Chapter 28
April
Six Days Until The Wedding
“Stop it!” I kick in Trip’s direction. “We need to focus.”
He sticks his tongue out at me and hovers just above where my foot lands.
“Not fair. No floating.” I chuckle, batting at him the way a kitten would a string toy.
Each day that passes without a lead on where the queen of diamonds is feels like falling farther into a pothole, with no safety rope to grab onto.
Trip and I have used our combined knowledge of the Coldwells and Carmichaels to come up with a list of possible locations.
Giant red circles and words crossed out in Sharpie litter my legal pad like I’m some kind of criminal mastermind.
Trip continues following Sabrina but hasn’t discovered anything worthwhile.
And then there’s the worry I can’t bring myself to voice.
If his grandfather searched for years for an answer, what makes us think we’ll find one in a few days?
Of course, there’s one path I haven’t tried.
Call her, Trip says each day, his voice gentle.
And yet, I hesitate, not knowing the source of the invisible force stilling my hand over my phone.
Maybe I don’t want to bring her deeper into this curse business with the Coldwells.
Maybe it’s her words as she started to compare me to my mother.
Or perhaps I fear she’ll confirm what Trip’s grandfather said is true—my friendship with Carter is a lie.
Whichever reason, they all turn my chest to ice when I go to pick up the phone.
Still, I can’t deny that time is running out.
My fear comes with a price and each day I avoid her, I risk a chance at saving Trip’s life.
Tomorrow. Tomorrow I’ll call.
Trip moves right through my hands to nuzzle his nose at my neck. I twist and turn at the ticklish vibration it sends down my spine, burrowing into my couch cushions, aware that I probably look like a fool wrestling with her throw pillows.
It’s cozy, having him here at the apartment.
The space has never felt so vibrant, so—ironically—alive.
I haven’t needed to use the summoning stone.
Since the run-in with his grandfather, he’s been at my side as often as he can be—that is, whenever I’m alone.
John Coldwell’s words still nibble at the back of my mind like suckerfish, but Trip doesn’t provide me much solitary time to dwell on them. Maybe it’s intentional.
“This is hardly a time for games.” I smack at the air in front of my face. “We have one week to find the queen—”
A sharp knock at my front door freezes my mouth along with the rest of my body.
Who? I literally never have visitors. At least, not unexpected ones. Yesenia had her tutoring session yesterday, Sabrina’s entertaining relatives, Zuri’s upstate at her uncle’s, and—
“Libby.” Carter’s voice is muffled through the metal apartment door.
Oh shit.
Trip meets my eyes for a moment, then vanishes.
I straighten the throw pillows and run my hands through my hair.
My fingers snag on knots I have no chance of fixing before I make it to the door.
I rub under my eyes in hopes of taking off any makeup remnants, not bothering with the full-length mirror on the other side of the room. There’s no telling what I look like.
Unlatching the bolt, I throw open the door. Any concerns about my appearance immediately fly out the window.
Carter’s scruff is the longest I’ve ever seen it. Is it possible he hasn’t had any kind of formal wedding event in five days? Purple half-moons cradle his eyes. Is it possible he hasn’t slept in five days?
My heart lurches to see him this way. John Coldwell’s words scramble to the surface, but I push them away. My friend needs me.
“Carter—hey. Come in.”
He steps through the doorway and pecks me on the cheek. Shrugging off his trench coat, he drapes it on one of the hooks by my door.
He glances around the room. “Were you talking to someone?”
“Oh. That was the TV.” I lamely wave my hand toward the console.
Folding my arms across my body as though they’ll protect me, I wait for him to drop whatever bomb is the cause of his dishevelment. To reveal there’s been a death. Oh god—Trip. No, he was just right here.
A tingle travels up my spine. He’s still here, then. Nosy bastard.
“Wanna sit?” I motion to the couch, where only moments ago Trip and I were having a wrestling match.
I’m so damn awkward, stilted. I don’t know if I should reach out and put a hand on his shoulder or not. In our years of friendship, how many times have I been put in a position where I needed to comfort Carter? This shouldn’t feel so foreign.
Thankfully, Carter seems too engrossed in his own sorrow to notice my inability to act like a functioning human.
He takes a seat on the sofa and wraps his arms around an orange fuzzy throw pillow.
My heart softens at the ridiculous image of this grown man taking up two thirds of my love seat and clutching something that looks like the Lorax.
I sit down in the space left next to him. The cushions sink in the middle and tilt our bodies closer to one another. I guess this is the difference in sitting next to another living person on this couch.
I place a hand on Carter’s knee, his khaki pants still pristinely pleated. “What is it, Carter?”
He looks up at me through the golden ends of his eyelashes. “I don’t want to do this.”
My stomach bottoms out and I twist my knuckles around each other until they turn white. Does he mean—? No, I won’t rush to assumptions. As a friend, I owe it to him to get to the heart of what this is really about.
“Do what?” I whisper.
He picks at a piece of fuzz on the pillow but doesn’t meet my eye. “The wedding.”
My heart flutters and my brain grasps for the right words in this scenario. “Sabrina—did something happen?”
Carter stands, running his hands through his hair. He lets out a sigh. “No.”
“Okay.” I force my voice to stay measured, to not rush to the thousands of questions fighting for control of my tongue. “Have you told her this?”
Another sigh, this time a bit more exasperated. “No.”
I squint my eyes shut. “I’m having trouble here, Carter. I’m going to need you to tell me a bit more. The wedding’s in one week—”
“I know that!” His voice is like a knife through the air. He presses his fingertips to his eye sockets. “I’m sorry. You’re the only person I’ve told.”
I exhale, puffing my cheeks. The silence is thick as taffy. “So, what made you realize this?”
Carter sticks his hands in his pockets and shuffles his feet against the rug.
“I don’t know. Sabs is great, don’t get me wrong.
But I woke up the other day and I think it’s like a light finally clicked on.
I started asking myself, when am I going to be the one who gets to call the shots?
When am I the Coldwell who gets to make the decisions? It feels like that time should be now.”
“And you don’t feel like this wedding was your decision?”
“It wasn’t.” He taps the toe of his loafer against the leg of the coffee table. “My instructions were pretty clear.” His hazel eyes meet mine.
This is it, Libby. Ask him.
“Like they were with me?” My voice detaches from the rest of my body; the words hang there, like a spider from a strand of silk.
The faintest lines crinkle Carter’s brow and his eyes narrow. “What?”
I swallow and steel myself. No turning back now. “When we met—that first day at St. Miriam’s. Was it because your grandfather asked you to befriend me?”
“Wha—how?” He shakes his head. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
I stand, facing him with my arms crossed. “Why did you seek me out, then?”
“Lib—”
“That first day. Why did you decide to sit next to the new girl on the front steps when you could’ve been in the cafeteria?”
“What do you want me to say, Libby? You seemed sad and”—he drags a palm down his face—“and my grandfather let me know you might be having a tough time given your background.”
“So you admit it.”
“What does it matter? Are you even listening to me? I’m calling off my wedding and you’re dredging up the past. We’re friends, Libby. Best friends. The details of how it happened hardly seem important right now, do they?”
“How can you even ask that?” My voice wobbles. “It matters because this friendship means everything to me. And it was all a lie.”
“It wasn’t.” Carter rolls his eyes and moves closer.
Only the coffee table separates us in the small living room space.
“Did you feed your grandfather information about me? All those years—were you sharing with him about Babcia, about my mom?”
“He was my grandfather, Libby. We talked about things. It’s not the nefarious situation you seem to be hinting at.”
“Did he ask you to keep seeing me? To keep being friends with me?”
“Maybe in the beginning, but God—Libby. It’s been fifteen years. And all of that changed when—” Carter runs a hand through his hair again.
It sticks up on end, the same way it did as a thirteen-year-old. Cynthia always made sure his uniform was perfectly pressed, but he never could manage to tame that hair.
Carter moves around the coffee table, closing the space between us. “This is why I’m here, Libby.” He grabs both my hands in his. “I think I might be in love with you.”
My mind is a black hole. No words—no feelings—rise to the surface. I wait for the joy, the peace, hell, even the anger to appear. But nothing.
Carter takes my silence as an opening. “You never ask anything of me, Libby.” A half smile creeps up his lips.
I imagine my face resembles something close to a goldfish’s.
“You’re the one person in my life who doesn’t.
You accept me exactly as I am, without question, and you’re always there when I need you.
” His palms are warm against mine. An overwhelming urge to slide my hands out of his grips me, but I don’t move.
“Maybe I’ve been too stupid to see it. That someone like you—someone who’ll let me live my life—is the kind of person I actually need. ”