants. He’s already hard. The head of his cock pushes into my hand, and he lets out a low groan.
“Fuck,” he says, bowing his head.
I stroke him up and down, uncertain.
His hand suddenly covers mine, adjusting my grip. Tighter, quicker movements. And then he slows my speed to a stop and meets my stare. “I want to be inside you.”
I swallow. Nerves are a flock of birds erupting from my chest. “I… did you bring a condom?”
He chuckles. The warm tone does something to me. My stomach twists, but in a good, unusual way. Like the first sip of the perfect cup of coffee, but… better.
“Of course,” he says.
“Maybe we could go without.” I kiss his jaw. “Have you done that before?”
He hesitates. “I’m clean. I got tested at the beginning of the semester and haven’t slept with anyone since then. But… are you sure?”
I close my eyes briefly. “I want this to be special for both of us.”
He traces the contour of my breast, almost without thought. “It’s always been you, Sky. You are special. You’ve always been special. I used other girls to try and shield myself from the truth. But nothing can completely block out the sky.”
I inhale.
“Liam…”
It’s his eyes that convince me. His eyes that have stayed the constant since I was thirteen and scared, fourteen and wild, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen and out of control. Watching me. Protecting me. Punishing me.
A shudder sweeps through me at the last thought, followed by more emotion than I know what to do with.
“I want this,” I say.
“Okay,” he whispers.
He stands and shoves off his pants. I take a moment to admire his abs, the cut of muscle and bone that points to his erection. And, well, I try not to focus on that too much. My mouth dries out. And then he settles between my legs, drawing my attention up, up, up.
He lays his hand on my throat, and I imagine he must feel my hummingbird pulse. He sweeps his thumb over my lips, and he squeezes ever so softly at the same time he lines up with my entrance.
“Relax,” he whispers.
I can’t, I almost say—almost, because the lump is back in my throat and I don’t think I can do this. Not with him. Not like this. I don’t want to know if I’m not a virgin, if my trauma was rape. If someone violated me like that and then my mind cut it out.
I close my eyes.
“Look at me,” he orders. “Sky. Look. At. Me.”
As soon as I open my eyes, he pushes into me.
The pain of it—oh, I wasn’t prepared. It’s a tear that comes from inside me, but it’s more than that. It’s an echo, a ripple. Something cracks open in me, and it’s more than I can handle.
But no tear
s come. Nothing except that lump in my throat, which threatens to suffocate me.
He moves ever so slightly, thrusting in. Farther, deeper.
I didn’t realize there was more to go, but then he lets out a low groan.
“Damn, Sky, you feel too good.”
And I… I’m full, but it’s not computing.
I reach up and touch his face, his lips, his cheeks.
He releases my throat and braces his forearms on either side of my head. His hips move, pulling back. Pulling out. I tremble at the draw of it, the slide of his skin against mine.
Without warning, he slams back into me. He hits a spot deep inside me, and we both groan. He raises my leg up, bending it, and moves at a different angle. His pace is brutal, quick. Hell, an outsider might even call it angry.
I know better.
He’s trying to resuscitate me.
I gasp, digging my nails into his back. He lets out a hiss in response.
“Come back to me.” He bites my neck—hard.
Everything hurts. Fire licks under my skin. And beneath it all, a flicker of light. I’m flooding back into myself, shocked at the intrusion of emotions. Sadness and grief and overwhelming lust, and something deeper—
The sensations are too much. My climax rolls through me without warning, and Liam stills. I breathe, my muscles pulsing to a strange beat I haven’t learned yet.
And then… I laugh.
He grins, then picks up his pace. I curl my legs around his hips, digging my heels into his ass. He comes with a groan, his head falling to my shoulder.
I slide my fingers through his hair.
Carefully, he withdraws from me and sits up. I push onto my elbows, staring at the apex of my legs. There’s blood smeared on the inside of my thighs, mixing with… him, his cum, seeping out of me.
“You weren’t raped,” he says, kissing the edge of my jaw.
I cup his cheek and grapple with the relief. What do I say to that? Thank you? Doesn’t seem like it would cover it. I had been expecting the worst.
That’s the thing when you can’t remember your trauma: there’s no limit to the possibilities of what happened.
35