Chapter 18
Alice
“Are you sure you don’t want us to drive you home?”
The gentle rocking motion of Whitney’s hands on my shoulders nearly makes me nauseous.
I wave her off with the piece of soft pretzel in my hand and pop that warm morsel in my mouth. The dose of late-night carbs will hopefully help me ease the morning low after a night of drinking. “I’m fine.” The dry bread sticks in my throat. I swallow hard. “You guys live way out of the way.”
“Nothing is really out of the way in Fairview Valley,” she argues.
“It is when your house is in the sticks.”
Most of the Powells live away from the center of town.
Really the closest ride would have been Sutton, but he left hours ago.
The fact he didn’t turn up after I sent him on his way shocked me.
His stubborn demeanor normally wins out.
He must really be sorry. Not that he has much to be sorry for.
A simple apology is sufficient for the way he acted earlier this week, and though I haven’t told him as much, I forgive him.
“It doesn’t feel right sending you home in a ridesh-sh-share,” she yawns.
“Whitney, please. We’re both so tired.” Fighting her contagious yawn, I blink heavily at my best friend. “I’m a grown woman. Just let me find my way home in peace.”
She purses her lips. “Fine. But I don’t like it. You better text me as soon as you’re home, or I’m sending Jack over there.”
Using her arms as an anchor, I guide her in for a hug and kiss her on the cheek. Jack nods in agreement from behind her. “I will. Promise,” I tell them both.
Despite my assurances, they wait while I order a ride. Jack checks out the driver, going so far as to take a picture of my phone confirmation screen and the white sedan once it arrives.
The driver doesn’t look pleased that his midnight cab is under such scrutiny.
“Sorry. I have super overprotective friends.” I smile at the rearview as I buckle in.
“Super overprotective friends who are friends with law enforcement,” Whitney adds, blowing me a kiss through the open window.
“If you don’t cool it, I’m going to lose my nearly perfect 4.9 rider rating.”
“Better than someone taking advantage of you. Isn’t that right…” She checks the screenshot on Jack’s phone. “Clayton?”
The pure boredom on Clayton’s face would shrivel me in my boots. “Your friend is in good hands, ma’am.”
“Good.” Whitney steps back and taps the roof of the car. “Off you go. Love you!”
I wince. Clayton better not be trigger-happy with that one star.
“Love you too, Whitney.”
Not wanting to encourage any conversation with Clayton, I rest my neck against the back of the seat and close my eyes.
I’m only slightly tipsy after our night out.
Needing to watch my blood sugar keeps me from overindulging.
Since hitting my thirties, I’ve found that sticking to a couple of vodka sodas doesn’t send me low too badly.
Nothing that some well-timed carbs can’t help manage.
There’s always the risk of being high tomorrow, but I’ll deal with that when it comes.
I can do the most perfect thing for my blood sugar, and it still does whatever it wants.
The night dancing with my new friends was well worth what comes after.
My friendship with Whitney is stronger than ever, and I’m finding all the Powell women to be warm, kind, and welcoming.
The kind of girl gang I always dreamed of being a part of, deepening the feeling that this place could become home.
Clayton pipes quiet pop music through his car's speakers. The chilly air rushing past the open window prompts me to hit the switch and close it. I play with my phone, scrolling through my text thread in preparation to tell Whitney I made it safe and sound. We have to be getting close now.
My lids are heavy as I blink myself awake to unfamiliar scenery. My muscles protest as I sit up. Did I doze off? Twisting my neck left and right, a sigh escapes as I spot my car parked on the other side of the street.
“Ma’am? Is this your place?”
“Sorry. I’m still getting used to the neighborhood.” Opening the door, I step onto the cracked asphalt street.
“Have a good night,” Clayton replies.
“Thanks for the ride.” I tap a tip in the app and switch over to my text messages.
His golden headlights pool over the street behind me, taking the remainder of the light with him as he goes. The purr of his engine reduces to a whisper in the quiet night.
The text cursor blinks sluggishly in Whitney’s thread. With one hand, I type out a shaky message while I dig my keys from my pocket with the other. After a long night of dancing, my quads protest climbing the short steps to my house.
Me:
Hey, girl. Dropped off safe and sound. I’m walking in now |
My keys clatter against the porch landing.
“Shit.” The curse word reverberates through the quiet.
Bending down gives me a head rush. Tucking my phone in my armpit, I retrieve my keys, being mindful not to drop anything else. My hair flutters around my face as I return upright, not assisting my ability to see in the dark.
I reach for the storm door, but before my fingers connect, the wooden interior door rips open, groaning loudly.
The screen door is shoved in my face, the force of it pitches me back toward the stairs.
Pain explodes behind my eye and across my nose.
Heavy, thudding footsteps jog down the steps.
Warmth slicks down my face, spilling into my left eye. It’s hot and sticky, and it burns.
A scream escapes my lungs. My arms wheel wildly.
I manage to wrap my fingers tightly around a rung in the banister.
A splinter pierces my skin, and my shoulder pinches in the socket, but I stop myself from falling backward down the stairs.
I lick blood from my lips as a pulse throbs in my nose.
My head rests against the railing with a soft tap.
“Oh my god.”
My heart slams against my ribs. Adrenaline injects into my veins, propelling me to my feet. I slip on tired legs, chest heaving beneath anxious breaths. I search the street, still reeling from whatever just happened to me. The road is empty. I’m alone.
My teeth gnash as I force down a swallow. Sandpaper coats my throat.
The still-lit screen of my phone is a beacon, guiding me to it on the second step from the top. The cursor blinks on the unsent message to Whit, frozen in time.
I push my hair out of my face to see better. My hand comes away wet, glistening in the glow of my cell. It’s not hair impeding my vision. It’s blood. Streaks of red coat my hand. Tenderly prodding my face locates a gash just above my left eyebrow that’s still producing a steady stream.
I swipe away from the text and move to my call list. Blood smeared bands follow my fingers across the screen. Whitney’s number is near the top, just below Sutton’s.
Sutton.
My fingers slip, the capacitive touchscreen not reading the pressure. I grunt in frustration and frantically wipe my hands and phone on my clothing. The material isn’t absorbent enough. The touchscreen still won’t work, damaged from the drop or the blood.
Figure it out later. I need to get to safety now.
My mind blanks. With my phone clutched in my hand, I run across the front lawn.
My new boots slip across the damp grass.
I pump my arms in an all-out sprint, tracing the way to the house I’ve walked to and from more than a dozen times.
The adrenaline starts to burn off. My lungs cinch.
A new ache grows in my side, but I don’t stop.
I run past houses with darkened windows.
Past barking dogs. My boots are loud on the pavement in the dead of night.
A voice whispers that I might not be alone. That whoever was in my house might follow. I push harder. Every exhale is followed by a keen as the lock on my emotions starts to crumble.
There.
His house is close. Only a few driveways to go.
Three.
Two.
I lick blood from my lips and turn left toward the familiar black truck. The yellow porch light beckons me up the front steps. I collide with the door. It’s locked. It’s past midnight, maybe even later. Of course it’s locked.
Merit howls loudly from the other side of the door. Her barking increases in alarm.
My hands shake against the keypad. Red smudges stick to the numbers I touch, revealing the digits used in the code. I’ll have to remember to clean it off later. The alarm beeps, warning me I got it wrong.
I stab the button to clear and retry.
“Dammit,” I whisper. The hair on the back of my neck stands on end. Too focused on the keypad, I don’t hear the lock click from the inside.