Chapter Ten
I wake up wrapped in LJ’s arms and absolutely starving. At first, in the haze of just coming to consciousness, I’m not sure where I am, but the pressure of his protective arm around me quickly grounds me. I shift, feeling my stomach growl as I roll over to face him.
He’s still asleep—eyes shut, hair loose over the pillow—and I realize that this is the closest and most intimate view I’ve ever gotten of him. He doesn’t look peaceful when he’s asleep, exactly. He still seems focused somehow, even though he’s not conscious. But still, there’s something personal about this.
And then, because I am a slave to intrusive thoughts, apparently, I boop him on the nose.
His eyes flutter open. “What the hell?” he growls, his voice still thick with sleep.
I laugh softly, feeling a little unhinged. Maybe it’s the low blood sugar, maybe it’s the ridiculous 24 hours that preceded this moment, but I’m absolutely loopy.
“Sorry,” I say. “Had to. It was like Mount Everest. It was there.”
“The hell are you talking about?” he says, squinting one eye shut and pushing himself up to sit.
“Don’t worry about it,” I say, sitting up too, sweeping my hair to one side. I’m not really sure what the hell I mean either. This is all so...so something.
There’s a long moment where neither of us speaks, and I wonder if we need to be awkward about the sex from last night, or if maybe this is just par for the course for him. I know there are people out there who have wild, outrageous one-night stands and walk away completely unattached. And while I don’t think I can lie and say that no emotions were involved for me, at least, I also don’t feel as complicated about it as I thought I would, which is honestly kind of refreshing.
“You look better,” LJ says at last, turning to skate his gaze over me.
“Well, I had a very restorative night,” I say drily.
His lips twitch like he wants to chuckle, but he doesn’t. As if on cue, my stomach lets out a grumble.
“I might be hungry,” I say, a little sheepish.
LJ sucks in a breath. “I don’t have much here, like you saw,” he admits, “but I can go down to the house and get—”
“Actually,” I cut him off, “I’ll just go with you. Assuming there’s breakfast on, as usual?”
I feel a little pang at saying the words as usual , like I’m admitting that for a while, anyway, this place was part of my routine and part of my life.
“No,” LJ says. “I’ll go. You don’t have to.”
“I know I don’t have to,” I say, “But...I want to, I think. I think I’m ready after last night.”
LJ doesn’t move for a second, then he arches a brow wordlessly.
I cackle nervously and punch him in his broad shoulder. “Oh, come on. I don’t mean that you, like, cured me or anything, although it did boost my mood a little.”
“I can tell, Princess.”
He shifts to the side of the bed and stands, and I have to say, the sight of him naked in the soft morning light is even better than what I caught in fits and starts last night by moonlight. I swallow hard, debating which of my needs will win out here, but ultimately, I haven’t eaten anything in almost 24 hours. As much as I enjoyed getting laid by this guy, I’m never going to overpower my appetite for real food right now.
I stand up too, and LJ gives me an up-and-down. “You’re gonna need to wear something,” he says.
I roll my eyes. “Well, obviously I’m not gonna show up naked. I don’t wanna send the wrong message.”
I’m surprised that I can joke about the three of them, given everything, but maybe that’s just my way of dealing with trauma.
“Well, right,” LJ says and gives a little cough, glancing down my body again.
I follow his gaze. “Oh.” Little red and purple ovals dot the crest of my hips—finger marks, small bruises from where he grabbed me. I run a hand over them lightly. “I didn’t even notice,” I say. “They don’t really hurt.”
“That’s good,” LJ says. He scratches the back of his neck. “To be honest, I’ve done worse. Looks like you got off easy.”
“I’ll say,” I reply, grinning.
It takes him a minute to get it, but then his eyes widen. “Jesus Christ, Princess. The mouth on you.”
He strides around the bed and lightly grabs my chin in his hand. “You’re really going to make me want to punish you, aren’t you?”
“Maybe,” I say, “but food first.”
THE KITCHEN IS NOTHING like I remember. That is, it looks exactly the same—still spacious, light-filled, and smelling like food—but something’s different all the same. The vibes are off. The mood is subdued, at the very least. And when I walk in, the tone shifts again.
LJ is holding my hand, and I’m wearing a baggy tank top of his and a pair of gym shorts that I can’t imagine him ever wearing, but I guess every guy’s got a pair of basketball shorts somewhere.
Will sees me first. He’s sitting at the breakfast table, shoulders hunched, his usually styled hair ruffled, and his linen shirt uncharacteristically wrinkled.
“Maren,” he croaks and gets to his feet. He really does look like hell. “Maren, I’m sorry,” he says quickly. “This was all so fucked up, and you’re here, and you’re...”
It’s so strange to see him stammer and be at a loss for words.
“Maren,” Tuck says, emerging from the pantry holding half a loaf of sourdough bread. His hair is damp, like he just got out of the shower, and he’s wearing an old, faded T-shirt with Virginia Beach written across the chest. When he sees me, his expression brightens, even though it looks like he might burst into tears or something. “You’re back. You’re here. You’re...” He looks from Will to LJ, who’s still holding my hand, and then back to Will again. “I’m so sorry, Maren,” Tuck stammers on. “We’re sorry. This never should have... but you’re okay?”
I nod and tighten my grip around LJ’s hand a little as I look around the kitchen. Someone is distinctly missing from this tableau.
“Not here,” Will says, taking a drag from his coffee cup. “Don’t know where he is right now.”
“I see.” I bite my lip. “I... well, thank you,” I say lamely. “Both of you, for the apologies. It’s, um...” I tuck my hair behind my ear. “It’s kind of been a weird few weeks.”
“If either of you fuckers tries to pull anything—” LJ starts.
I squeeze his hand harder. “Relax,” I say softly, looking up at him. “I’ve got this.”
He works his jaw like he doesn’t believe me, but he stops.
“Look, I’m really hungry,” I say. “Starving, in fact, and I kind of just want to get something in my stomach before I deal with...” I wave my hand in the air. “Anything.”
“Understandable,” Will nods.
Tuck, for his part, beams. “You got it. What do you want? Waffles? Eggs Benedict? Shrimp and grits? I could probably do steak and eggs if you give me a second to grab that ribeye—”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” I say, unable to resist smiling at his puppy-dog energy. “I’m just one girl, and I need coffee before anything.”
Of course, Tuck lunges for the counter, but Will is two steps ahead of him at the espresso machine.
“I’ve got it,” Will says, flicking a dial.
Tuck jumps back, looking jittery and shooting me half-glances every other second. “All right, why don’t we just do the works? Bacon, sausage, eggs?”
“Yes,” I say. “Perfect.”
“Great.” Tuck grins, nodding and rubs his hands together like he’s relieved. “What about you, big guy?” he asks, looking at LJ.
LJ grunts. “Make it a round, I guess.”
“Sure thing.” Tuck sets off to pull out pots and pans while Will sidles over with a steaming mug of espresso for me.
“Americano, right? Black.”
I nod. “Exactly.”
I let go of LJ’s hand, take the cup from Will, and have a sip. It’s good. Toe-curlingly good. I let out an involuntary groan.
“You need some alone time with it?” Will asks.
I make a face at him, realizing too late that I’m letting myself fall back into old patterns—banter, ease, camaraderie with someone who tried to keep me locked up, who lied to me.
Well, one of several people, anyway.
“Come here,” Will says, nodding toward the table, his hands in the pockets of his chino shorts. “Take a load off.”
Can’t hurt, I figure. So, fortified with another sip of coffee, I follow him to the table and sit down.
LJ, meanwhile, stays by the door, arms folded, looking like a bouncer at a club.
“You wanna?” Will says, nodding at the third empty chair, but LJ shakes his head.
“I’m good.”
Okay, then , I think and gulp more coffee. With the caffeine permeating my brain, I think I have a bead on the dynamic here.
Will drums his fingers on the table idly, watching Tuck as he slaps an entire package of bacon on a hot griddle and expertly saws off thick slices of sourdough. Then he looks at me.
“Were you okay?” he says, his voice breaking a little.
I’m taken aback by how frank the question is, how raw the pain is that I can plainly see in his eyes. I set my mug down.
“I... I was, I mean, I guess so.” I shake my head and massage my right temple. “It was a weird situation, I—”
“You can say that again,” Will says. “Gisbourne got you, right?”
“Yeah,” I say, and I explain briefly what happened with the car. As I do, my heart squeezes, realizing I have no idea where my beloved Mustang even is. “And then he pulls up, waves her off, and tells me to come with him,” I finish. “That’s how I ended up at his place.”
“And you didn’t run?” Will says, an edge to his voice. “You didn’t try to escape?”
I want to think he’s just being protective, but the edge of judgment in his tone sets me off.
“Run?” I say. “How, dude? I mean, I guess he didn’t have me under lock and key, but he smashed my phone to bits, and I had nothing but the clothes on my back. I wasn’t going to get far, and he had food and shelter for me. And I had a plan. I was getting out of there. I did, in fact.”
Saying it aloud, I realize it sounds a little nuts. I wonder if I should throw in the fact that I didn’t want Rosa to be punished for my indiscretion, but decide to try a better tack.
“Besides,” I continue, “Keep in mind I literally don’t have anything you need to live on your own. No ID, no cash, nothing. I had to start from scratch. I couldn’t even get online until I hacked into his computer.”
“Really?” Tuck swivels his head, impressed.
“Well, hacked is a strong word,” I admit. “But I did get access to Gisbourne’s laptop.” I drum my fingers against my coffee. “He’s running for office, you know. District Attorney. Says he’s going to clean up Sherwood, and...”
I pause.
Should I tell them what I saw in the library? What Guy said?
I’d flay them like animals.
Before I can form the words, Will speaks up. “Once we figured out he was the one who had you, I stayed up all night looking into his shit.” He pivots his gaze to me, hard and intense. “He’s bad fucking news, Maren. Worse than the sheriff.”
LJ scoffs. “If that’s even possible.”
“It is,” Will says, his voice deadly calm and serious. “It absolutely is. The sheriff’s greedy and corrupt, a schmoozer who can get his fat fingers into every pie, but at the end of the day, he’s not that bright. Gisbourne, though? He’s a smart cookie. He’s got charm, he’s got brains, and he’s got ambition that goes beyond just Sherwood. And he knows how to make the law work for him on every level.”
I shiver in spite of myself. “Well, it doesn’t matter now,” I say. “I got away from him.”
“Did you?” Will says. “There’s a missing person report out for you, Maren. Gisbourne issued it last night. Said you were his fiancée and that you were kidnapped.”
My heart throbs. “What?”
“See for yourself.” Will pulls his phone out of his back pocket, thumbs it unlocked, and pulls up a news article before pushing it toward me.
I take the phone, my eyes scanning the headline:
Sherwood DA Candidate’s Fiancée Missing, Authorities Say
Sherwood County Sheriff’s Office has issued a missing person report for Maren de Mornay, the fiancée of district attorney candidate Guy Gisbourne. According to Gisbourne, Ms. de Mornay was last seen at a Fourth of July event where she briefly departed to escape the heat, but did not return. Authorities are asking for the public’s assistance in locating her. “I am heartsick and deeply concerned for Maren’s safety,” Gisbourne said in a statement. “While it would be rash to jump to conclusions, I can’t help but suspect foul play, given my candidacy. I urge anyone with information to come forward immediately.”
I read it, my eyes wide. “Fuck,” I whisper under my breath. “That bastard. He’s making it sound like I was kidnapped.”
“Not in so many words,” Will says. “He’s being careful.”
I roll my eyes. “Anyone who reads that will pick up what he’s putting down.”
Will doesn’t meet my eyes. I look hard at him. “I’m not his fiancée,” I add.
“Yeah, and who’s gonna contradict that?” Will says. “You’re gonna just reappear and denounce all of that? He’ll just have you arrested for stealing a car.”
“Goddammit.” Will’s right. I rub my forehead. This isn’t good. I thought it would be easy to lay low, get my affairs together, and start some kind of new life, but that was before I became a missing person.
“Order up,” Tuck says and sets a plate in front of me, absolutely overflowing with breakfast food—creamy scrambled eggs, crisp bacon, two juicy sausage patties, fried tomatoes still on the stem, a biscuit covered in butter and what smells like raspberry jam.
“Good God, man, that’s twice the size of her head,” Will mutters.
Tuck looks bashful. “I didn’t want her to go hungry.”
I look up at him and give him a smile. “I appreciate it, Tuck. It looks great.”
He grins. “Thanks, Maren. Anything for you.” He plunks down some silverware, and I don’t waste a second before attacking the food. I don’t know what’s come over me, but my appetite is roaring to go. Even LJ, from his stance at the door, notices as Tuck puts down a second plate for him.
“All yours,” Tuck says.
LJ nods. “Thanks.” He sits down and silently forks up a bite or two, eyes watching me the whole time. Actually, all of them are watching me, which makes me strangely self-conscious. I pause and look down at my plate, now three-quarters empty.
“Damn,” I whisper.
“Gisbourne not feeding you or something?” Will comments.
“No, he did,” I say. “Although nothing any good. Lots of vegetables and low-fat shit. Not like this.”
Tuck winces. “That pains me to hear. Fat’s a necessary macronutrient.”
“Save it, Bill Nye,” Will says. “As long as you’re feeling better, Maren.”
I nod. The world feels back on its axis a little bit. Everything steadier under my feet, even if I do have to deal with this new reality of being a kidnappee.
“I guess so,” I say. I rake my fingers through my hair, sighing. “I’ve got a lot to take care of, and I don’t even know where to—”
I trail off mid-sentence as someone slips in through the back door to the balcony. It’s Rob, no longer in disguise, just wearing what he always does—a V-neck green shirt, beat-up old jeans, work boots. His eyes look hollow but intense, and they burn right into me. I look away, unable to return his gaze, unable to see him. If I’m honest, it hurts too much—a pulsing wound I just want to bind down with pressure and never think about again.
“Morning,” Tuck ventures, the only one of us to speak.
I glance up just in time to see Rob give him a nod, throw one more stare at me, and then stalk off through the entryway. We all sit in silence as his footsteps fade. I glance over my shoulder, just briefly, then back at the table. Still, no one says anything, and a sudden wave of rage crashes over me.
“Is he not going to fucking apologize?” I spit out, slamming my hands on the table. “Seriously?”
Tuck chews his lip. LJ lets out a snort. Will sighs.
“He’s not really like that, Maren,” Will says slowly, shaking his head ruefully. “I don’t know what to tell you. I wish he would. He knows he needs to, but...” He lets out a breath. “Look, we’re all just glad you’re safe, okay? And you don’t have to see him if you don’t want to. Anything you need, we’re here.”
“Okay,” I say. It’s not what I want to hear, but I don’t know what I even want to hear. “Thanks.”
“We’re here,” Tuck echoes. “If involves food or computers, you know who to ask.”
I take another gulp of coffee, the wheels in my mind turning.
“Actually, come to think of it, I could use your help with some computer stuff.”
“AND THAT SHOULD ABOUT do it,” Tuck says, dusting off his hands like he’s just completed a difficult feat of manual labor instead of typing for a good 20 minutes in the office.
“Thanks,” I say. “So this is super private?”
“As private as it gets,” Tuck says. “Encrypted email. You’ll only be able to check your inbox from this machine, but—”
“That’s fine,” I say. “I just need it temporarily.”
With an email address—one that no one knows about, one with no digital breadcrumbs anywhere but here—and my birth certificate scanned, I can get in touch with the bank. That, plus the copy of Daddy’s will that Tuck helped me pull from the county records again—because there’s no way in hell I’m going back into Nottingham Town Hall—should be enough to get me access to whatever there is of my inheritance.
“Great.” Tuck smiles, and I give him a small smile back. It needed to be done—I know it did—but something about getting this close to starting over, for real, is almost bittersweet. “So whenever you—”
As he says it, my inbox pings with a new message. Tuck leans back and looks away, politely averting his gaze like I’m about to change into dry clothes or something. As he does, I catch a whiff of his cologne, woodsy and rich, and it catches me so off guard I have to clear my throat before I can even speak again.
“It’s from the bank,” I say.
Tuck looks back at me, his shyness forgotten. “It worked?” His boyish face lights up behind his glasses. I clamp my jaws together to avoid a smile.
I can’t. I can’t let myself do that.
“Let’s see,” I say as evenly as I can. “Looks like it’ll be a couple days for the paperwork to be processed. And then I’ll have to go to the bank, somehow, but then...”
“Then you’ll have your freedom,” Tuck finishes for me. His shoulders slump just slightly.
“Not exactly,” I correct, glancing from the computer screen to his face. “I’ll have my money.”
Tuck scratches the back of his neck. “Yeah, but money is freedom, right?” I must have wrinkled my nose or something, because he rushes on. “I mean, that’s America for you. I don’t exactly love that that’s how it is, but, I mean, you know...” He shrugs. “It’s like Rob always says—”
He cuts himself off sharply. “Never mind.”
My hand tenses on the mouse, and I withdraw it into my lap, the screen going unfocused in front of me. I think back to seeing Rob in the kitchen just now—how he looked so like himself, and yet not. Still handsome as a devil with a body to match, but...deflated. Devoid of the swagger and confidence.
And yet still too fucking proud or too stubborn or too...too something to apologize to me.
“Maren, I...” Tuck blows out a breath. I turn to look at him, and he reaches for me, then reconsiders, his hand hovering in the air a moment before he pulls it back to his lap. Funny how someone who’s had his face between your legs suddenly can’t even put a hand on your shoulder , I think.
“Give him a chance. You can...I know it’s hard to believe, and I know this sounds rich coming from me, but you can trust him. Rob is...he’s Rob, ” Tuck finishes a little lamely. He shakes his head. “I mean, God. Sorry. I know you don’t know him as well as I do.”
“I know him carnally,” I retort. Tuck blushes.
“Um...okay, fair,” he concedes. He rakes his fingers through his loose blonde waves. “I just meant...look, he definitely fucked up, and he knows that. Like, trust me, he knows that. But—”
“So why doesn’t he apologize?” I interrupt. “If he knows it, and he’s so goddamn trustworthy ”—I draw giant air quotes—“then how hard is it to admit he was wrong? For starters ,” I add. “At the very, very least.”
My pulse is thrumming in my chest now, each throbbing beat a reminder that every bad thing that’s ever happened to me was basically Rob’s doing. Whether he knew it or not. Whether he knew me or not. It was still his fucking fault.
“It’s...” Tuck presses his lips together, then sighs. “It’s hard, I guess. I’ve told him a million times until eventually he just stopped listening to me at all. And you’re right, it’s not fair to expect you to do the heavy lifting here. I just...” He glances down at his hands, then up at me. “I just wish things could go back to the way they used to be.”
A sharp, swift pain slices at my heart when he says it.
Because so do I.
Badly.
Very very badly.
“Well, they can’t,” I say shortly. I almost crack a molar with the effort not to cry, but it works. “Not after what happened. Not unless you have the power to...undo the past, or something.”
“Yeah. Yeah.” Tuck nods, eyes downcast. Then he looks up at me, his warm brown eyes curious. “Hey, did you—not that it’s any of my business, I mean—but did you happen to, you know...” He gestures at me. “Figure out what you are? What kind of power you have?”
I sit up straighter. “No,” I answer truthfully. “I didn’t.”
“You’re not curious?”
Of course I’m curious, I think. But there are more important things than playing around with magic.
I don’t say that, though. I just stare at the computer, at the glowing lines of my new inbox.
“I’m just saying,” Tuck says. “If you did want to figure it out, I’m sure we could help. Might be a good reason to stay around here a bit—do some research, try some experiments. We really could help.”
His voice is forced cheerful, laced with hope, and it breaks my heart to look at him gazing so eagerly into my face. It really does.
Because I do want to know. I want to know more about myself and more about each of them. I want everything to be almost exactly the same as it is right now except for one, huge, impossible detail.
And that just can’t be undone.
“Thanks for the email.” I give him a polite smile. “I promise I won’t need to be here much—”
The door to the office bangs open. It’s LJ, alarm in his eyes.
“Maren,” he says. “You have to hide. Now. ”