Chapter Forty-Eight
The whistle of a bullet has me shooting up in bed.
My eyes are frantic, and fear is a thudding clump in my chest.
I press my hand to my heart, willing the battered organ to settle and feeling the clamminess of my nightmare at the surface of my skin.
My ears latch onto a grinding sound, and it takes me a moment to catch my bearings, realizing exactly where I am, who’s room I’m in, before the events of yesterday come clambering in.
The murder.
The suicide.
The reporters.
The return of him.
All the blood.
Chase Keller.
That crushing sound dissipates into a low churning when I hear Rusty shout, “You not staying for breakfast!?”
There’s no response until the sucking sound starts again.
I throw the blankets away from my quivering body and drag myself to the edge of the bed.
My palms are splayed at the mattress and I’m rising to my feet when I hear the slam of a car door outside the window.
Taking a step toward it, I find Chase sitting in the driver's seat of his old red truck.
His chin screwed down, his right wrist draped over the beat-up wheel.
He looks to be shoving his keys in the ignition when the rumble of his engine kicks to life confirming my suspicions.
He keeps his head down, pushes a bottle of water to his lips and lifts his chin.
Then his brown eyes find mine.
He slumps back into the seat, swallowing the water, allowing his dark, empty eyes to drop to my chest. They peruse the length of me, and I find myself casting a gaze down at myself, searching for what he may be looking at and realizing very quickly the mistake I’ve made.
Lifting my chin as panic grips me, I see he’s already backing out, spinning the wheel in the palm of one hand and shifting his old truck into gear with the other.
I had taken one of his shirts from his dresser last night after realizing that I’d forgotten to pack one of my own to sleep in.
My fingers quiver when I reach for the side that has fallen to my elbow, returning it to my shoulder, watching the red glow of Chase’s brake lights disappear into the distance.
Swallowing the lump in my throat and feeling my stomach ball tighter, I can’t help but wonder what he might have been thinking and where he might be going, and then, I berate myself for even caring.
Taking a step away from the window and then another until the back of my thighs hit the mattress, I fall onto the cushioning, bringing my hands to my face and groaning into my palms.
I don’t know why I am here. It wasn’t as if Chase had to drag me, even though the hard tone of his voice implied he would.
I chose to get in his car, and I hate that a part of me wanted to, that I was scared, that deep down I didn’t want to be alone because he was back.
Our time is coming, Laiken.
Because I knew he was coming for me.
I straighten the kink out of my neck and rise to my feet.
Tonight, I’ll return home. I’ll sleep in a direct line from the front door with the gun Chase had taken from me. The same way I had done more times than I could count.
I couldn’t stay here forever, and I wouldn’t let myself fall into the trap of finding safety in a place where it could quickly be stripped and taken from me.
Chest heaving, I make for my bag, crouching to my heels and scrabbling through for a fresh set of clothes. I find my light pink ringer tee, trimmed in red at the neck and sleeves, and a pair of medium-wash high-waisted denim shorts that button at the front.
I make good on getting dressed, and once I've tied the laces of my Reeboks, I step out of the room and shuffle across the hall to the bathroom, where I brush my teeth, wash my face, and comb my hair, drenching myself in caramel body spray.
It's when I step into the hall, still shaking, that I fly into the solid brick wall of Harlen’s chest.
He catches me before I have a chance to rebound and kiss the timber floor with my ass.
“I was just about to come see if you wanted some breakfast,” Harlen says, steadying me on my feet, then dropping his arm around my shoulders. I’m about to speak when Harlen pushes his nose into me, sniffing as we continue down the hall.
“What are you—”
He cuts me off, “Why the fuck do you smell so…edible?”
I snort at the same time Harlen takes another sniff, stepping onto the deck.
Rusty’s back is to us, his elbows resting over the ledge of the railing, speaking into his phone. I slip onto a seat, as Harlen does the same, and reach for the jug of freshly squeezed orange juice, realizing it to be the culprit of the loud grinding sound from earlier.
I pour half a glass and chug it back when Rusty spins around, shoving his phone into the front pocket of his dark denim jeans.
“Morning, Laiken, did you sleep okay?”
I shrug, and he lets it go.
Shielding my eyes from the sun, I ask, “Did you make all this?” Letting my gaze drift across the table spread with fried eggs, bacon and what looks like homemade hash browns made from sweet potato.
“Sure did, sweetheart…” He claps his hands together. “Dig in before it gets cold,” he says, dragging out his own seat and pouring a glass of juice.
Harlen clears his throat and when I turn to look at him he’s looking at his father with his arms wide open. Rusty laughs into his glass of juice.
“You're not gonna give me any credit?” Harlen furrows his brow, but it’s accompanied with that lopsided grin I’ve come to know well over the years.
I turn to Rusty when he shifts his gaze away from his son to me, his deep blue eyes widening in contrast when he says, “Harlen cracked the eggs.”
“Thank you!” Harlen says with exasperation, slapping his palm down on the glass table.
I can’t help but laugh, then laugh some more when Harlen leans over and taps his shoulder to mine, his impish grin widening.
I swallow a sip of juice, then eat half an egg before grabbing a piece of bacon with my hands and resting my elbows on the glass tabletop. I’m picking at it when I turn to Harlen and ask, “Where does he go?”
He knew who I was talking about because he reached for his glass of juice, downing the entire contents.
“Is it some kind of secret?” I add, flicking my eyes to Rusty who busies himself with the newspaper, choosing to stay out of it.
“No secret, Laik. I’ll take you to him if you want,” Harlen states, and I nod even though I actually meant to shake my head in protest.
I flick my gaze in Rusty’s direction when I hear the ringer on his phone and a sharp screech of a chair as he stands to take the call, my eyes catching on the headline of the newspaper he leaves behind.
“Young woman found slain at town's trailer park, leaving Devil’s Peak on an all too familiar razor-sharp edge.”
A report about the girl from yesterday.
The same one he’d dressed in our ribbon.
The same one that said without saying at all…our time is coming, Laiken.
I turn to Harlen, forgetting about Chase for a minute, and ask, “Are they any closer to finding out who he is?”
Rusty clears his throat. I look over my shoulder, watch him return his phone to the front of his jeans. “Not yet, sweetheart.”
I take my eyes over Rusty’s shoulder, feeling them fill with tears.
Fear sits in the back of my throat.
I’m going to throw up.
“Okay,” I whisper.
Harlen cut the engine to Rusty’s truck ten minutes ago.
We are parked next to Chase’s truck at Hollow Grounds Graveyard, sitting in tense silence.
And I don’t realize I am clenching my teeth until a sharp bolt of pain shoots through my jaw. I reach toward my face, attempting to rub the ache away.
I knew where this path led, however, I’d never ventured down here. I didn’t want to see or feel the added weight of what my grandfather had started.
The stereo is turned down low, though I lean forward, adjusting the volume until I can no longer hear anything but my own blood trickling in my ears. Rubbing at my knuckles, I crack the middle one, then ask Harlen, “Does he come down here often?”
I’m staring toward the back, my eyes gingerly tracing the old fence that is shedding its emerald paint, exposing the corroded metal beneath.
Harlen shifts in his seat, and I turn to look at him.
“Every day,” he gives.
I rub my arms, covered in goosebumps. “Jesus,” I manage.
Harlen shrugs, dragging a palm back through his hair, not looking at me.
“I think it makes him feel closer to her, you know, like she’s not really gone.” I shake my head as Harlen continues to speak, “I couldn’t do it though, fuck, there’s no way.”
“What do you mean?” I ask curiously, my brows turning in at his truth.
He is still staring ahead when he jerks his chin toward the tunnel of despair, swallowing roughly again. “Sit among my storm.”
His words make me shiver. “Same.”
Harlen reaches toward me and sinks his fingers into my shoulder, then down my arm, and I unintentionally flinch when his fingers graze the raised scar.
“Fuck, sorry,” he counters, jerking his hand back like he’d just scorched it on a pile of smoldering coals.
“You're good,” I assure him. “It doesn’t hurt anymore, it’s just…something I can’t seem to shake.”
Harlen clasps onto the steering wheel, his knuckles blanching around the broken leather. He turns toward me, resting the square of his chin on his bicep. “What did it feel like…” he pauses, testing the waters before deciding to dive right in. “When you were shot?”
I drop my chin to my chest, picking at a sharp nail on my pointer finger.
“Honestly, first, all I felt was terror…” I look up, meeting the sharp blue of Harlen’s irises.
“The pain came later.” A tear rolls down my cheek and I look away.
“Jade was so brave, Harlen. She was so fucking brave,” I whimper.
Harlen dips his chin, snorting back his emotions. “So were you, Laik,” he breathes.
I lean forward and rest my elbows on my knees, placing my palms to my eyes and wiping away my tepid tears, feeling an immense amount of relief for choosing to bypass any kind of makeup today.
I turn to Harlen and manage a short breath, resting my cheek on my closed fists.
“Thanks for not leaving me.” I smile sadly.
Harlen nods but I can see him sucking on his teeth, biting back the words at his tongue, shifting his gaze.
“You can say it,” I tell him.
Harlen drags his hands back through his curls, picks at a loose thread at the bottom of his shirt, fidgeting with almost anything in sight.
“Please,” I beg, and Harlen coughs, glancing out the side window, toward Chase’s red truck.
When he drops his gaze to the footwell, he speaks, “I know you probably don’t want to hear this, Laik, but Chase did what he could in that moment, his best, you know. It was better for everyone that way.”
“How can you say that when you aren’t the one that…”
Harlen clears his throat, and I stop talking, just as he begins, “I’m not saying any of it was fair. I’m just saying he did his best, don’t castrate him over it.”
I sink my teeth into my bottom lip, tearing my eyes away, feeling his words burn through me.
“I really hate you for saying that.”
Harlen bypasses my truth, not acknowledging what I had just said because he knows damn well that I could never hate him. “How much does he mean to you, Laik? And don’t dick me around, tell me the truth.”
I don’t reply, instead biting into my lip until I’m sipping on blood.
Harlen turns in his seat, raising his light brows in question. “You love him, don’t you? Always have,” he speaks his words like a statement, and I hate him so much for that. Only, what I hate most is that he sees through me, right into the center of my tarnished core.
I stay quiet until he speaks again.
“Think about why he was at that diner, why he was there the minute that guy blew his head off.” Harlen pauses and sucks back a breath and I’m unsure he’s going to speak again, until he does, “Just because you couldn’t see him, doesn’t mean he wasn’t watching.”
“What are you trying to say?” I ask in denial, choking back tears.
Harlen shrugs. “Why don’t you ask him yourself?”
I let out a humorless laugh, brushing away the solo tear that drips off my chin. “No way.”
“Suit yourself, then.” Harlen kicks the engine, shifting the stick into reverse at the same time my hand wraps around his, squeezing tightly.
He pauses and waits for me to speak.
My voice trembles. “Can you walk me over?”