Chapter 35
SAGE
Idon’t remember the drive back, dismissing the driver, or stumbling into my room. I must have stripped off my clothes, but not showered, because I still smell like him.
I’m sitting on the bathroom floor of my hotel suite, staring at myself in the full-length mirror.
The shower is running, but I can’t bring myself to stand under the water.
I can’t make myself move, because there’s a part of me buried deep that wonders if Nell’s not dead.
If Troy’s been looking for her all this time, and tonight he found her.
Then all I can think about is how much I wish he hadn’t. And what kind of sister does that make me?
A terrible one, Nell laughs.
A sob tears out of my throat. Her voice isn’t real.
It’s never been real. And I hate that I actually prefer the Nell in my head as a replacement for her.
And if that wasn’t my sister in that house, and she’s someone else.
The hug he gave her told me all I needed to know.
That while I was falling for him, letting him fuck me next to a corpse, he was waiting for someone else.
I should have known, it’s not me he wants.
It’s always been her.
Nell was the one they all always preferred; she was the brave one, the interesting one. The risk taker who did things I could only dream of.
And she found him first.
I couldn’t even leave the house, because that’s all I am and ever will be—good, boring, reliable Sage.
My chest twists, and another sob sticks in my throat. I really thought tonight would be different. The way he touched me, the words he’d whispered with a darkness that felt like he knew my soul. Because I have it too. That dark need.
Troy said I was his. But I see it now, it was all a lie. He was using me to find her and get to my father.
God. I’m so stupid.
The tears fall freely now. I don’t try to stop them. The sobs rack my body until I can’t take anymore, until I have to press my hand over my mouth to muffle the sounds.
Tomorrow is my wedding day. It’s supposed to be the happiest time of my life.
Yet I feel…
This is the worst. Everything feels exposed. My body feels bruised, raw, and cut open for the world to see. I have to hide, I have to…
Without thinking, I crawl to the bedroom to the bed, and then slide underneath it where it’s dark and safe.
When I was little, the world felt too big, too scary. I’d hide under my bed where no one could find me. Nell would slide under with me. She would hold my hand and tell me everything would be okay. When I lost her, I thought that safety was gone forever.
But now…
If she’s alive, she never came to find me. She left me to think she was dead while she ran away and hid.
And now she’s with Troy.
The snivels come harder, and I press my face into my arms to muffle them. Okay, that line of thinking doesn’t help. I need to stop, now, before I melt in a puddle of tears like the Wicked Witch of the East.
Opening up my phone, I message the group chat.
Sage:
Tell me something funny
Laine:
I’m a week late
Sage:
That’s not funny, but OMG, that’s huge! Are you preggers?
Laine:
I know, sorry! I haven’t tested yet. I’m a bit scared, to be honest.
Sage:
Well, do it when you’re with someone. Maybe go to Nola’s?
Nola:
No! Don't come to mine. I'm not there. Sorry.
Laine:
Why, what’s going on? You missed the group again. That's two weeks.
Nola:
Can't make it for a while. Something's come up.
Sage:
The ghost thing?
Nola:
Among other things.
Laine:
That sounds bad. Do you need us?
Nola:
What I need is for you both to forget you know me for a while, just until I sort this out.
Sage:
I’m sorry, but absolutely not
Laine:
Nope, not happening. Stronger Together, remember?
Nola:
He already knows about my mum. I'm not giving him you two.
Laine:
Wait, who is this ghost? Why don’t I know about this!
Nola:
Doesn't matter. I'm going underground. Should have done it years ago.
Sage:
Nola, no, don’t you dare disappear on us!
Nola:
I have to. Take care of each other. And Sage? Off your fiance or marry him, but make a damn decision. Laine take the damn test. Life's too short for this much drama.
I'll reach out when it's safe.
Laine:
I think she’s gone. I swear she’s going to be the death of us
Sage:
Laine can you come to the wedding tomorrow?
Laine:
I’ll be there with bells on
I don’t know how long I lie here…hours, maybe.
Until my crying dries up and I’m just an empty, hollow shell.
The numbness starts in my bones and then expands until I feel nothing.
It’s light outside when the hotel room door opens.
Birds are just beginning to sing as footsteps, quiet but deliberate, move through the suite.
I freeze as they come closer and pause beside the bed.
Silence, and then…
“Sage?” His voice is rough.
Troy.
He’s back. He came back to me.
Part of me wants to crawl out and confront him, demand answers about that woman, know once and for all if she’s Nell or not.
And if she is, why did he lie to me? And if she’s not, who is she?
But the rest of me (the coward part) wants to disappear.
I’d rather not exist than have to face the truth, because the truth is going to leave scars.
I hold my breath, praying that he won’t see me and go. Go anywhere but here. But then I hear him sigh, and sense the bedding that’s draped to keep me safe, lift as he crouches down. I squeeze my eyes shut, forcing my breathing to even out, pretending to be asleep…playing dead, ironically.
But that doesn’t scare him off.
“Sage.” His voice is softer than I’ve ever heard it. “What are you doing under here?”
I don’t respond or move. I couldn’t answer him anyway. How do you explain a childhood habit you thought you’d outgrown? The need to hide when the world gets too big? I feel him staring at my back, taking me in, the base of my neck starting to prickle.
And then—impossibly because under the bed is very small—he maneuvers his larger frame into the cramped space with me, his body pressing against mine in the darkness.
Every muscle in my body wants to tense, to pull away.
But I make myself stay limp, feigning sleep.
Even when his arm comes around, pulling me against his chest. And the scent of him after a shower, all woodsy and clean storm, wraps around me like a safety blanket.
“I know you’re not really asleep,” he whispers. “But it’s okay. You don’t have to talk to me.”
I keep my eyes closed and my breathing steady. But my heart is racing so hard, I’m sure he can feel it against his chest. Even though I want to scream at him, demand to know why he’s here when he clearly wants to be with her.
He pulls me to him and presses his lips to my damp cheeks. Then his voice cracks.
“God, Sage, I’m so sorry. I should never have done that to you…dragged you down into that fucked up horror show. I never should have done what I did to you. You deserve better than that.”
He thinks I’m upset about the barbershop.
About the blood.
About Darrow.
But I can’t bring myself to say anything. All I can do is keep pretending to be dead to the world and just let him talk, because for once, I have no words.
“I’m a monster,” he continues, his voice raw. “And you’re…you’re too good for me. Too fucking good for a twisted bastard like me. But I can’t—“ His breath catches. “I can’t seem to let you go, even knowing I should. Even knowing you’d be better off without me.”
I can’t do this.
I should let him know I’m awake and ask him who she is.
At least, put him out of his misery, even if that means walking headlong into mine.
Because the sound of Troy breaking is tearing me apart.
His words don’t make sense. He’s apologising for nothing because I wanted what happened between us, I craved it, clawed at it, begged for every dark thrill he gave me.
I want him, and his monster.
“Troy.”
But he shushes me softly and strokes my hair in soft, soothing motions.
“Sleep,” he soothes. “Just sleep. Tomorrow, we’ll…” he trails off, breathing in the scent of my hair. “Forget about what I just said. Right now, sleep. I’ve got you.”
Despite everything, seeing him with her, and wondering even now if he’d rather be with her, the pain of it crushing my chest, his warmth seeps into me. It thaws the ice that’s been crystallizing in my heart since I saw him with that woman.
And I’m so tired, so desperately, bone-deep tired that I can’t fight anymore. His heartbeat is steady against my spine. His presence in this cramped, dark space makes me feel less alone.
Even if it’s a lie.
Even if tomorrow I find out who she is and I lose him.
For now, I can just let myself pretend.
Gradually, my breathing slows for real. The exhaustion of all of it crashes over me at once like a tidal wave. I must let out a whimper because he suddenly whispers against my hair:
“I’ve got you, Sage. Always.”
Liar, I think as I drift off.
But his arms feel so safe and so warm. For a split second, I wonder if this is a dream or if this is some crazy fantasy my mind has conjured up, but I’m too tired to question it anymore.
So I let sleep finally take me to the sound of birds chirping and light spilling around the edge of the hotel’s blackout blinds.
And I dream of my sister back from the dead to tell me she never really loved me at all.
I wake to pale morning light filtering around unfamiliar windows and an empty space beside me.
Troy is gone.
My hand slides across to where he slept spooning behind me, if he slept at all, but the rug is cold.
He’s been gone for hours. Last night comes flooding back in fragments that make my cheeks burn and my heart stutter to an almost stop.
Then I crawl from under the bed and get up, wincing.
My body aches in unfamiliar places, unwanted evidence of what we did, of how he made me feel.
What I let him make me feel.
I should be traumatized, but I’m not. I’m strangely calm. Troy came back, and it’s the only ray of hope I can cling to, but it’s enough to make me shower and dress so that when someone knocks to tell me that the helicopter is waiting to take me back to Grayfleet, I’m ready.
Kathy greets me at the front entrance of Grayfleet and follows me up to my room, carrying a tray. “Morning, dove. Thought you might be hungry.”
“Where’s Troy?”
“Not here yet. Elias said he had business to attend to before everything kicks off.” She sets the tray on the ottoman seat at the end of the bed. I take in the tea, toast, and scrambled eggs, but nausea rises when I think about eating. “Your wedding dress arrived. It’s in your dressing room.”
My wedding dress.
Right. Because today I’m supposed to marry Troy.
I have to stand in front of everyone and promise a fake forever to a man who kills people in dark alleyways, stuffs them in freezers, but makes my thighs burn and heart race with just one dark look—a man who held me last night and is gone today like a mirage.
What if last night was just a dream?
What if, when he touched me like I was his everything, and said I was his, it was all in my head?
I shove the intrusive thought away before panic can set in, and force myself to stop wringing my hands. “What time is the ceremony again?”
“Two o’clock. The car leaves at one-thirty for the church.” If Kathy has noticed my nerves, she says nothing, but her eyes are kind, making me feel even worse. “Plenty of time to get ready.”
After she leaves, I force myself to eat and go through the motions of preparing for a wedding I’m not sure will happen.
The fact that Troy left without a word and didn’t wake me has my self-confidence in tatters.
Thank god for wedding stylists because I can’t even hold a hairbrush, let alone swipe eyeliner with a steady hand.
I didn’t even want this wedding, and now I’m scared that it’s going to slip through my fingers like ash when this precarious reality I’ve created burns down around me.
The dressing room at Grayfleet is something out of a fairy tale, all mirrors and soft lighting designed to make you look perfect at every angle.
A team of stylists my mother arranged bustles in and out, but I’m glad for the company.
I really don’t want to be alone with my thoughts. Not today of all days.
The wedding dress hangs like a ghost against the far wall. It’s as I remember it, swathes of white silk and lace. A dress fit for a virgin, though I am no longer one.
Just like my father wanted.
My insides feel like a knife is ripping through them.
The stylists work for hours, pinning my hair up in a soft but elaborate style that frames my face with loose curls. Applying makeup that makes me look fresh and innocent with blush that blooms on my cheeks, and lipstick that gives me that just-been-kissed look.
“You’re very quiet,” says the lead stylist, Sam, I think her name is, applying another coat of mascara. “Wedding day nerves?”
I clench my fists lightly. “Something like that.”
“Come on, let’s get you into that beautiful dress.”
I suddenly remember. “Oh.”
“What is it?” asks Sam, unsure if she should continue. “Everything okay, love?”
“I was supposed to sew my name into the dress.”
“I’m sure you can do it after,” she assures me with a gentle smile.
“No, I have to do it …” I trail off. Before midnight. My mother told me explicitly not to forget, or it’ll bring bad luck to the bride and groom.
It’s too late now. Bad luck has already found me, so I let them button me into the gown.
“All done.” Sam steps back.
I barely recognize myself in the mirror. I look…not quite real, ethereal-like, pretty, of course, I’m in a wedding dress, but too much like the spirit of my dead sister. I close my eyes and try not to throw up into the wastebasket.
The wedding car arrives at the mainland dock at 1:30 pm. I’m surprised to see Pete driving, but happier for it. He gives me a respectful nod as Gwen helps me with my massive skirts and fusses with my shoes as I step out of the helicopter.
“You look very lovely, Miss Lovett,” Pete says as I’m carefully maneuvered into the back of the car like a giant, billowing marshmallow.
“Is everyone at the church?” I can’t help but ask.
The unspoken question hangs in the air: Is Troy at the church? But I can’t ask that. What kind of bride would I be if I asked where my groom was?
“Everyone’s waiting for you,” Pete replies, smiling warmly.
And that makes me feel slightly less anxious.