Chapter 8 #2
I place my palm to cradle the back of her skull and walk into her bedroom, which is only lit by the blossom night-light in the corner and the moonlight outside her window. She likes to sleep with the curtains open at night, thinking it helps keep the monsters and nightmares away.
“Not if you don’t want her to be like a mom,” I respond, leaning over the bed with her in my arms. “She’ll probably be more like a best friend.”
She lets go, plopping onto the mattress, and wriggles her tiny body under the purple covers. “Sam at school is already my best friend.”
Lowering myself to the edge, I sit there and scan the expression on her face, noticing the faint indent in her right cheek from her pillow. She must have fallen asleep for a few hours and woken up.
I shrug. “Nothing wrong with having a few best friends.”
Her lips twist to the side thoughtfully while she picks at some threads on her comforter.
“You wanted me to say yes, didn’t you?” Her eyes flit up to mine, her irises looking like blue crystal balls in the darkness. “You wanted me to say she’ll be like a mommy.”
Her nose wiggles. “Sam said her mommy and daddy took her to get a new backpack and new crayons. She has a mommy and a daddy, and I don’t have one.”
I bit my tongue, trying to ignore the sting in my eyes at her sad words. Fuck the world for making my baby sister go through this. She doesn’t deserve any of it.
My voice comes out hoarse. “You still have a daddy.”
She looks back at her fingers, fiddling with the thread. “Colt said Daddy isn’t coming home.”
Goddammit, Colt.
I understand we don’t want to get Elena’s and Tristan’s hopes up that he’s coming home anytime soon, but cut the kids some slack. They’re too young to know how brutal and unforgiving this world can be.
Out of all of us, Colt took Dad’s arrest the hardest. Jane may have vanished five years ago, but my father did not kill her, despite what my mom’s family thinks. He couldn’t have.
Colt feels differently. He’s holding on to something that has turned him inside out from the brother he once was.
At first, I registered it as depression from her disappearance.
Then, our father’s murder trial eight months later, where he was found guilty, added to whatever misery was coursing through him.
But all these years, it hasn’t been depression. It’s been anger.
Anger toward what? I’m not sure.
“I’m sure Miss Taryn would be happy to take you back-to-school shopping.”
Her features light up as much as possible for two in the morning. “Promise?” She holds out her pinkie finger, which has a light coating of pink nail polish that Jessica gave her.
My pinkie swallows hers. “I promise.” She nods drowsily and pulls the covers up to her neck. She’s tired. I lean over her blanketed body, pressing my lips to her forehead. “Sweet dreams, Elena. I love you.”
I stand up, examining her light blue pastel walls with purple and pink stripes that my brothers and I painted last week.
She wanted a change since she saw we were painting Taryn’s room.
Like always, we were drowning in work from the orchard, but we carved out some time since she persistently begged.
She said it needed to be all her favorite colors.
I smile to myself. I don’t think she’ll ever have a favorite.
Sneaking out, I quietly shut the door behind me and stroll down the hall, passing Tristan’s and Jess’s rooms. I jog up the stairs past Brennan’s bedroom and stalk toward the door at the end of the hallway with stairs beyond that lead up to the tower.
It used to be the attic until it was refinished for Taryn.
My room is the master bedroom on the first floor because I have windows that look out onto the driveway. And, of course, Colt has his cabin, which Mom and Dad had specially built for him before everything went to shit.
I reach for the door, surprised to find it unlocked.
I don’t expect her to wake up anytime soon, but I figured Bren would lock it behind him as a precaution.
We don’t want to risk her running away when she has the chance, though Bren and I would find immense pleasure in the chase.
She can try, but she’ll have a hell of a time escaping us.
We have her right where we want her to be, and we’ve done everything possible to ensure it stays that way.
I reach the top of the stairs and see Brennan with her phone.
Taryn is tucked under the covers, her dark, mid-length hair draped over the pillow as he types away on the screen beside her.
He must have taken her hair tie out. That thought is validated when I catch the black band on his wrist as he engrosses himself in his task.
I walk over to the side of the bed, peering down at her, my fingertips tingling.
But I can’t touch her.
Not yet.
“There.” Bren stands up and places her phone in his pocket. “If she finds her phone in the house, we can track her from it. And I changed the passcode, so she won’t be able to unlock it if she does.”
Brennan leans over, reaches for the black box on the nightstand, and holds it out for me. Knowing what’s underneath the lid sends a hurricane of unease rolling through my chest, causing acid to burn the inside of my throat.
This is so fucking wrong in so many ways, but we can’t afford to screw up and take risks.
Not with her.
Opening the lid, I take out the alcohol wipe and the white syringe. Come tomorrow morning, she’s going to be confused as hell and extremely pissed off. But I’m eagerly anticipating the look she’ll get when she realizes it’s Brennan and me.
Her phantoms.
I reach for her hand, stroking the skin on her knuckles with my thumb.
Welcome home.