Chapter 54 Dinner Plans #2
"So I started to come by, do little things for you.
Check on the place, Scout, just make sure everything was good.
But you just kept getting further and further away from me.
I really thought it was just a matter of time, you know?
I tried so hard to be patient," he says, almost to himself.
"When you two started spending all that time together, I told myself it was nothing, just friends.
But then you told me you were together. That kiss at the game…
" He shakes his head, jaw flexing. "Everyone was talking about it.
So I made sure they kept talking. Added a few details here and there, made it sound bad, then worse. "
My stomach turns. The whispers. The looks. It was him.
"And it worked for a while, right? You broke up. I thought--finally. Finally she sees it." His eyes find mine, raw and desperate. "But then you got back together. After everything, you just…you just went right back to him."
He picks up his fork, pushes his food around the plate.
"And then you came to The Horseshoe together. I had to watch him touch you, watch the two of you come out of that bathroom together, and I knew. I knew exactly what happened, and I knew exactly what to do with it."
The library rumor? He couldn't have. He wouldn't.
"Tell me…" My words are strangled. "Please, tell me you didn't start the rumor about the library."
"I didn't have to make anything up," he says calmly. "I just told people what I saw and let them fill in the blanks. People love to fill in the blanks."
I'm going to be sick.
"And then I made sure the rumor buzzed around the stands, told Wade and his buddies every nasty detail. I knew he'd run his mouth--he always does." Carlin shrugs. "Didn't think coach would actually hit him, but hey. Worked out even better. He showed the whole town who he really is."
"My father had a heart attack," I whisper.
"I know." He shakes his head like it's a shame. "But that's on coach, not me."
"And then I left," I say slowly, piecing it together. "You thought we broke up."
He brightens. "Finally, right? I've been texting you all week, checking in. Waiting for you to tell me it was over." The light in him fades until he's nothing but darkness. "But you never did. So I knew it was time. I had to do something bigger."
The supportive texts. Hope you're okay. Thinking of you. Here if you need anything. He wasn't being a good friend, he was fishing for information.
"I had to show you," he continues, gesturing around the kitchen. "I had to make you see what we could have. What we're supposed to have. So I came here, made your favorite dinner, set everything up perfect." He smiles at me, soft and off. "And now you're home. We can finally talk about us."
I stare at him, realizing just how wrong this is, how wrong he is. He's not joking. He's not confused. He's sick. And he has me restrained for what will be hours at least before Grey gets here. I don't know what he'll do, how to manage him.
My phone buzzes again. I hope to god it's Grey, that he knows, that he sends someone, that he flies here as fast as he can.
That no one gets hurt.
Anger washes out into something else, some twisted up version of fear and helplessness. Tears prick my eyes. When Carlin looks up at me and sees them, he softens.
"Don't cry." He cups my cheek, thumbs it, my skin crawling under his touch. "It's going to be good. You'll see. Here, try some food."
He spears some chicken, twisting the fork to wrap pasta around it, then brings it to my lips. I pull back a little, and he frowns.
"I know you're hungry," he urges.
"I don't feel well."
He seems to accept this and puts the loaded fork back on my plate before turning to his. His face lights with nostalgia when he says, "Remember when we rode the Ferris wheel together?"
I nod, my heart thumping.
"It was the night of the fire muster, and me, Tate, and Grey all wanted to ride with you, but you chose me."
I didn't even know the other guys were interested, never mind angling to ride with me. And I certainly didn't choose him. I don't say anything, no idea how to handle this. Do I fight him? Try and break the delusion? Or do I play along? See if I can draw him into feeling safe enough to let me go?
I don't know. The latter feels safer.
"And every book we exchanged," he continues, "they all meant something. Every book you gave me was just another story like ours. About falling in love. The way you looked at me when we talked about them…you felt it too. I know you did."
"You've been a good friend to me," I say carefully.
"Sure, it started off that way--"
"You're one of my best friends," I tell him, the pain real because it was true.
"It's the best way to start a relationship. I understand you in a way he never could. Books, ideas, real connection. What does he know about Murakami or manga? He's not like us. He's not like me."
"I know." I swallow, working my wrists against the ties. The rungs in back are a little loose, and I wonder if I can't find my way out of this chair. Patience. "How did you know Grey wasn't here? Or that I was coming home?"
He sets down his fork, chewing with a proud look on his face. He shifts to pull his phone out of his pocket, opening it up to an app with three little dots on it. Two are here. One is on the highway between here and Louisville.
"I tagged your purse, your car, his truck." He sees the shock and horror on my face and says, "I missed you, Molly. I had to get you back, so I had to come up with a plan. If I know where you are, I can make sure you're okay."
"And what happens when Grey gets home?"
He smiles and picks up his fork again. "Don't worry about coach. I have a plan for that too."
Everything in me stills. "Plan?"
"It doesn't matter, Molls. You'll see by then what I already know--you love me just as much as I love you. And then we can finally be together."
He happily takes a bite of his supper.
Fear cuts through me in a cold, painful rush.
My two meager options for escape are problematic.
If I break his delusion, I have no idea what he'll do.
Something in him has cracked--I can see it now, that hard glint I noted when I first walked in.
I think back through our conversations, all the times something felt a little off, but I couldn't name it, thought I imagined it.
The way he lingered a little too long, the questions about Grey, showing up exactly when I needed someone.
I thought it was friendship. I thought it was kindness.
I had no idea what it truly was. And now, I have to find my way out.
If I play along, he'll let me go, once. I don't know if I can outrun him. And if I can't, he's going to tie me back up and this time, he won't let me go. He'll probably take me somewhere else. And if he does, no one will be able to find me.
A third option arises--bide my time, keep us here, and pray Grey gets here in time. In time for what, I don't know. But I feel the clock ticking like a physical thing, driving me into the ground with every second.
I take a deep breath, wondering how long I can drag this out before I lose him. But I can't think about that, not now.
"I'm sorry, Carlin. I…I didn't know you felt this way. When did you realize…all this?"
He lights up like he's been dying to talk about it, launching into the story with every little detail.
My phone buzzes again in my purse.
And I pray.