1. Lilith
LILITH
PRESENT DAY – SEVEN YEARS LATER
The sun is slowly setting over Manhattan as we finish unpacking Hope’s stuff in her bedroom.
Hands firm on my hips, a tired smile tugging at my mouth, I take in my foster sister’s new domain.
Lace curtains drape over her windows, and soft pastel yellow paint coats the walls, almost the same shade as her hair.
A cushy loveseat sits beside white-washed shelves lined up against the wall.
Only a handful of cooking and baking books fill them, but not for long.
Soon, they’ll be packed so full we’ll have to get more.
Now that I can afford it, I’ll get her anything and everything she wants.
For as long as we’ve known each other—since I was fifteen and Hope was eleven—I had nothing to give her until a few months ago.
At first, when the system placed me in foster care in Maine, away from the media circus and my mother’s connections, I was a broke kid. I had no access to Mom’s credit cards, even though she’d disappeared a day after the brutal attack on me.
When I turned seventeen, the Griggs, our foster parents, wanted what was best for me and showed that with their actions. They hired a lawyer to represent me, someone who pushed the court to declare Mom legally dead so the estate could finally be settled.
By some miracle, the ruling came through soon after, but that was only the beginning.
Renata Rayne, a bitch to the very end, left a stipulation in her will: either I got my college degree, or I was on my own.
I was so close to saying fuck it and enjoying my humble barista income and the simple life that came with it.
But I couldn’t do that to Hope. My best friend. My foster sister and chosen sister.
After being beaten to within an inch of her life by her parents before CPS stepped in, she deserved a fresh start. A fabulous one.
To make that happen, I bowed to Mom. I got my BA in English Lit in Maine, close enough to visit Hope while she stayed with the Griggs and finished high school.
Now that all of it is behind us, we’re here, living in a gorgeous apartment in NYC.
The best part, though? I’m finally close to him.
Dr. Lockwood.
Alaric.
It’s been seven long years since that one night I was his patient. We haven’t spoken since, haven’t been in touch.
I doubt he remembers me. At least that’s what I’m counting on. The memory of the bruised, wounded kid shouldn’t be the first thing that comes to mind when his eyes lock on mine.
What I want him to see is the woman I’ve become.
And he will see me. I made sure of that when I applied and got the job in the hospital’s cafeteria.
My skin tingles, my chest warming just thinking about catching a glimpse of him roaming the hallways tomorrow. Or…what if he drops by to grab lunch or coffee?
Fireworks.
“There’s that dreamy look again.” Hope’s brown eyes glimmer, a smile spreading across her face. “You’re thinking about him, aren’t you?”
When don’t I?
More importantly, how can I not?
What started as gratitude for the doctor who saved my life morphed into a full-blown obsession when I turned eighteen.
His fathomless blue eyes, square jaw, perfect stubble, and strong arms have been on my mind ever since. No other boy or man has ever come close. None of them has had that all-consuming presence, that deep, authoritative voice that’s so his.
Other than my sister, Alaric Lockwood is everything to me.
Regardless, I hesitate when I say, “I…”
For as much as I obsess over him, I don’t talk about Alaric very often.
Other than telling Hope I owe him my life and that I wanted us to move back to the city so I could be close to him, she has no idea how far my fixation goes.
Far enough to get lost in.
Far enough that I worry it might make Hope uneasy.
She might even run back to Maine when she realizes I plan to stalk him.
“Well?” she prods.
I tug at the sleeves of my gray sweater and glance around for a box I might’ve missed. A way to busy myself and, hopefully, change the subject.
But we’ve unpacked everything already.
Deep breath. “Yes, I think about him, but only a little.”
“Tell me everything.”
I can’t. I’m sorry.
Instead of answering, I’m about to ask what we’re having for dinner when she shrugs on a white cardigan.
A frown tugs at my lips. I don’t like that she’s cold.
“Where did the realtor say the thermostat was?”
“I’m really okay.” The cardigan she snuggles into says otherwise.
“Thermostat.” I dart out of her bedroom into the hall.
On my way to the living room, I pass my bedroom. It’s about the same size as Hope’s, painted white instead of yellow and decorated with a handful of skeletons and pumpkins rather than bookshelves or a loveseat.
The main difference between them, however, is the view. My room, unlike Hope’s, looks over Alaric’s block.
I know because, with Mom’s inheritance, I was able to hire a PI who got me my doctor’s address before I went house-hunting.
My cheeks heat as I remember that I asked the PI to do something far more sinister. To trace Alaric’s calls and texts. Just in case he wasn’t single and I had to…do something…about the competition.
Luckily, his search turned up empty.
Dr. Lockwood is thirty-five and single. Doesn’t have fuck buddies or dating apps on his phone either.
Starting tomorrow, I’ll make sure he never does.
For now, the thermostat.
I make my way through our living room, where the gray, deep-set sectional dominates the space, its overstuffed cushions made for lounging.
Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, I take in the fall in Manhattan.
People clutch their coats. Their hair whips around them.
Gold, orange, and red leaves lash back and forth on the trees.
What I don’t see when I go back to scouring the walls is the damn thermostat.
“Where is it?” I squint, taking in the rows of identical switches and panels.
This place is too modern for its own good.
“Lil, you’re overreacting,” Hope huffs in that way that means she isn’t exasperated at all.
She likes it when I fuss over her, just like I do. It’s the kind of warmth we never had, not even from the Griggs, as good as they were to us.
“You’re not catching a cold your first week here.”
“Lil…”
“Ah, there it is!”
A few clicks on the thermostat’s pad, and the heater hums to life, the sound low like Mom’s was. It used to be so quiet, in fact, that I could hear the sharp crack of her hand, or her shoe, connecting with my body.
“So…” Hope materializes next to me just as I’m whipping my sweater off.
“So?” I ask, praying she won’t bring up Alaric again.
“Let’s sit first.”
“Okay.”
We don’t say a word on our way to the living room. Once there, I drop my sweater over the back of the sectional and twist my hair into a messy bun. Then we both crash onto the couch.
“Um, I don’t want you to freak out. It’s not bad.” Our eyes meet as she turns her head to me. “Not like that time I was almost kicked out of school anyway.”
“That wasn’t bad.” The memory has my lips quirking. “Mr. Griggs taught us self-defense for a reason. That bully was it.”
Her, and my mom in case she showed up, or Hope’s parents if they ever got paroled.
Thankfully, neither happened.
Hope lets out a laugh. “Yes, she was.”
When she grows quiet again, I nudge her shoulder. “What, then?”
“I’ve been thinking about it.” Hesitation has her worrying her bottom lip. “I can’t choose between the colleges or the courses we’ve been going over, so I think I’m just going to put it on hold. I’ll figure it out next year. Promise.”
“Okay, but…” My brow furrows. “Is everything okay? Last time we talked about this, you had a few options you were excited about.”
“Wait, seriously?” Her eyes light up. “Can I really wait a full year to choose?”
“Of course.” I take her palm in mine and level her with a big sister gaze. “Now. What’s going on?”
She squeezes my hand. “It’s going to sound stupid.”
“Try me.”
“Here goes.” Her lungs expand. “Since we haven’t spent much time together over the past four years…”
Guilt settles in the pit of my stomach. I shove it aside, reminding myself it was because of another stipulation in Mom’s will I had to follow. It wasn’t enough to get a degree. I had to graduate with at least a 3.9 GPA too.
Bitch.
“Hope, you can tell me anything, remember?”
“Yes, so…” She straightens her back. I hate that she looks too serious for an eighteen-year-old. “I applied to the hospital cafeteria. They said yes. We’re going to be working together.”
Is it good? Is it bad?
Good, I think. For one, having Hope there would be amazing. It would also make sneaking around easier with her as backup.
Not to mention, I could watch over her while she gets used to the city.
“Perfect.” I nod vehemently. “It’s perfect.”
“Thank God.” She lets her head drop onto the back of the sectional, being adorably dramatic.
“When do you start?”
“With you, tomorrow.” She tries to bite back a grin. And fails. “I asked Delany, our boss, to put us on the same shifts, and she agreed as long as I was willing to stay a little later for the first few weeks, like you asked her to do. She’s so sweet.”
“She really is.”
I would’ve taken the job either way, even if my boss was an asshole. But as far as I’m concerned, she isn’t. Definitely a plus.
“Now that that’s settled.” Hope snatches her phone from the coffee table, her fingers sliding over the screen. “What are we having for dinner?”
While we’ve been talking, the orange sky has turned to black. My stomach growls as if screaming at me that yes, it’s time to eat.
And though Hope makes the best food I’ve ever had, I can tell she’s tired, which is why I ask, “Pizza?”
“Yes!” Her grin is wide.
Naturally.
I know all my sister’s favorite things.
Soon, I’ll know all about Alaric’s too.