30. Bel
The following morning, I roll over in bed, wondering if the events from the night before really happened or if they were a dream. It was the most fun I’d had in a long time, and our date showed me that I had already forgiven Drew for what happened. I was simply afraid and using that fear as a crutch.
Now, my biggest concern isn’t that fear alone; it is a fear of a different type. A fear for Drew and Sebastian and what might happen to one or both of them if they decide to go through with this plan. I know I said I didn’t want to know anything, and I still really don’t want to know, but standing by and letting them go through with it without trying to give them other ideas or stop them seems stupid.
Yesterday, Drew seemed more determined than ever that he was going to go through with it, and while I hesitate to try to have another conversation with him, I won’t shy away from it. This is our future together, and his actions will directly impact both of us. I love him and I don’t want to see him or my brother go to prison, even if his piece of shit father deserves nothing short of death. I hold my cell phone in my hands, contemplating who I’ll go and question first, Sebastian or Drew.
Fate steps in at that moment, and my cell chimes with an incoming text from Drew.
Psycho: Come to The Mill at 5.
It’s not a question,but a demand. I’m tempted to reply with a smart-ass remark but choose against it. The time on my phone says three, and while I know his message says five, I’ve already spent the entire day letting my thoughts on the conversation run rampant.
If I show up earlier than expected, who cares?
There’s a frenzy of fear in my gut. I hate the thought of losing either of them over some stupid-ass shit. Not now, not when things have been better. Drew’s dad would find a way to fuck everything up. The longer I’ve thought through it, the more I’m pulled in two directions.
Part of me wants to tell Drew that I’ll do anything I can to help him get rid of his father, but the other part of me, the part with the moral compass, feels disgusted at the thought.
Death is something the horrible man deserves more than anyone I know, but…
Do I really have it in me to be an accomplice to murder?
It’s hard to think about because the thought reminds me of my mother and how fresh that loss still is. I miss her every single day, and I’d do anything to get her back, and here is Drew preparing to kill his father just so he can be free.
It hurts my heart the longer I think about it, so instead of doing that, I make the executive decision to go see him early. I ease away from my desk and the stacks of books, and stand to stretch. Sebastian is probably in his office right now, so if I sneak out the front door, I”ll have like a fifteen-minute head start until the text barrage of “where are you” commences.
Instead of bothering the driver who will most likely tattle to Sebastian—not that I have to answer to him really—I order a ride through the app. It’s only a short drive to The Mill, and I huddle into my black peacoat as the car inches up the driveway.
When the car pulls away, I’m left standing there facing the front door of the mansion. I”m not sure what to do with myself. Do I knock? I almost laugh.
Usually the door is half open, people or a party spilling out. I guess I’ll just go inside. With a shrug, I push it open and step inside, letting the warmth of the house lead me. The juxtaposition is almost painful between the deadly chill outside and the blasting heat indoors.
It would be a wonderful day to be cuddled on the couch with hot cocoa and a book. I vaguely wonder if I could get Drew to read one of the romance books I’m reading. I save the thought for another time and walk a little farther inside.
The house is mostly silent, and I don’t like it. It’s odd and makes me think there’s something bad about to happen. I tell myself it’s nothing but nerves. I tiptoe toward the staircase, but freeze, my heart thudding into my throat when I spot Lee standing in the kitchen, his dark gaze on me.
The normal boyish grin and charm he exudes are replaced with something far more menacing now, and the energy that rolls off him makes me shiver. My gaze roams his shirtless chest, not because I’m checking him out, but because of what I see there. Even in the dim lighting, you can’t miss the numerous scars that dot his chest, sides, and arms.
Are they from fights? Is someone hurting him? Is he hurting himself?
The questions stack up, and all I can do is frown at him, afraid that if I open my mouth, I’ll end up regretting it.
”Wipe that look off your face. I don’t want or need your pity.”
I steel my spine. ”I was just going to ask if you”ve seen Drew.”
“Sure you were.” He rolls his eyes. “He’s upstairs, or maybe he’s not. I don’t know.”
I take that as my cue to leave and turn on my heels, giving Lee one last look as he holds the bottle of rum to his ripped abs. It”s half gone already, and I know someone needs to help him. I can see the pain in his eyes, but everyone else is so absorbed in their own issues that no one seems to notice their friend drowning in his sorrows.
I jog up the stairs, heading straight to Drew’s bedroom. The door is cracked, so I take it upon myself to walk inside. The first thing I notice is the smell of burning wood, and I spot the small fire that’s going in the grate.
I look from the fireplace and to his bed, noticing that the covers are twisted and mussed, and his dirty clothes are tossed across one well-worn armchair.
There’s no sign of Drew, though.
I pad across the bedroom and peek in the bathroom, but it”s empty too. Well shit. I tug out my phone, clamber up onto his huge-ass bed, and settle into the pillows that smell like him. Then I shoot him a text. I wait and nearly startle, tumbling out of bed when his phone dings loudly on the bedside table.
Jesus. I have to relax a little. Getting my heartbeat back under control, I figure it’s unlikely he went far without his phone, so it shouldn’t be long till he gets back. I slip off my shoes and snuggle under the covers, reveling in his warmth and scent of teakwood and mint. If life was perfect, this is what it would be. Him, me, us spending time together, and not worrying about all the other bullshit.
I know I shouldn”t have to be concerned that my boyfriend is about to kill his father. That shit isn”t normal. None of this is normal. So how do I fix it? If I told him not to do it, would he even listen? Doubtful. Drew is the single most hardheaded person I know. Telling him not to do something is the ammunition needed for him to do it just to spite you.
What if things go wrong?What if he fails, or worse, what if he doesn’t? Who will he be if he succeeds? Will killing his father push him closer to damnation, or is it the saving grace he needs to climb out of the dark?
These thoughts swimming in my head are the reason I barely slept last night. I inhale long and hard, using his scent to chase away some of my doubts and fears.
It’s not easy with our history, but after yesterday, after he’s been so transparent about everything, how can I not give him the benefit of the doubt? He’s changed. I know it. I see it when he speaks to me and touches me with reverence and respect. He touches me with love. Something I don’t think he could have fathomed when all of this started months ago.
And I know he’s noticed the changes in me too. The way I don’t roll over and take every blow, every slight. I’m no longer a wallflower. I’m a fucking wildflower. I’m his wildflower.
I roll over on the mussed covers and climb out of the lush bed to wander the room. I’m restless and need to move around to get some of the energy out. Yes, I trust him, but just because I trust him doesn’t mean that I’m not worried about him.
His father is a monster, and Drew is, admittedly, also a monster. I guess it takes one to kill one, but how much of a monster will this turn him into?
I pace by the edge of his bed, back and forth, back and forth. I continue pacing, and as I do, I scan the shelves around the fireplace, dark thick wood lined with battered paperbacks, textbooks, and a few old classics. Somehow, the old classics look fresher than the paperbacks. It makes me smile, and I skim the lines of books with my fingers reading the titles, tilting my head as I walk to scan each one of them.
Drew knows how much I love books and reading in general, but we’ve never talked about any of these books. He’s never indicated an interest in reading.
I continue, my smile growing wider and wider until I reach the end of the shelf. At the very edge of the shelf my entire body clamps up. My heart hammers in my chest, and my thoughts take a nose dive into the dark.
Lying there on top of one of the hardbound books is a syringe, with its clear blue cap over the needle tip. The contents are clear from what I can see. I twist around and peer over my shoulder, half expecting him to jump out of the shadows, but he’s still not here, and that only intensifies my worry.
I’ve seen him drink several times, but I’ve never considered that he might use drugs. I blink, and without thinking, I pick up the syringe to inspect it closer. What would he be taking that’s in a syringe form? God. I need to stop thinking about this. It’s probably nothing. Maybe a steroid for football or maybe it’s a shot for some type of illness.
I hear his footsteps a heartbeat before he enters the room, and as I whirl around, I see the ghost of a smile on his lips. It slips off his face the moment he sees the syringe in my hand.
“What are you doing?”
I gulp around the ball of anxiety that’s now formed in my throat and gently place the syringe back on the shelf. He stalks toward me, and I take an involuntary step back right as he reaches me. I don’t know why I do it. He doesn’t appear angry. If anything, he looks sorry, which makes no sense to me.
Snatching the syringe off the book, he repeats the question he asked a moment ago. “What are you doing?”
“Nothing. I was… I was waiting for you. You seem to enjoy going through my things, so I thought I”d return the favor.” I force myself to smile, but he doesn’t return it. My gaze shifts back to the syringe, and I can’t stop myself from asking. I trust him. I love him, so why am I so afraid to know what this is all about?
“What’s in the syringe?”
His mouth folds into a thin line. “It’s something that I didn’t want to have to use, but that I no longer have an option not to use.”
It’s neither an answer, nor a question.
I chuckle and shake my head. “Is it some kind of steroid, a football thing?” I try to make my tone teasing, but instead, it comes out shaky with what...fear?
“Bel.” He sucks a deep breath into his lungs, then exhales with a slight rumble through his chest. When his arm snakes around my waist and he drags me against his chest, I’m unable to resist. “I hate that I have to do this to you, and I promise I’ll be able to explain everything when it’s over, but right now...I can’t. I know I don’t deserve it, but I need your complete trust.”
I pull away enough so I can see his face. “I told you I trust you, and I do. I’m just confused and worried. You’re speaking in riddles.”
“You’re looking at me a lot like you did that first night in the woods, so I don’t really feel like you trust me.”
I blink and swallow. “I don’t know. I trust you, obviously. I just…why would you have a syringe? And what’s in it? Why are you talking like you’re going to use it on me?” I force myself to look away from the syringe that he’s just uncapped. Like if I don’t look at it, then it means he won’t do what I’m suspecting he will.
“Bel...Wallflower, look at me.”
I do, only from habit, the sharp bite of command in his tone. “You either trust me or you don’t. Say you trust me.”
“I do.” The words slip from my lips with ease. The sharp jab of a needle hits the side of my neck, and I hiss out a breath. “What the hell?”
“Trust me, Bel. That’s all you need to do right now, okay?” A slow tingly warmth moves through my veins, and my knees wobble.
What did he inject into my body?
There’s an undercurrent of sheer panic, but beneath that is the reminder of trust. Peering into my eyes, he tightens his hold on me and moves me to hold my complete weight. There isn’t anything malicious in his eyes. In fact, he’s looking at me with more yearning than I’ve ever seen before.
“Drew,” I murmur as a heavy fog clouds my mind. “I might trust you, but that doesn’t mean I’m not super mad at you right now.”
He chuckles softly, gently brushing strands of hair from my face, and I feel the heat of his breath against the side of my neck. “Fair enough, Flower. We’ll settle up when you’re back on your feet. Just remember, I love you, and I’m doing this for us.”
With those last words and his beautiful green eyes swimming in my mind, my eyes flutter closed, and I slip deep into darkness, losing myself completely.