I offer him a weak laugh, feeling awkward and out of place.
“Their mother wanted a little girl and instead I gave her five sons. All Irish; the Irish boys have to be tough.” He nods his head as he talks to neither of us in particular. “The men have to be tough,” he repeats and then gives his son’s shoulder one more squeeze.
“Carter will do good,” he says and then sniffles again, giving me a glance before walking toward the worn doorway. “Carter will take care of them,” he says softly.
“You’re talking like you’re already dead,” Carter comments. “You’re still here.” The tension between them changes to something else, and for the first time, I see why Carter doesn’t blame his father. He would never go against his father. It’s the fear of losing him that keeps him loyal. Between the alcohol and his hopelessness, he’s already close to losing him.
“I won’t live much longer after she goes. That’s how it works.” His father doesn’t say anything else in the awkward silence that follows and neither does Carter.
It’s only when the stairs creak with the weight of his father going to bed, that Carter says anything.
“He’s a different man when he isn’t drinking. You see it, right?” Carter asks me, his voice more hopeful than I thought it’d be. “He’s not all bad.”
I can only nod, not wanting to fight with Carter. Carter’s told me his father treats him differently from Daniel, who’s the second oldest. He’s told me some days he doesn’t even know if his father loves him. I can’t forgive a man for treating his son like that. I won’t.
“Thanks for the loan, man,” he tells me, even though I’m aware he doesn’t like that he had to take it.
“Yeah, no problem. It’s nothing,” I say and try to brush it off like it doesn’t matter. “I have to go home to Chlo.”
“Look at you,” Carter jokes and I can feel the tension leave him, grateful to move on to a different subject. “Don’t fuck it up.”
I almost joke back and tell him that I know I’m going to ruin it somehow. But it’s too close to the truth and I don’t want to speak life into the words.
It wasn’t supposed to be this way in my head, not like this.
“She has no one,” I tell Carter, just wanting him to understand her the way I do. “The worst thing I can imagine is having no one.” It’s only when the words are spoken that I realize how alone I’ve really been. I wait for Carter to say something, but his mind is elsewhere.
Maybe there is something worse though. Like having someone, but knowing you’re bound to lose them.
Chapter Seventeen
Chloe
It’s weird being alone in this place without Sebastian. I’m surprised he let me stay here at all. I’d planned on sneaking out in the morning and being weird on my own rather than weird with him.
The biggest fucking lie I’ve ever told myself is that this is just sex. Last night was more than sex for me.
I woke up a few hours after I’d passed out, and I couldn’t get back to sleep. I was wide awake and so very aware of everything that happened. With his arm still around me, I wanted so badly to stay in that moment. The moment where it felt like he still wanted me.
I knew it would hurt down there, and at 4 a.m. every tiny shift in my body seemed to be connected to the ache between my legs. It still hurts now in the evening after. I knew it would. But I didn’t expect the emotional change, the emotional pain that comes with it.
Not able to sleep, and knowing I’d made a fool of myself, I thought I’d sneak out, leave him a note, and let him decide if he still wanted me. If I was worth still being around or with, or whatever it is that we have going on. I wanted to make it easy for him because I knew what I was doing, and it wasn’t fair to him not to tell him.
That was the conclusion I came to at four in the morning as I breathed in his masculine scent one last time and felt the warmth of his hard chest at my back. I closed my eyes and savored that moment, memorizing it, just in case it would be the only moment I had like that with him. Of all the things that have happened between us, that’s the one I wanted to hold on to.
Where he took from me what he needed, and I took from him what I needed.
With a deep and slow breath, I carefully crawled out of bed, taking my time and being as quiet and gentle as I could so I wouldn’t wake him. It wasn’t until my first foot hit the floor that I winced and seethed. It hurt more than I realized.
He woke up instantly, reaching behind him to turn on the lamp. He’s so fucking beautiful. It’s an odd word for a man, but it’s true. With sleep still in his eyes and his stubble longer than usual, he looked groggy but sexy as fuck. Maybe it’s the way the light hit him, or maybe it’s the hormones and lack of sleep, but I’ve never been more attracted to a man before. I don’t think I ever will be either.
“You all right?” His voice was laced with sleep and accompanied by the bed groaning as he sat up.
“Lie back down, I’m fine,” I whispered as if he was being ridiculous, although my heart pounded knowing I was trying to sneak out and failed.
I thought it through right then. He’d turn out the light and lie down, I’d go to the bathroom to clean up. After a while, when I thought he’d fallen asleep again, I’d sneak out and let him text me. I didn’t want to risk taking the time to leave a note and making it more awkward than it already was if he caught me.
I could walk to my house from here and at this time of day, no one would be up. There would be no one to bother me on the short walk home.
“You aren’t sneaking out, right?” Bastian questioned. “’Cause I want to wake up with you in the morning.” He said it so definitively, so sincerely.
If there was ever a moment where I knew I was his completely, it was then.
And that was over twelve hours ago.
Now I’m alone in his house wondering what to do with myself, other than snoop through his shit. Which has been a rather disappointing endeavor.
My phone pings as I close the last drawer in his dresser, finding nothing but a pair of his pajama pants. They’re flannel and smell like him, so I slip them on and with my baggy t-shirt, I couldn’t be more comfortable.
Sprawled out on his bed, I check my texts and bust out laughing. I’d texted Angie, Sex is better than masturbation.
And she finally responded. Tell me who, you whore!
I feel the blush rise to my cheeks, but the butterflies in my chest and belly are more prominent.
I consider telling her, but I’m not ready to share him, so instead, I tell her it has to wait till Monday. I assume the slew of texts afterward are from her, but I lie on the bed, staring up at his ceiling and wondering about how Bastian got to be the way that he is rather than answering them.
Every thought that comes only makes my heart hurt more for him.
The texts don’t stop coming and as I remember every detail I know about Bastian and the way he was in high school, they annoy me more and more.
Grabbing my phone off the bed where I tossed it, I’m ready to silence it until I see the most recent text.
Did you hear about Mr. Adler? They found him dead.
My blood runs cold and I swear I feel it all drain from my face. Angie’s still messaging me and threatening to do all sorts of stupid shit if I don’t confide in her right this second. But I couldn’t give two shits about her right now. Mr. Adler was next on the list. I feel fucking sick.
The message is from an unknown number. My fingers shake as I text the person back with the obvious question. Who is this?
Breathe, just breathe. I have to keep myself calm even as I start to shake from the adrenaline coursing through me. The fourth person on the list. Right in a row. One. Two. Three. Four. All found dead.
My phone pings and I look down to see a new text from the unknown number. All it reads is: That doesn’t answer my question.
I can’t stop trembling as I stare down at my phone.
Who else would text me? No one. No one else. The on
ly other person who has my number is Marc because I had to give it to him.
I didn’t mean to frighten you.
Another message comes through and my heart beats faster. The front door is locked, I know it is, but still, I climb out of bed and check it. It’s hard to even swallow with my heart in my fucking throat.
Who is this? I text back and then add, I’m not frightened. It’s fine, I just hadn’t heard that Mr. Adler had died.
I almost write more. All lies though. Lies meant to deceive. Something to make it feel casual, normal even. Something that would prove I’m not terrified. But all that’s running through my mind is that the person on the other end is a killer. The killer the cops have been looking for and failing to find.
I repeat over and over that I’m not crazy, I’m not paranoid. I remind myself what Sebastian said, that I’m scared and looking for answers. Which I am. Four in a row. It’s a fucking hit list.
“Fuck,” I grip my hair and clench my teeth before calling Sebastian. My throat’s tight as I stand in the middle of the living room, vaguely aware that I’m on the brink of a panic attack.
I’m not crazy. I’m not crazy.
I don’t know what to think. Other than someone has a copy of that list, or made the same list, but how?
Voicemail. It goes to voicemail. An hour ago, I felt untouchable here; now I feel like I’m in a cage, unable to go anywhere and so easily seen by anyone who could be watching.
Please call me. I text Sebastian as another text comes through.
I shouldn’t have texted you.
Who is this? I ask again, but no reply comes. Not then and not thirty minutes later when I’m huddled in a ball on the sofa, wondering if calling the cops is even an option. There’s no news at all that Jeff Adler was found dead. Not on the news online and not a hint of it on any social media.
Is he even dead? And if he is, and the person who texted me knew, but no one else…
The number is still silent an hour later when I leave a voicemail on Sebastian’s phone. I wish it wasn’t real. I wish I could blink and the messages would be gone. I would rather know I truly am crazy than to be living this nightmare. I don’t mention any of it in the voicemail to Sebastian, I just beg him to please come back or return my call. The second I hang up, I lose it.
It’s a slow spiral of a breakdown, and maybe that’s what the person wanted.
I text the unknown number again and beg them to tell me who they are. And I get nothing. For hours, I have nothing but my own fear and a random text that was designed to inflict it.
Someone wanted to hurt me.
There’s only one person I think of over and over again who could be behind this and it proves I’m insane.
It can’t be my mother, but when I dig through my purse and find the list, a list no one else knows about, I can’t think of anything other than her and the nightmares.
My mother is dead. It’s not her, I tell myself over and over, resting my cheek against the flannel fabric on my knees and rocking back and forth. It takes everything in me to calm myself down, telling myself that I’m safe here with Sebastian. Whoever it was is an asshole. Someone who overheard me at the butcher shop maybe. Someone playing a cruel trick on me.
Whoever it is can go fuck themselves.
The anger and hopeful explanation are all that keeps me together. Just barely. I’m holding on by a thread and watching the clock tick by, wondering where Sebastian is and why he hasn’t messaged me back.
For hours.
Chapter Eighteen
Sebastian
“Where were you?” Chlo asks before the front door is even closed. Her voice is filled with accusations that make my body freeze.
Her eyes are bloodshot as she peeks up at me above her knees on the sofa. It’s not too late yet. Past dinnertime, but it’s not so late that she should be coming at me like this. Unless she knew something.
What the fuck happened? It’s all I can think. My movements are slow as I toss the keys on the table and kick off my boots, taking her in as she watches me. My heart’s hammering and I’m fucking confused. This isn’t my Chloe.
“I was with Carter, they don’t get good reception out there,” I tell her and hope she accepts it as the truth. “What’s wrong?” She can’t be mad that I left her alone all day. There’s no fucking way that’s it when I know for a fact she was going to leave me last night.
“Someone texted me,” she says in a quick breath and then closes her eyes to swallow. “I’m being stupid,” she says while shaking her head, her eyes closed tightly.
“What’d they say?” I ask her, trying to hide the adrenaline and rage that mixes in a deadly concoction. I walk carefully to her, watching as she rubs her eyes. Sitting close to her and pulling her into me, I try to calm her down so she’ll just talk to me. And she lets me, which is already a relief. “Just tell me what happened,” I say, and the words come out even and calm. Deadly calm.
“I feel like… Bastian.” Her words are choked as she buries her head in her knees, pulling away from me.
The only thing I focus on is keeping my hands on her. She’s here with me. My Chloe Rose is right here, and I’ve got her.
“Whoever it was just wanted to freak me out, but I don’t know how they know about the list unless they overheard at the butcher shop. But I didn’t say the names out loud, did I?” Her words come one after the other, stumbling over each other, but the second she’s done, she breathes in deep and rubs her eyes. “I know I didn’t.” She answers her own question before I can say anything. My blood is hot with rage, wanting to know exactly who messaged her and why the fuck they’d get in my way.
Still not looking at me, she apologizes. “I’m sorry.”
Frozen and struggling to push the command through clenched teeth, I repeat my question, “Who texted you?” If they’re fucking with her, they’re fucking with me.
“They said Jeff Adler’s dead. I don’t know who it is. I don’t…” She doesn’t finish. Instead, she shakes out her hands and grabs onto her knees, burying her head so she doesn’t have to look at me.
My blood runs cold. He’s next on the list. She knows it. I know it. Only two left.
With a deep exhalation, she finally looks up at me and she apologizes again. “I’m sorry,” she says, and her voice is soft. “I feel like I’m being crazy, but I’m scared.”
She has no idea how ridiculous those words are coming from her mouth.
“I saw,” I tell her, knowing she needs to be told enough so she thinks it’s okay. That everything is okay. “On my way back from Carter’s, there’s a bunch of people around the site. Looks like a car hit him.” Her mouth drops slowly as I give her the partial truth.
“What? No.” Her first reaction is denial and she reaches for her phone, but I take it from her, hellbent on finding the number and who it belongs to. “I looked, no one was saying anything.”
I don’t respond to her and she stays stiff at my side as I look up the number and put it in my own phone. Nothing. Reading the texts, I know who sent it. I just don’t know why and every thought that comes up makes my knuckles turn white as I try not to break the fucking phone in my hand.
Anger is a deadly thing.
“He’s dead.” Her voice shakes with fear and it’s that sound that pulls me back to her.
“It was an accident.” I’m firm with her, pulling her in closer to me. “Word gets around.” I start coming up with an explanation. “I think people know you’re freaked is all, Chlo.” I feel her eyes on me, but I can’t look down at her. If she looks into my eyes, she’ll know I’m lying.
I have to stand up and start walking to the bedroom, stripping down and making it look like I’m anything but on the brink of tearing this place apart.
“People know what?” she calls out and I hear her get off the sofa to come after me, her footsteps echoing down the hall.
I need to calm the fuck down. If for no other reason than to calm her down, so she stops thinking about
it all. She can’t do anything to fuck this up.
With my jaw hard and my back stiff, I turn to her slowly, seeing her prettily framed in the doorway. I force a small smile to my lips. “It’s no one, Chlo, but it’s okay. I’d be freaked out too. Whoever it was, wasn’t thinking.”
I have to hide my shock at how well I just lied. How easy it came out. Desperation is an ugly thing.
Her distraught expression slowly fades, replaced with hesitant relief. Her lips stay parted as she lets my words sink in, slowly believing the little lies I’m feeding her.
And it fucking kills me. What I’m doing to her destroys everything in me.
“Come here,” I tell her as I tear my shirt off over my head and toss it carelessly on the floor. My three steps take up the entire space of the room as I go to her, wrapping her in my arms and kissing her temple. Her fingers wrap around my forearm and she looks up at me, eyes wide and wanting so badly to believe what I’m telling her.
“I’m sorry you got spooked, but it’s nothing. An accident.”
“Another coincidence?” she questions me, but her tone isn’t a question. My heart thrums and a chill spread over my body.
“It was an accident,” I repeat, making my tone a little harder and staring into her eyes until she believes me.
“I don’t know… that text and—”
I huff, cutting her off and staring past her. She squirms in my periphery and I’m a fucking asshole. I’m an asshole for making her think this is all in her head.
“This isn’t how I wanted tonight to go,” I say softly, thinking about last night and how easy it was to get lost in her. If I could live in that moment, I would.
“I’m sorry,” she mumbles and her warm breath flows over my skin.
Glancing down at her, I feel like the prick I am. “It’s not your fault,” I whisper in her hair and then plant a small kiss on her crown. She’s so warm in my arms, so small and fragile in so many ways. “I get it, Chlo, but I promise you it’s nothing.”
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