by Amelia Wilde
“I said, don’t follow me.” My voice is unrecognizable. “Don’t follow me. Don’t call me. Don’t ever talk to me again.”
Once I’m on the sidewalk, I put one foot in front of the other, my body feeling like lead. Behind me, there’s a crack as the door to Sawyer’s aunt’s house opens. Her voice floats out over the lawn.
“Sawyer? What are you doing out here?” There’s a pause. “Where’s your shirt?”
I pick up speed, going back toward my parents’ house on instinct, even though there’s no door to lock behind me. I should wake them up. I should tell them what happened.
I don’t dare look back. I can feel Sawyer’s eyes boring into me even as I move into the shadows between the streetlights, and my heart tears in two. I want to go back and throw myself into his arms. I want to keep running, back to safety.
In the end, safety wins out—even if I know it’s just an illusion. Those thugs could come back at any time. Any time. I’m a sitting duck.
I don’t care. I can’t care. I’m all out of it.
By the time I hit my parents’ driveway, I’m running, and I run straight around to the back entrance, fly in through the door, and slam it closed behind me, flipping the lock out of habit. It doesn’t engage. It doesn’t do anything because a chunk of the door is broken, splintered. A new burst of energy seizes me, and I leap into the living room, grabbing hard to the arm of my couch. I drag it across the room and shove it up against the door.
It’s not much, but it will do.
Breathing hard, I look at my handiwork, and at the sight of the couch firmly pressed against the door, something breaks loose in me. I can’t stop the tears. There’s just no way.
So instead, I make my way to my bedroom, pull the covers up over my head, and let the tears flow.
Chapter 42
Sawyer
I can’t take my eyes off Zelda’s retreating back. Every muscle in my body aches with the desire to chase after her, to catch her and fold her in my arms, to tell her this was all just a stupid fucking consequence of my life before her, but now that she’s in it, nothing will ever be the same.
I want to shout out that I love her, that I had my eyes on those scumbags at every moment, that it would have been me before her. That nothing else like this will ever happen again.
There are no guarantees in life, but I know Domino, and Domino isn’t going to invest resources into hunting me down a second time. Not if he thinks the cops are already involved. I let out a bitter laugh. He’s probably banking on the cops being after him for a while now. If he thinks they took me in on some bullshit charge, he’s also going to think I ratted him out.
I don’t give a fuck about any of that. Domino might be relatively small time in comparison to some of the nationwide cartels, but he has plenty of friends who definitely would come after me for sport if he asked them to.
The only way out of this is to keep my mouth shut, which I’m glad to do.
The only way forward with Zelda is melting away before my eyes, disappearing into the night.
Aunt Linda’s voice breaks into my thoughts midsentence. “…doing out here?” There’s a tension in her voice that carries over even into the pause. “Where’s your shirt?”
Zelda is gone, but it’s another few seconds before I can tear my eyes away from the sidewalk where she used to be standing, and turn, blinking.
“Sawyer, what happened?” I didn’t feel it before, but now the throbbing in my cheekbone takes over. I’m going to have a fucking black eye. In any other circumstance, I’d have thrown an answering punch right into the side of that asshole’s face, but with Zelda nearby, with the guns in his hands, I didn’t dare. I didn’t fucking dare. I would never have forgiven myself.
Turns out there are things that matter more than the high of leveling a guy. Even one who deserves it, unlike the people I’ve been harassing for Domino for years now.
“A fight.” I have nowhere to go but toward Aunt Linda, and her eyes get wider as I climb the porch steps.
“Did this—God, did this have to do with your two friends who showed up?”
“Did they wake you?”
“Yeah,” she says, and there’s a hint of irritation in her tone, but it’s mostly masked by worry. “They said they needed to talk to you, that it was urgent. I told them you’d gone to your girlfriend’s house down the street, but that you’d probably…be back.” She narrows her eyes. “Those weren’t friends of yours.”
“No.” I let out a sigh and step into the front hall. Linda follows me in and closes the door behind us, locking it firmly.
“Sawyer, I have to ask you something.”
“Yeah?” I rub my hands through my hair, then touch my fingertips to my cheekbone. Pain lances out from the center. This is going to be just great. Just lovely.
“Is this—should I call the police? Are—are they going to come back here?” She must have some sense that they’re not exactly acquaintances.
“I don’t think so. But if it would make you feel better, you can call and ask for more patrols. Say there’s been a suspicious car around the neighborhood.”
She presses her lips together.
“I’m not asking you to hide anything, Aunt Linda. If you want to tell them what happened, you can. But that part of my life—” My throat tightens, because the words also apply to Zelda. I can’t see a way out of that. Not right now. Not tonight. “That’s over with. Okay?”
“Okay.” She crosses her arms over her chest. “Let me get you some ice.”
I follow her to the kitchen, and she takes out a flexible ice pack from the freezer. When she presses it against my skin, the lightest touch, I hiss in a breath through my teeth. Damn, that is painful.
But it’s nothing compared to the ache in my chest. It hits me so strongly that I almost jerk away, head straight out the front door and go over to Zelda’s house.
Except pounding on her door right now will get me absolutely nowhere. I saw the look on her face as she left. She’s never going to feel safe with me again. I might as well have pushed her off the ravine myself and laughed at her on the way down.
“I know this probably isn’t what you want to hear.” I discover myself saying the words before I can really make up my mind. “But is there any way I can stay with you a while longer?” I’m thinking that my apartment in the city might not be the best place to go right now, even if—even though—Zelda and I are over.
“Well, I assumed you would.” Aunt Linda’s brow furrows. “I think your dad needs you right now.”
A surge of guilt like bile rushes up into my throat. That’s the whole reason I’m here, and I fucking forgot about it. Funny what getting punched in the face will do to you.
“Right. That’s right.” I sound unconvincing as hell, and I know it. “I just—after tonight, I didn’t know if you’d want me to be here anymore.”
“I’d feel better if you stayed.”
“Are you sure?”
Aunt Linda looks at me, her eyes focused and clear. “If your friends pay any more visits, I’d rather not be sleeping here alone.”
“They won’t.”
“Even so.”
We stand in the kitchen for a few more minutes, and then she goes back to the freezer and switches out the ice pack for a fresh one. As soon as she turns her back, I feel myself swaying on my feet. It’s late as hell, my face is throbbing, and Zelda’s gone.
Zelda’s gone.
“Get some sleep.” She says it like she’s answering my thoughts. All I can do is nod, and then I turn away, holding the ice pack to my face.
It’s a long trudge up the stairs. I fall onto the bed and close my eyes, shutting out the world.
I thought there was nothing in it for me before, when working for Domino was all I had.
But now that Zelda is gone…I know better. Now there’s absolutely nothing left.
Chapter 43
Zelda
“Are you all right, Ms. Montgomery?”
I blink up at Mrs. Sanders, who is peering down at me. From this angle, she looks ten feet tall. I give her a smile that can’t possibly be convincing. “Of course, Mrs. Sanders. How are you?”
“I’m fine.” She purses her lips. “If you’re not feeling well, you should probably go home.”
I straighten my back. “I’m feeling fine.”
This is as big of a lie as any I’ve ever told. Today has been a terrible day already, and it’s not even 10 a.m.
It started earlier this morning. I woke up at seven, unable to keep my eyes shut any longer, and forced myself into a pair of running shoes and one of my workout outfits. At first it felt good to run, but with every block I got father away from home, my paranoia grew. What if Sawyer’s boss—former boss, I tried to remind myself unsuccessfully—showed up at my house again while I was gone? What if he went to the main floor instead? I ended up sprinting two and a half miles home, only to find everything as untouched as when I left it.
Except the door.
After I showered, I went upstairs to where my parents were having breakfast and told them what had happened. In vague terms.
My father was furious. His jaw got tighter and tighter as I told the story. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet, but deadly. “This had to do with Sawyer?”
There was no way of getting around that. “Yes. But it wasn’t his fault. He didn’t do anything—” I’d shaken my head. “Anything he’s done, it wasn’t cause for that.”
“I’d hope not.” He got up from the breakfast table and put his plate in the sink with a loud clunk, the most violent he’ll ever allow himself to get. “I’ll call someone about the door today. We should probably have the locks changed on the main house, too.”
I’d looked at him in disbelief. “Why? They didn’t take my purse, or my keys.”
My dad gave me a look then, and it hit me like a cannonball in the chest. Sawyer had access to my purse, and my dad couldn’t trust it.
I swallowed the urge to defend him. Sawyer is the reason I was in that situation in the first place. But swallowing didn’t clear away the lump in my throat, didn’t wipe away the concerned look from my mom’s eyes. “I’m sorry, Dad. I’m—” Tears threatened to spill out of the corners of my eyes. “I’m sorry, Mom. I didn’t ever think—”
“It’s all right, honey.” My mom had come around the table and wrapped me in her arms. “Are you going to be okay?”
I’d stood there, trembling, trying to keep a new wave of sobs from flowing.
It hurts like hell to do the right thing.
I thought about calling in to the library, but what was I going to do at home? Sit and sulk? Cry on my parents’ couch while the repairman came and went? In the end, I drove to work, parked in my usual spot, and took my place behind the circulation desk.
All morning, I’ve been checking out books, smiling at patrons, making small talk—all the usual things. And all morning, I’ve been caving in on myself, my gut churning, my chest tight, throat aching. If I didn’t know better, I’d think I was sick. But I’m not sick. I’m heartbroken.
But I’m not going to get into that with Mrs. Sanders. “Really.” I try my best to make my smile more genuine.
“All right.” She doesn’t believe a word that comes out of my mouth, and I wouldn’t either.
When her footsteps disappear up the steps to the second floor, I stand up from the chair and stretch my arms. A drink. I need a drink. Something alcoholic is what I really want—a fifth of whiskey, maybe—but that’s not an option, so I’ll settle for coffee.
I’ve just put the sign on the desk and turned away when a voice bombards me from behind.
“Well, excuse me.”
Gritting my teeth, I turn back with a grimace plastered on my face. I hope it comes off as a smile.
“Oh, my God,” Carly says, her eyes going wide. “What happened to you?”
How did I not recognize her voice? I let out a choking laugh. “What are you doing here?”
“Stopping by the public library to check out some books.” She sashays over to the desk and leans her elbows on it. “And check up on my best friend. How have you been?”
I give her a look, crossing back to the desk. “We’ve been…texting.”
“Yeah. We’re always texting. Except the last couple of weeks. You’ve been mighty cagey, Zee.”
I roll my eyes, a lump coming to my throat. It’s true. “I was seeing somebody.”
“That guy from the club?”
“How did you know?”
She rolls her eyes. “If it was anybody else, you would have told me.”
“Well.” I raise my hand to my eyes and wipe away a tear that’s trying its best to escape. “It didn’t work out.”
Carly frowns. “It didn’t?”
“Don’t look so surprised. You saw him that night. You talked to him. Did you really think he was long-term material?” My voice is far more bitter than I planned, but I can’t help it.
“Not for me.”
“Oh, nice.”
“I saw the way you were looking at him.”
I take a deep breath, trying to get myself back under control. “Things were good for a minute there, and then they…went south.”
“I know they were good.”
“How could you know that? I didn’t—” Heat rises to my cheeks. I’ve really been holding back on Carly lately. I’ve been in over my head with Sawyer, with school—with everything but my best friend.
One side of her mouth turns up. “You’ve been downright chipper, Zee. And we haven’t been out since that night. Something had to be going on.” Her smile gets bigger. “Was I right?” But the smile disappears almost immediately. “Even if I was right, it must have been a rough landing.”
“It was.” My lower lip is starting to tremble. If we keep this up, I’m going to be a blubbering mess. I steel myself. “It’s for the best.”
Carly narrows her eyes.
“It was for the best,” I say again, putting all the conviction I can behind it.
“You don’t look like it,” she says softly.
“Yes, I do. I look great.”
“You know what?”
“What?”
“We need to go to lunch.”
Chapter 44
Sawyer
I throw another t-shirt into the cardboard box. I brought four of them, and I’ve given up sorting my shit and just started tossing it in. There’s not enough to fill four boxes, but I’ll be damned if I stay here any longer than I have to.
It’s been an excruciating three weeks.
Zelda has been completely unavailable. I’ve stopped by her house, and even when her car is in the driveway, she won’t answer the door. I’m not going to bang on the door like a fucking stalker, though, so even though I wake up every morning with the urge to walk to that house on the corner and try again, I’ve stopped.
She won’t answer any calls.
She won’t answer any texts.
I’ve stopped texting.
But I haven’t left town.
It fucking kills me, being that close to her and not being able to see her, to touch her, to talk to her. But I don’t have any other options.
Even so, I can’t bring myself to move back into the city. I’m done with that life. I’m done with Domino. I’m done with the places I used to go here.
Today is the last step.
I broke the lease on my apartment, closed my account at the bank, and withdrew all my savings. Now all I have to do is fill these boxes with the rest of my shit and get out of here.
Even after five years, there’s not very much. Some clothes. A couple books. Chargers.
I put all the plates and silverware in a pile outside the door of my apartment, dragging the couch out with it. I find a piece of paper, scrawl FREE on it, and put it on the couch. It’ll be gone by the time I leave, if it’s not gone already.
Fifteen more minutes of throwing things into boxes, and there’s nothing le
ft.
Everything I had in my life since I moved here can be contained in four cardboard boxes.
“It doesn’t matter.” My voice echoes in the empty apartment, and it’s true. I could throw all of this away right now and never think about it again.
I stack two of the boxes on top of one another and head out, running them down to my car. In the stairwell, my heart starts to pick up the pace. I want to get out of here before anybody lets Domino know I’m back in town. I don’t think he’ll want to make another scene, but you never know. Might as well make it a clean break.
When I come back up for the other boxes, it strikes me that the hallway is empty. No dishes. No couch.
A clean break.
I grab the last two boxes. The apartment is empty—I took the mattress and bed frame out to the curb first thing, so those are long gone—but I feel nothing sentimental about it. Which is fucking weird, because the first night I moved in here, I was on top of the world. I finally had my own nice place. I’d finally made it out of Greenville, away from my dad, and I’d left it all behind for good.
I lock the door behind me one last time, and just like that, it’s not mine anymore.
I know better now than to think a place like that was ever going to mean anything.
I square my shoulders and readjust the weight of the boxes in my arms. She’s better off without me, I repeat, my mantra for the last three weeks. One day, I’m hoping it sounds true.
Max raises his glass of beer and grins. “To the start of a beautiful friendship.”
I roll my eyes at him and take a swig of my own beer. “What, we weren’t friends before, you asshole?”
“Not like this.” He puts his drink down on the table with a thud. “Are you seriously moving back?”
“I got my stuff out of the apartment today.” I don’t know where the hell I’m going to go—I can’t stay at Linda’s forever—but I’m going to start there. It’s the most sensible fucking thing to do.