35. Hades
Hades
I watch her leave.
Every instinct I have screams at me to follow. To stop her. To explain. To somehow fix this.
Presley disappears through the doors of Greycourt, and I take one step forward before her words slam into me.
Don't follow me.
I stop.
Fuck.
People move around me, laughing as they make their way toward the entrance. Music drifts through the open doors.
I don't hear any of it.
All I hear is her voice. The way it cracked. The disbelief. The hurt.
Who was wearing the mask the first time I saw him?
Me.
It was always me.
I should have told her sooner. I know that.
But every day she gave me something else I wasn't willing to lose.
Her smile.
Her trust.
Her number.
Her laughter.
Her body.
And like the selfish bastard I am, I took every piece she offered while stealing the ones she didn't know she was giving me.
Because I wanted too much.
I wanted to be the man who frightened her. And the man she ran to when she was afraid.
I wanted her looking through the window for the mask. Then looking at her phone, hoping for a text from Hades.
I wanted all of it.
All of her.
And this morning, standing in the woods with Presley wearing my sweatshirt and looking at me like I was someone she trusted, I finally understood that having her wasn't enough.
I wanted her to know me.
Every version. Every fucked-up piece.
I just thought I had more time.
A black SUV pulls away from Greycourt. I catch sight of Presley in the passenger seat.
My entire body tightens.
Go.
My truck is less than fifty yards away.
I could catch them before they reach town.
I could be waiting when she gets home.
I know every turn between here and her house. I know the shortcuts. I know which roads are faster after dark.
I know exactly what she’ll do when she gets inside.
She'll lock the door. Check the windows. Find Penny. Probably make coffee she won't drink.
She'll—
Fuck. I know too much.
That's the fucking problem.
The SUV's taillights disappear down the long drive.
I stay where I am.
For once, I let Presley leave.
“Fuck.” Wilder's voice comes from behind me.
I don't turn around.
He stops beside me.
For several seconds, neither of us speaks.
Then he says, “I fucked up.”
I stare after the disappearing taillights. “Yeah. But it was my fucking fault.”
He doesn’t say anything for a beat.
Then he says, “I'm sorry.”
“I know.”
Wilder goes quiet again.
After a few more minutes pass, he asks, “Are you going after her?”
Every part of me wants to.
“No.”
He looks at me.
“She told me not to.”
Silence.
I can feel him staring at me.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Don't.”
“I didn't say anything,” he says.
“You're thinking loudly.”
Usually he'd have some smart-ass response. This time, he doesn't.
Instead, he shoves his hands in his pockets. “She knows?”
“Yeah.”
“Everything?”
My jaw tightens. “No.”
Wilder swears quietly. He knows what everything means.
Presley knows about the mask.
She knows I watched her. That I chased her. Touched her. Stood beside her and pretended the man stalking her was someone else.
She doesn't know about the house we left behind.
Our stepfather.
The basement.
The blood.
The body.
She doesn't know the worst thing I've ever done.
And somehow, for the first time in my life, killing that bastard isn't the thing that makes me feel like a monster.
It's the look on Presley's face.
“You should've told her,” Wilder says quietly.
My head turns.
He doesn't flinch.
“I know.”
“I told you this was going to blow up.”
“I know.”
“You made me wear the fucking mask twice.”
My hands curl into fists. “I fucking know!”
His expression changes. Some of the anger leaves it.
“Hades.”
I stand there, trying to regain my composure.
“What?”
“You agreeing with me is freaking me the fuck out.”
A laugh almost escapes me. Almost.
It dies somewhere in my chest.
Wilder looks toward the driveway. “She really told you not to follow her?”
“Yeah.”
“And you're not going to?”
I turn my head slowly. “Why the fuck do you think I'm still standing here?”
Wilder studies me for a second. “Fuck.”
“What?”
“You really do love her.”
I don’t say anything.
Then, because he’s Wilder, he tries to make a joke. “You look like you’re about five seconds away from murdering everyone at a Halloween party.”
“Then stop talking.”
For once, he listens.
I look toward the empty driveway again, wishing I could change things.
I even debate going after her. Parking far enough away that she wouldn't know. Walking the trail. Staying beyond the trees. Making sure she's safe. She'd never have to see me.
My body is already turning toward the parking lot before I stop myself.
Her words echo inside my head again. Don't follow me.
I close my eyes. Fuck.
Then I open them.
She didn't say don't call or text me. Or never come near me again.
My mind immediately reaches for the loophole. Because that's what I do. Find the opening. Take the access. Convince myself it isn't really crossing the line if I only step over it a little.
No. Not this time.
Presley told me what she wanted.
For once, I'm going to fucking listen.
Even if it kills me.
I start toward the parking lot.
Wilder falls in step beside me. “What are you going to do?”
“I don't know.”
That stops him.
I make it several steps before realizing he's no longer beside me.
I turn around. He's staring at me.
“What?”
“You don't know?”
“No.”
“Hades, you've had a plan for everything since we were kids.”
“Congratulations. You've discovered the exception.”
I turn around and stride away.
He catches up. “What if she doesn't want to see you again?”
I stop. The question lands somewhere I don't have armor.
Impossible. She's mine.
The thought comes as naturally as breathing.
Presley is mine.
Except tonight she looked at me like I was a stranger.
Worse, like she wished I were.
I force myself to say the words. “Then she doesn't.”
Wilder stares at me.
My chest feels like someone is slowly carving it open.
“She gets to decide.”
Jesus fucking Christ.
I hate every word coming out of my mouth.
But they're true.
I can chase her through the woods when she asks me to.
I can scare her when she wants to be scared.
I can pin her against a tree when she tells me she wants me to catch her.
But I can't make her trust me again.
I can't make her forgive me.
And I sure as fuck can't make her love me. Not after I made sure she didn't know who she was falling in love with.
I reach my truck. My hand closes around the handle.
Wilder stops on the other side. “For what it's worth, I think she'll talk to you.”
I look across the roof at him. “You don't know that.”
“No.” He hesitates. “But I saw the way she looked at you before everything went to shit.”
So did I.
That's the fucking problem.
She looked at me like I was someone worth loving.
And I let myself believe I could keep her.
I open the door.
Wilder doesn't move.
“What?”
“I'm coming with you.”
“Why?”
“Because you look fucking unhinged.”
“I always look unhinged.”
“More than usual.” He looks at the party. “Besides, I came with a woman, and she's too young and clingy.”
I stare at him. “You didn’t know that before you got in her car?”
He shrugs. “I was willing to overlook it when I needed a ride.”
“Get in.”
He does.
I slide behind the wheel and start the engine. For several seconds, I just sit there.
I could turn right when we leave Greycourt, which takes me toward Presley. Left takes me toward the cabin.
Wilder doesn't say anything.
I put my truck in gear and navigate the long driveway.
At the end of it, I stop.
My hands tighten around the steering wheel.
My turn signal clicks. Wilder glances at it.
Neither of us speaks.
I swear and flip the signal the other direction.
Then I turn left, away from Presley.
Every mile toward our shitty cabin feels wrong. Every instinct tells me I'm going the wrong fucking way.
My chest tightens until it fucking hurts.
I spent weeks convincing Presley that she was safe with me. Tonight, I finally understand what that was supposed to mean.
It’s letting her decide who gets access to her.
Even when she doesn't choose me.
I grip the steering wheel and drive home.
Without her.