Chapter 47
“Haunted” - Taylor Swift
Maeve
I have nothing to wear tonight. Seriously, have you seen the inside of my closet? Not a single thing will work. At least I had a hair appointment today, because trust me, good hair covers a multitude of sins.
Flipping through the hangers, I frown at dress after dress. Many of them I’ve worn before, which means they’re obviously out of the question. I need to pull together a donation, but decluttering my closet hasn’t been at the top of my list of priorities recently.
Bash is still in the hospital, still in a coma, and there’s nothing I can do about it. There can’t be a worse feeling in the world than having your hands tied when all you want to do is help.
I’ve spent most nights this past week and a half with Preston at his hotel, but when I’m not there, I’m waiting at the hospital.
Viv is there every time I go, and my heart breaks watching her.
She’s completely lost without her brother, and the dark circles growing under her eyes aren’t doing her any favors.
Last night, I convinced her to go home and sleep in a real bed.
She only agreed because I promised to stay with Bash until morning.
Tonight though, I’m ready to have a little fun, to think about something other than the fact that I may never see my brother grinning and making highly inappropriate jokes again.
Heath and Walker are hosting poker night, and I’d be lying if I said I’m not relieved.
Being in Pierce’s flat would have brought back too many memories.
I’ll have to get used to it eventually, but my emotions are haywire enough at the moment without adding fuel to the fire.
I shove a group of dresses aside on the rack to give myself more room to look through options.
Finally, I find one that looks promising.
The tags are still attached, and I remember being super excited when I spotted it in the store, before apparently sticking it in my closet and forgetting all about it.
As I carry it to my bed, the crumpled heap of discarded clothes already on top of the duvet mocks me. Let’s pretend that I haven’t already tried on two dozen options, okay? Sometimes it takes a while to find the perfect one.
After putting the dress on, I stand in front of the mirror to make the final call.
It’s a black-and-white flared minidress with off-the-shoulder puff sleeves and a sweetheart neckline.
The waist is cinched, and the bright white sets off my olive-toned skin nicely.
I smooth my hands over the fabric of the skirt, loving the way it rustles against my touch.
I think we have a winner.
Grabbing a pair of nude pumps—which do wonders to lengthen my legs—and a pearl necklace, I can confirm that tonight’s outfit looks completely snatched. Some might say it’s overkill for playing cards, but believe me when I tell you that you can never go wrong looking perfect.
I’ve hired a car to drive me to the creepy Gothic manor Heath and Walker bought several years ago. I have no idea why they want to live on the south side of town. It’s completely suburban, but they seem happy, in spite of being surrounded by toddlers and Target mums.
In the back seat, my hands knot together in my lap, much the way my gut is doing. I’ve been dreading this moment all week, but it’s unavoidable. He’s unavoidable. As much as my stomach churns at the thought of seeing him again, this is something I have to do. I made my choice—I can’t back down now.
I skipped poker last week. No one expects you to play games when your brother has just been in an accident. But coming up with a different excuse for tonight would only have raised questions I have no desire to answer.
Lifting my chin, I take a deep breath and try to infuse myself with courage.
It won’t be that bad. Pierce and I have been on much worse terms in the past. We weren’t anything to each other anyway, so it wasn’t even a real break-up, even if it felt more real than any of the ones I’ve had in the past.
By some miracle, we’ve managed to avoid running into each other since that night, which might not seem that impressive, but considering how often Luminara Tech and the Wilson Foundation are crossing paths these days, not to mention us having the same circle of friends, it’s actually pretty surprising.
Then again, I’ve been holed up surrounded by fluorescent lights and antiseptic for the past ten days.
Pierce never texted or called, not that I expected him to. His pride runs as deep as mine does, but I was hoping he might check up on Bash. Only so I wouldn’t have to be the one to make the first move, obviously. No such luck, though. He didn’t come by the hospital or even send flowers.
Before you can tell me this is my fault, let me assure you—I’m well aware. You may not understand my choice, but trust me when I say I made the right one. Pierce and I aren’t good together, okay? He—
The car hits a pothole, and I slam back onto my seat, hard. “God,” I say to the driver. “Did you even try to avoid that one?”
He shoots me an apologetic look in the mirror. “Sorry.”
I roll my eyes and return my gaze to the window. Typically, Pierce offers me a ride when we head out of the city. I must have made a comment once about hating to drive, because he’s been doing it for years.
Something tells me that tradition is now dead.
By the time we pull up the driveway to Heath and Walker’s house, my heart is pounding like that of an alcoholic in withdrawal.
Pierce’s black Aston Martin isn’t here yet, and I can’t decide if I want to arrive before him or not.
I open the car door with sweaty palms, already wishing I had tried to use the brother card again this week.
Nausea threatens to make me sick, no doubt helped along by the fact that I haven’t eaten anything all day.
I tuck my bag more firmly under my arm and make my way to the front porch. Before I can knock, Walker swings it open and pulls me into her arms. She smells like vanilla and peaches, probably from mixing cocktails.
“How is he?” she asks, still clinging to me.
I blink and am about to stammer out something about how I don’t know, then I realize she’s asking about Bash. “Um, he’s still unconscious.”
She releases me slowly and gives me a sad smile.
“I still can’t believe it.” She visited the hospital with Heath and Lux a few days ago, reminding me of just how great it is to have friends that are as close as family.
If I don’t win this challenge, I’ll face the very real possibility of losing them forever.
“I guess we should have expected it, given how many times my mother tried to warn him,” I say.
Bash has always been reckless. The more dangerous an activity is, the more appeal it holds for him.
It’s actually a miracle he hasn’t suffered anything more serious than a broken bone or a concussion before now.
Walker steps back to let me inside, where the rest of the gang is waiting. After giving everyone the latest update on Sebastian and accepting some kind of tropical drink from Heath, complete with a little striped umbrella, we make our way to the back deck, where the poker table awaits.
Pierce still hasn’t shown, but he must have told them he’s running late, because no one seems to be watching or waiting for him. I want to ask but bite my tongue. There’s no need to draw attention to the fact that I’ve noticed his absence. Better to play it cool than to raise unnecessary questions.
Several times, I think I hear wheels on the gravel outside, and my body tightens as I wait for him to make his appearance, but he never does.
When we’ve been playing for half an hour, I can’t help it any longer.
I straighten in my chair, careful to keep my cards hidden from Saylor, who’s sitting beside me.
“Where’s Pierce, anyway?” I say it as casually as possible—I’m a cool cucumber—while inside my heart is still beating 150 miles an hour.
The chatter around the table dies. They all glance at each other, while studiously avoiding looking at me.
Saylor shifts in her chair and wipes a trail of condensation off her glass, the gold ring on her thumb glinting in the waning sunlight.
Walker is biting the side of her lip, and Rhett is suddenly more interested in his cards than he was ten seconds ago.
Heath and Slate are exchanging some kind of nonverbal communication across the table with their eyes.
“What’s going on?” I say, an edge finding its way into my voice. “What aren’t you telling me?” Because it’s apparent now that they all know something I don’t.
Lux is twisting her bracelets so fast, I fear for them. After glancing at Slate and getting a subtle nod in return, she turns to me and says, “He’s not coming.”
I furrow my brows, taking in everyone around the table. “Okay.” Dragging out the word, I add, “So why are you all acting like guilty teenagers?”
She just looks at me, and I can’t read her expression, which is aggravating, because she’s usually an open book. It’s like she’s at a loss for words, and that never happens. Like, ever.
“Spit it out, Lux,” I snap, without meaning to. If I was on edge before, I’m teetering on the brink of a precipice now. Whatever they have to say had better get said in the next two minutes.
“He’s not coming back. Ever,” she blurts out.
Six sets of eyes find their way to my face. The expressions I find there are a mixed bag—sad, resigned, accusatory, worried.
“I don’t understand,” I say, sitting back in my seat before I fall out of it. “What do you mean, he’s not coming back?”
Slate clears his throat and props his arm on the back of Lux’s chair. “He forfeited the challenge. You win, Maeve.” Definitely accusation in his eyes. “Congratulations.”