Chapter 10
TEN
“Not all who wander are lost.”
—Cheshire Cat, Alice in Wonderland
“Oh, you’re home.”
Flinching, I almost made it to the top of the stairs. Almost. The sanctuary of my bedroom is close, and yet so far. I freeze, keeping my back to my mother. “Yep,” I reply tightly. “Isn’t it weird how that seems to happen every day around this same time?”
“Don’t be cute,” Katherine snaps. “Officer Monroe called.”
My knees turn to jelly, and I’d crumble if I didn’t have my hand wrapped around the banister. Please, please, please let it be that they found Rook. I turn slowly, facing my mother at the foot of the stairs. “What did he say?”
She purses her lips and shakes her head. “Nothing new.”
Well, shit, so much for hoping for the best.
“Okay, but what did he say, Mother?”
Is she deliberately being obtuse? Knowing her? Probably.
Katherine heaves out an audible sigh. “Like I said, Alice, nothing new. The officer was doing a routine check-in to tell us that the ghastly person is still missing.”
Of course he is, because I learned that Rook is many things, but careless isn’t one of them.
Everything Rook did was calculated. Carefully and perfectly coordinated. From our so-called chance meeting at the art gallery to his relentless pursuit. Too bad for me that I only figured that out after it was far too late.
“They’ll never find him,” I tell her.
“At least they’re still trying.” Katherine releases an exasperated huff. “My God, Alice, you could, at the very least, appreciate their efforts to keep looking.”
“I do appreciate it,” I snap. “My God, Mother. Of course I do, but I also got to know Rook. He’s a heinous little rat. A disgusting bully, who scurried the very second after I reported him to the cops because he knew he’d lost control of the situation.”
“I warned you to stay away from that man,” she murmurs.
“I tried to stay away from him, and I don’t appreciate the insinuation that I’m to blame for what he did.
In fact, I clearly remember telling you that Rook creeped me out, and you were the one who told me not to be…
What were your exact words? Oh, right, ‘don’t be hasty.
’ It’s not my fault that he’s a deranged piece of shit who refused to take no for an answer. ”
“There you go, always with the dramatics,” Katherine remarks, stoking the flames of my temper. “I never said you were to blame, and how was I to know how awful things had gotten?”
“Because I told you. I told you I was scared of him. I told you he was popping up like a goddamn whack-a-mole everywhere I went.”
“I don’t appreciate your tone, nor your accusations,” she states coldly.
“And I don’t appreciate—” But I stop myself, take a deep breath, and pull back on what I want to say to her. “It’s whatever. I’m done fighting with you about this.”
“Everything okay between you two?”
Harrison Wentworth, who has taken on the exhausting role of referee between Mom and me, walks up behind his wife, wraps his arms around her waist, and kisses her cheek.
I’m still not used to this, seeing another man be affectionate with her.
They met while I was at Krobes, visiting me only once, a year ago, to tell me they were getting married.
The news hit me hard, but it could have been even more devastating if Harrison had been a jerk.
Instead, Harrison is English, with an aristocratic aura that can be misconstrued as pompous.
But that impression vanished the moment he smiled.
I wanted to hate him, tried to hate him, but he’s kind and funny, and, for whatever reason, he adores my mother.
He’s also good to me, showing extraordinary patience while I still work out the nature of our relationship.
I suppose if he’d barreled into my life intending to take my dad’s place, things between us would have been fraught with tension.
Instead, he understands I’m still uncomfortable calling him my stepfather.
Will that eventually change? Possibly. But for now, we’ve settled into a relaxed friendship.
My dad would have liked him.
He’s even good at chess.
I haven’t played against him. I’m not quite there yet, the game having been a thing with me and my dad. Perhaps one day, I’ll sit across from him and give him a run for his money, but not today. He hasn’t pushed on it, and for that, I’m grateful.
“It’s all good,” I announce. “Mom was telling me about her conversation with Officer Monroe.”
“Oh?” Harrison leans away to look around my mother, frowning at her. “You didn’t tell me Monroe called.”
She half turns, her smile as fake as the rest of her. With a wave of her hand, she says, “Like I told Alice, it was a routine check-in, nothing more. They’re still running into dead ends trying to locate that awful man.”
Harrison’s shoulders slump. With a tsk, he unwraps his arms from Katherine and rests his hand on top of the square, wrought iron newel post. “I’m sorry, Alice, truly.”
“It is what it is.” Shrugging, I add, “At least he’s staying away from me.”
“After what that bloody bastard did to you, I wish he’d show his cowardly face here.
” When it comes to Harrison, looks are deceiving.
Beneath the tidy tan trousers and sage-colored polo shirt is the muscular physique of a retired squadron leader for the Royal Air Force.
He’s a crack shot and still works out five days a week.
He’s also rich as fuck, which was the only reason why my mother married him.
“He won’t,” I say with a sigh, but I’m not at all confident about that.
“Joining us for dinner?” Harrison asks.
Nodding, I say, “Sure.” This is rare because sitting at a table across from my mother ruins my appetite.
But Harrison, bless him, is trying his level best to glue Katherine’s and my tattered relationship back together.
And I let him, because it’s easier to give an inch here and there than live in a constant state of war with her.
I don’t get three steps inside my room when I see it, on my dresser, bold as you please. What the actual fuck? I slap a hand over my heart, each wild beat slamming against my palm.
No.
One hundred percent, no.
Absolutely not.
Icy fingers of dread skid down my spine, and when I glance at the French doors, I’m relieved to see they’re still locked. Nothing is displaced, disturbed. Only this iced coffee is resting on a bed of red rose petals to prove that anyone was here.
No, that’s not true. There’s also a folded piece of paper with my name scrawled across it in familiar handwriting.
Fucking Maddox.
Twice now, he’s ambushed me with a note. This time, though, he’s been inside my house, inside my room—in broad daylight.
That ballsy bastard.
I shrug off my bookbag before snatching the letter off the dresser. Maddox wrote two words.
Drink me.
Furious, I grab my bookbag and fish out my phone, my fingers flying over the keyboard.
Me: How the hell did you get in my room??
Because if Maddox sneaked in, Rook could as well—and that thought is terrifying. I’d like to believe he wouldn’t dare come to Wonderland, but with snakes like him, there’s no guarantee.
My phone bings with Maddox’s reply.
Maddox: And give away my secret??
Maddox: I’m crazy not stupid
He’s a jerkoff, and I hate him for scaring me. (No, I don’t.)
Me: You can’t just sneak into my bedroom whenever you feel like it
I make a mental note to double-check that the security system is turned on before I go to bed tonight.
Maddox: And yet I did
Me: Ur an asshole
Maddox: A simple thank you for the coffee will do
Me: Eat shit
Me: Tell me how you got in??
Maddox: For me to know and you to never find out
Me: ha ha. Not funny
Me: Stay out of my house
Maddox: I’m hilarious
Maddox: And I was being nice
Me: Nice?? How??
Maddox: Scar dumped ur coffee so I got u another
The urge to toss my phone against the wall is strong. But I’d be cutting off my nose to spite my face by destroying my own property.
Me: Stop stalking me
Me: Ur being a creeper
His response is a smiling demon emoji.
Mine is the middle finger emoji.
Maddox: LOL
Me: It’s not funny
Maddox: Yes it is
Me: I swear to god go fuck yourself
Maddox: No fun in that. I’d rather fuck you
I don’t give him the satisfaction of a reply, but that doesn’t stop the…
tingle…the tiny flutter…deep in my belly.
Nor can I deny the rush of warmth between my legs because the only time I felt alive since the day my father came home and told me he was sick was graduation night—in Maddox’s arms—and I’m terrified I’ll never feel that again.
It would be so easy to succumb to his charms, to his wicked mischievousness, volleying playful texts back and forth with him.
But I don’t, for the sake of my sanity, and instead, I grab the coffee with every intention of emptying the contents into the toilet.
I don’t do that, either, though. Why waste a perfectly good beverage?
After flopping down on the bed, I take a sip and hate that it’s a brown sugar oat milk espresso—the same type of drink Scarlett plucked from my hand and tossed in the trash.
I don’t know why I do it—morbid nostalgia, probably—but I scroll through my camera roll.
Scroll through all the photos of Maddox I never deleted and the zillion silly selfies we took together.
I miss those days. I miss my friend. Most of all, I miss being happy.
But fear replaces nostalgia when I scroll too far, to the picture I took of the grotesque painting of my severed head Rook left on my easel at Krobes. It was a warning, a promise, and that night, he ambushed me at my dorm fully prepared to carry out that threat.