50. Rook
Chapter fifty
Rook
I sit in utter silence for the entire flight, my hands shaking on my knees as I grip on to the Post-It Note from Sloane.
You are worthy.
What a joke. The only thing I’m worthy of is pain and being alone. My jaw clenches as I stare out the window. The two hours and eight minutes we spend in the air, two hours further away from her than she needs me to be.
Jericho had been with Trace on his family’s property on Lake Tahoe when I called, but he assured me his family’s plane would be on standby, waiting for me when I arrived. Relief flooded me as my car pulled up next to the jet.
My phone buzzes in my hand: Jericho asking for another update, but I swipe away the notification before dialing. It’s late but they answer on the third ring.
“It is very late, Mr Wills,” says the soft feminine voice on the other end of the phone. I sigh, staring out the window, as the Seattle skyline comes into view. City lights looking like fireflies from this distance, the rainbow lights of The Great Wheel like a beacon amongst the glow of the city surrounding it.
“I understand. I wouldn’t ask you to bother her if this wasn’t important.” A stern hum comes from the other end of the phone before I let a sliver of my pain flow through my voice as I beg, “Please .”
“OK, just this once.” I release the breath I’m holding as soft music plays through the line. A short time later, my mother’s sleepy voice wraps around me like a warm hug.
“Hello?”
“It’s me, Mom.” I have to reign in my sob. My mother has always been my rock, the person I would turn to when things got bad. Now, I can’t place any of this burden on her shoulders. She has carried enough of this weight to last a lifetime. But I just need to hear her voice, just in case.
“Rook? Are you okay?” Her voice is clearer now, as if she senses my panic. It still surprises me that even with her injury, she can still read my emotions like a book, even over the phone.
“Yeah, I’m okay, just wanted to hear your voice.” I lean forward, my elbows on my knees as I cover my face with my hand.
“I told you, you would always need your mom. Are those Gibbon’s boys giving you a hard time again? Do you need me to call their mothers? I won’t let them treat my son so unfairly.” Her tone grows harder as she remembers one of the many times I got bullied as a teenager.
“No, Mom, I’m okay. They aren’t giving me a hard time anymore.”
“Good, you are far too good of a player to be bogged down by the pettiness of ill-mannered boys.” Her voice softens as I hear her adjusting in bed. “You will go so far, Rook. One day this will be all a memory as you live on to be as great as I know you already are.”
Tears fill my eyes as I try to hide my deep inhales, unable to stop the tears that run down my face.
“How long until you get home, min elskling?”
I look back out over the city, knowing she’s down there, on the other end of this call, sitting in a room surrounded by nurses and strangers.
“I’ll be home soon, Mom.”
“Don’t be too long. You know I don’t like you out past dark.” Her voice is back to being stern, but I can hear the fear hovering in the background. She was always so scared my father would snatch me away when she wasn’t looking.
Now I guess I understand that fear better than I ever thought possible. Ever since Tilly’s message, my heart has been racing and my stomach feels twisted in knots.
“I will, Mom. I’m on my way. There’s just something I need to finish first.”
“Min elskling?”
“Hmm?” I answer as the seatbelt light chimes, signaling our descent.
“I am so proud of you, my son.”
I swallow the ball of emotions, wanting to tumble out of me. This ends tonight. No more fear, no more wasted time. This time, I won’t be sitting idle on the other side of the country.
This time, I will fight for the people I love.
My stomach churns at the sight of the rundown, two-story home. The plaster looks like it’s a strong wind away from falling the hell over. Moving stealthily down the driveway, I can’t help but notice the evidence of my countless hours of perfecting slap shots and passing—the dent marks left by thousands of pucks colliding with the sides. The wall, my trusty companion, is always there with the assist.
The old garage now stands open, the panel door gaping wide, hanging off its hinges. I continue along, hugging the walls and crouching as low until I find what I’m looking for.
Covered in cobwebs, I brush them aside and struggle to turn the lock on the basement door. When the stiff handle finally budges, I let out a small breath of relief, but the door creaks loudly as it struggles to bear its own weight.
The darkness is encompassing as I step in, leaving the door ajar to avoid any more unnecessary noise. With the flashlight on my phone illuminating the cramped space, I take in the sight of the years of our lives scattered haphazardly, untouched and unsorted.
Shuffling past boxes filled with awards for spelling bees and hockey camp trophies, I suck in a breath so I don’t knock anything over. My hand pauses over the baseball bat my mother bought me for my seventh birthday. With a firm grip, I pull the handle out of the box, feeling it's cold metal against my skin.
After climbing up the rickety stairs, I reach the top and quickly switch off my torch, plunging the area into darkness before I make my way towards the door leading to the kitchen.
After checking the room is empty, I step out, pushing the door most of the way closed. I stop dead at the sight of my mother’s favorite yellow laminate table. The cracks are now more apparent with its age, but it remains, tin foil leg and all, in the exact spot it was before we disappeared into the night.
The checkered floor that my mom always kept clean has this dark stain now, and it brings back the memory of my father lying there in a pool of blood.
So many memories of my childhood overwhelm me as I step further into the house. The ugly brown carpet sits under the TV I would do my homework in front of.
Silence greets me, making it somehow feel cavernous and confining all at once.
A shuffle of movement from the second floor pulls my attention towards the stairs and I move towards them, instinctively stepping on the floorboards I know won’t make a sound.
Every door on the landing is closed except one, and a soft whimper has me moving without thinking.
I step in front of my childhood bedroom. From the hallway, I can still see the pale blue walls and truck wallpaper my mother had stuck to the walls when I was a baby.
My hands tremble, my legs threatening to give out as I see Tilly tied to my wooden desk chair. The glow of the moon through my bedroom window creates a silhouette of her slumped body, supported only by whatever’s tying her to that chair.
Gasping, I drop the bat as I race to her, dropping to my knees at her feet. I hold her face in my hands, pushing back the strands of her hair matted with blood.
Her cheeks are all puffy, with blotches of purple starting to bruise. Gashes on her temple and in her hair have caused blood to pool on her clothes.
She whimpers as I move my hands over her, assessing her, my heart aching at the damage he’s done to her.
Her eyes shoot open and she pulls away from my grip, but when her pleading gray eyes lock with mine, she freezes. She whimpers louder, attempting to speak through the tape covering her mouth, thrashing at the restraints that hold her in place.
I pull on the cable ties attaching her to the chair, but blood drips down her hands from where the plastic has bitten into her wrists as she has tried to break her binds.
“Baby,” I exhale, but it comes out more like a sob. “I’m so sorry,”
Tears mingle with the mascara and blood on her face, creating streaks as they fall. I brush them away, continuing to apologize as I try to pull the tape away from her cracked lips as gently as I can.
She continues to thrash against the chair, pulling her head away from me as the tape rips away from her lips.
“Rook!” she screams as soon as she can and my heart could burst from happiness hearing her voice, but my relief is short-lived when I hear movement behind me.
I whirl around but not fast enough, and the baseball bat connects with the side of my face before I can even think of reacting.
I stumble sideways, trying to grab onto anything, but I drop to the floor, rolling onto my back as the room spins. The sound of Tilly’s scream fills the room and I try to push myself back towards her.
“Baby…” I moan, but I can’t manage more than that before a figure looms over me.
My vision swims and I know I’m about to pass out, but I try to stand again anyway, fumbling and falling back against the floor.
The figure’s head cocks to the side as he watches my feeble attempts to fight back.
Tipping the bat up and resting it against his shoulder as a light flicks on, basking the bedroom in a burst of vivid color.
Clay stands above me, a cocky grin spreading wide across his face.
“Hello, brother.”