Chapter 45
Stumbling out of the college, I got into my car.
The rain streaked across the windshield, a blur of silver and gray.
Every drop was a hammer against my skull, matching the ache in my chest, and ramping up my fucking migraine.
Vodka burned through my veins like molten metal, hot and sharp, and the streetlights slashed past in jagged lines from my speed.
I squinted through the wet glass, half hoping I wouldn’t make it to the next stop sign.
Xanthy’s wedding checklist was weighing on me.
Flowers. Centerpieces. Bridesmaid dresses.
Seating charts. Every call, every text from her was a needle twisting into my spine, reminding me that I was trapped in this—her world, her obsession.
Her life was now tethered to mine, whether I wanted it or not.
I chose this.
The phone rang, and my hands tightened on the wheel while my vision blurred further. I barely saw her name flash on the screen on my car’s dashboard, the speaker automatically connecting to the speakers before I snapped completely.
“What?” I shouted, too loud for the empty car.
The road curved under the tires as the slick highway continued. I needed to do something. I needed just to breathe, and I wouldn’t be able to without getting Xanthy off my fucking ass.
If I went to Normal, maybe she’d be placated enough to leave me alone and accept some meaningless sex.
I had gotten used to beating my dick into submission.
Hell, these past few months, I spent more time jerking off in the showers than fucking her. I blamed it on distance, but the hours in a car weren’t the reason, and we both knew it.
“Shiloh…please,” she whispered. Just the sound of her voice made my chest ache with unease, and my stomach twist with guilt and fury.
“I don’t care what you have to say, Xanthy. You’re smothering me. You’re—” I couldn’t stop. The words tumbled out like knives as my word vomit continued.
Alcoholism was stupid.
It was a truth bomb, and my self-medicating was biting me firmly in the ass.
“You’re fucking suffocating me. Can’t you see? I can’t even take a shit without you breathing down my neck? I’m drowning in this crap you’ve built around me. The wedding isn’t for another three months, can we just fucking relax?”
There was a pause. And then…crying.
Greeeeeat.
“Shiloh…please…please just listen,” she sobbed. There was something odd in her voice. “I need you to go back to where it began. Please…for me.”
I opened my mouth to ask what the fuck she was talking about, but then…
The line went dead.
I blinked through the haze of the alcohol and rain, gripping the steering wheel until my knuckles ached from the pressure. My pulse pounded in my ears.
Go back to where it began?
What the fuck did that even mean?
I tried calling her back immediately.
Nothing…just the voicemail prompt of her chipper, husky tone.
My mind raced faster.
My chest tightened.
I tried to place the emotion in her voice from before. The weird tremor had her sounding strange, not sad.
She sounded…terrified.
I tried her phone again.
And again.
Nothing.
No ring, zero fucking connection, just dead air, the hum of the engine, and rain hitting the roof. I felt my stomach drop as the seconds passed, my fingers trembling on the wheel.
I scrolled to Carrington’s name next, half-expecting him to pick up, but hoping he wouldn’t. My finger hovered over the name on the car screen. Finally, I pressed it. Nothing… his phone was off.
I couldn’t even hear his voicemail.
I’d grown accustomed to hearing the gruff words. ‘The fuck you calling me for? Eh. Whatever, leave it at the beep, asshole.’
Now there was nothing but silence, and I contemplated what to even say before hanging up wordlessly.
The road stretched ahead in a gray smear.
I gritted my teeth, trying to make sense of it.
Where the hell were they? Panic started to curl around my chest, tight and suffocating.
The way I felt when I was told my mom was dead.
The vodka wasn’t helping. It never helped.
But now, I wished I had my bottle back in my grip.
By the time I pulled into the driveway of my house, rain was already soaking through my coat and dripping from my hair, and I was shaking.
My hands were numb from the tight grip, while my stomach churned, and my mind spiraled.
I stumbled inside the house, tossing the keys onto the counter and dragging my coat off in a sloppy mess.
What the fuck.
Outside my door, on the wet concrete, just visible in the dim glow of the porch light, was…a mask.
A smiley face mask.
The same one we’d used in the hunt. The warped, crude cut out of the mouth was speckled with blood.
I froze, every instinct screaming in my skull. The mask looked innocent at first glance, almost playful, until my brain processed the red speckles. The familiar grin was wrong now.
Twisted and menacing. Not a joke. Not a game.
War.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, the thought slithered through like a viper: Carrington. Xanthy. Both gone. Both unreachable. And now…this.
I staggered backward, my heart hammering. Rain pounded onto my head, mixing with the residual vodka heat, adrenaline, and terror.
The phone was still in my pocket. I wanted to call her. I wanted to call him. I wanted to scream until the walls shook.
But I couldn’t, not yet. Not until I understood what the fuck this was.
And in that instant, I realized…whatever this was, it had already begun.
Xanthy’s voice made sense in a sickening realization.
Come back to where it began.
And like everything in my life. Every thought and breath I took. It all began with him.
Carrington Harding.