Chapter 16 #3
"If I'd known he was beating her, I wouldn't have done it; I swear I wouldn't have."
"Elias…what the fuck?"
"After that, he reported her missing. He said she left a note, but her family doesn't believe him. Police didn't find any foul play, but several people close to her said he was hitting her. It doesn't make sense that she'd just leave them and never contact them again. They were close."
"Jesus, Elias. You think you got this woman killed?!"
"I know he killed her. You met him—you said he was going to beat our dog to death with a fire poker, Saige. You don't think that's the kind of person who's capable of something like that?"
"Why would you tell me all of this?"
"I don't know. I guess I feel like…" He pauses, tousling his hair again before sinking further into the couch. "Like maybe I went too far with you a couple of times, and it's made me feel…weird. And so, I thought I owed you something."
"Owed me something?"
"Now you don't have to feel bad about killing him. You don't have to worry about his friends or family or people he loved missing him. Because he killed a girl, and her family does miss her, and it didn't bother him at all. No one misses Miles. No one has even noticed he's gone. Okay?"
"Okay."
A knock at the door causes me to jump, and Elias stands, curling his hands into fists.
"Oh, it's just the food we ordered. I'll get it."
And then I feel really weird for using the word we. Embarrassed, even.
I get up to grab it, and as I turn the deadbolt, Elias says, "At least check the peephole first, for fuck's sake."
He makes a decent point.
I peer out onto the porch, and sure enough, no one is there—just a couple of white paper bags on the doormat. I open the door and grab both, tucking them under one arm so I can grab our beer from the counter with the other, awkwardly passing Elias on my way to the staircase.
"Good night, Saige," he says to my back.
It's the weirdest fucking thing I've ever heard come out of his mouth. I decide to ignore it, the air in the space between us suddenly thick and uncomfortable.
I don't breathe again until I'm safely on the other side of Dax's door.
"There you are," he says. "What took you so long?"
"I dried my hair, and then I waited for the food." It isn't entirely untruthful.
"Good thinking," he says. Then he gets up, walks toward the bathroom, and opens the door. "Hey, Nolan. The food's here."
I thought that was a lot of food.
Nolan walks through the bathroom and into the room, sitting on the other side of the bed with Dax in the middle.
"This one is yours, Saige," he says, passing me a foil-wrapped burrito.
"Extra jalapenos?" Nolan asks, flashing me a crooked smile that makes me blush.
"You know it."
"Do you remember what we talked about earlier, Saige?" Dax asks. I'm not sure what exactly he means before he adds. "Do you think you'd be up for that?"
I shake my head. "Not tonight."
"Understandable," he says. "What about tomorrow?"
"…Maybe."
"That's my girl." He smiles widely—all teeth—and I quickly look away, shaking my head.
"What's tomorrow?" Nolan asks.
"Something you're going to like," Dax tells him.
He puts on the next episode of the trashy reality TV show we watched this afternoon, and the three of us eat on the bed together in the dark, rain pounding against the window just as steadily as it has been all day.
Once we're finished, I clear away the garbage and take it downstairs.
Before leaving the kitchen, I realize the blinds are open in the living room, and stare out into the backyard.
My eyes quickly dart to the security panel next to the garage door; it glows red, indicating the house is armed.
I look back at the door again, ensuring the lever is lowered into the locked position.
Then I take a deep breath and approach the glass door panes, grabbing the tilt wand to pull the blinds closed.
Lightning flashes, illuminating the backyard, but only for a second before it all goes black again.
But I could have sworn I saw someone out there, just beyond the fence, dressed in all black, wearing a ski mask with a skeleton face stretched across it. Hands shaking, I flip on the patio light, but of course, there's no one there.
I'm losing it.
I flip it off again, finish closing the blinds, and then head upstairs.
When I get to Dax's room, he and Nolan are reclining on the bed together. Dax has his arm wrapped around Nolan's back and his fingers threaded through his shaggy dark hair.
I wanted to touch Nolan's hair; I wanted to know what it felt like between my fingers. An uncomfortable wave of jealousy washes over me. I feel guilty about it, but I can't help it.
It makes sense that he would trust him like that. He barely knows me. Still, logic doesn't necessarily make it feel better.
"I want to take you both with me to Paris this summer," Dax says. "Have you ever been to Paris, Saige?"
"No." I laugh a little before climbing into bed next to him. Of course, I haven't been to Paris. I'm also not so far gone that I actually believe Dax is going to take me there—or that he even wants to.
Not yet, anyway.
"You'll love it," he says. "I took Nolan with me this year. Don't you think Saige would look good in Paris?"
"Saige looks good anywhere," Nolan says.
I shake my head. "Yeah, right."
"It is right. What a nice compliment. Isn't that nice, Saige?"
"Yeah. Super nice."
Dax narrows his eyes and nudges me. I realize what he's doing—he wants me to just accept the compliment, like he said earlier.
"I mean it," Nolan says.
"Thanks," I say softly.
"That wasn't so bad, was it, baby?" Dax asks.
"No…it wasn't bad."
Dax wraps his other arm around my back, pulling me into him and pressing his lips to my forehead. "Oh, shit," he says, looking up at the television. "They're fighting, and we missed it; I'm going to rewind it."
I fall asleep at some point, and when I wake later, only Dax is in the bed with me. I get up, crawling out from under his leg, and use the bathroom. When I'm finished washing my hands, I stare at Nolan's bedroom door.
I know it's an invasion of his privacy, but I turn the knob, opening it just a crack, and look inside. The light from his fish tank, its water still murky, is just enough for me to make out his figure in the dark.
And Nolan is asleep on his side atop the covers, fully clothed. Even his socks are still on.
I would have thought only a sociopath slept with their socks on. But until recently, I would have thought that about Nolan, too.
I'm tempted to step inside, just to run my fingers through his hair. Would that be so bad?
It kind of would be, and I know that. So I close the door, go back to Dax's room, and crawl into bed next to him, instead.