Chapter 37
Skyla
The party has reached that level of chaos where you start wondering if Ellis’ parents are going to come home to find their house burned down or converted into a crime scene.
Bodies press against me from every direction as I push through the dimly lit rooms, the air thick enough to chew on a cocktail of ethanol, weed, and enough testosterone-fueled cologne to choke a horse.
The bass thumps so hard through the sound system that my ribs vibrate with each beat, and conversations have devolved into shouting matches just to be heard over the musical assault.
My chest feels like it’s wrapped in barbed wire as I weave between clusters of drunk teenagers, scanning faces for any sign of Gage. Every face that isn’t his sends the panic climbing higher, threatening to choke me.
The air is toxic, so I try not to inhale too deeply—the combination of marijuana and whatever Ellis is serving from those plastic trash cans he calls punch bowls could knock out a linebacker, and I need to be fully present for this moment.
My heart races just thinking about a reunion with Gage. How I miss his arms around me, his desperately tender kisses, and the way he looks at me as if I’m the only girl on the planet—the only girl he would ever want on the planet.
Candace Messenger has never been a fan of Gage Oliver. In fact, if anything, she has a sharp aversion to him. And now that I know Demetri’s proximity to Gage, I can understand why.
Candace and Demetri have had a complicated romantic history, to say the least. Come to think of it, so has my mother—Lizbeth Landon. I’m sensing a running theme here, which is not surprising. Demetri’s toxicity is off the charts. And apparently, so is Candace Messenger’s.
And after having a second to think on it, I’m pretty sure the child my mother—Crazy Candy—is trying to erase from existence is one of the triplets, one of the boys, to be exact.
They have enough of my Celestra genes to be powerful, and enough of Demetri’s wicked seed in them to be twice as diabolical.
Not that they’re wicked—they’re anything but.
But then again, it could be Eden or Jaxson who turns, for all I know.
Regardless of which child she’s pinpointed for eternal extinction, there’s no way in heaven or hell I’m letting her touch any one of my kids.
And for that reason, I’m going to track down Gage Oliver tonight and make him fall in love with me all over again.
I’m going to pledge my allegiance, offer up my body, do whatever it takes.
Gage and I are getting back on track tonight, no matter what timeline I’m from, and no matter who else I might be married to at the moment. I’ve never been so determined to right a wrong in all my life.
“Excuse me,” I mutter, squeezing past a couple making out against the wall with enough enthusiasm to qualify as a public health hazard.
It’s honestly shocking that the cops haven’t been called by now.
Usually, by this point in any of Ellis Harrison’s parties, Paragon’s finest show up to break things up and send everyone scurrying like roaches when the lights come on.
Maybe the authorities are busy with actual crimes tonight, or maybe they’ve just given up trying to control the inevitable teenage disaster that happens every Friday night.
I check the kitchen, where someone has turned beer pong into what appears to be a full-contact sport.
No sign of Gage.
My breathing gets shallower as I push through to the living room, where the coffee table has been turned into an impromptu dance floor and at least six people are conducting a very thorough striptease.
Still no Gage.
The panic claws at my ribs now, making it hard to think straight.
What if he’s already left? What if he’s so disgusted with me that he’s gone home to write angry poetry about betrayal and the futility of love?
What if I’ve lost him forever because I was stupid enough to kiss Marshall for a vision that might not even help us?
Scratch that. Marshall’s vision gave me perfect clarity.
And as angry and hurt as Gage might have been to witness it, that portal to the future is what will ultimately reunite us and save our family.
I’m about to bolt for the Oliver house when I spot Emily and Kate huddled together near the sliding glass door, their heads bent in that gossipy way that usually means someone is about to get their reputation obliterated—usually me.
“Em! Kate!” I call out, practically sprinting toward them through a group of guys arguing about whether Die Hard is a Christmas movie.
According to both Logan and Gage, it so is.
Both girls look up as I approach, and something passes between them—a look that makes my insides do a revolution.
“Have you seen Gage?” The words tumble out of me in a rush, and I can feel the desperation written all over my face.
Emily’s lips curve into a malevolent smile, and she exchanges another loaded glance with Kate before looking my way.
“Where is he?” I grab Emily’s shoulders, my fingers digging into her jacket as I give her a shake. “Emily, where is Gage?”
She gives me one swift push, effectively removing me from her person as her expression shifts from smug to annoyed. “He’s busy with Chloe, doing things that definitely don’t require your participation.”
“What?” I riot as her words hit me like a sledgehammer to the heart. My mouth falls open, and suddenly there’s not enough air to fill my lungs as I stagger.
Kate’s laughter spills out, sharp and unhinged. “But knowing kinky Chloe, she might extend an invite for you to watch.”
“Yeah, right,” Emily adds, clearly savoring my pain. “Chloe Bishop would never share Gage with you. She wants him all to herself, and honestly? I don’t blame her.”
My vision blurs, and my entire body turns into one erratic heartbeat as panic and rage flood me at once.
This can’t be happening. Not now, not when everything depends on me fixing things with Gage—when I want Gage more than I want my next breath. It’s felt horrible to push him away the entire time I’ve been here. Sending him into the friend zone was about as natural as breathing underwater.
“Where are they?” The words come out strangled, barely audible over the party noise.
Both Em and Kate clam up, their expressions shifting to something that looks almost like fear as they take in my feral appearance.
“WHERE ARE THEY?” I roar, loud enough that several nearby conversations stop mid-sentence, and my voice cracks with desperation.
Kate takes a step back as if I might jump to the juicy part and decapitate her right here and now—on purpose. “Okay, geez, relax. They went upstairs.”
“Upstairs.” The word comes out lower than a whisper as the full scope of my new nightmare settles in.
Upstairs in a palatial estate like this means about fifty-two different possibilities, give or take a room, and however many wings Ellis’ family is holding hostage.
Bedrooms, bathrooms, walk-in closets the size of most people’s apartments—any one of which could be hosting the destruction of my future.
I turn and sprint toward the marble staircase, my heels clicking against the stone like a countdown timer as my heart hammers its way into my throat.
The upstairs hallway stretches out before me like a nightmare straight from the Tenebrous Woods, doors lining both sides all the way down until they disappear into shadows.
Time to go on a seek-and-destroy mission—heavy on the destroy. And that decapitation is still firmly on the table. Although this time, the lucky recipient just might be Chloe Bishop.
I start with the first door on the left, pushing it open without bothering to knock.
A couple I vaguely recognize from chemistry spring apart from where they’ve been engaged in what can only be described as horizontal gymnastics, the girl clutching a sheet to her chest while the guy scrambles for his pants.
“Sorry!” I slam the door shut and move to the next one, my pulse racing faster with each second that passes.
Door number two reveals a different couple, this one in the process of recreating what appears to be a scene from a very inappropriate nature documentary. I close that door even faster, and my hands are shaking now.
That’s two for two. It’s clear the people in these rooms aren’t locked in a riveting game of Jenga—although there is plenty of stacking and unstacking going on.
Door number three exposes a girl from the volleyball team making out with one of the football players with an enthusiasm that suggests they’ve been waiting for this opportunity all semester. Good for them, but not what I’m looking for.
My breathing grows ragged as I reach for each new doorknob.
What if I’m too late?
What if Chloe has already—
Door number four—empty, thank goodness. I’ve never been more thrilled to see an overpriced, unused mattress in all my life.
Behind door number five, I find a guy I don’t recognize doing something with his phone that I really don’t want to think about too hard.
This is like the world’s most traumatizing version of hide-and-seek, and by the looks of it, I’m losing.
Door number six reveals another couple engaged in activities that would make their parents call for the Harrisons’ arrest.
Door number seven—jackpot.
“Oh.” A small moan comes from me as an instant rage slaps my entire body, and all I see is an impending murder about to take place.
Gage sits on the edge of a massive four-poster bed with Chloe on top, covering him like a blanket.
Her hands are tangled in his hair as she kisses him with the kind of aggressive passion that looks more like a territorial claim than anything romantic.
She reaches down and begins to peel off her top, the fabric bunching around her shoulders as she pushes him back toward the mattress.
My heart stops beating. Not a breath enters my lungs. Rage floods my system so completely that for a moment I can’t see anything except the image burned into my retinas. Chloe Bishop, in all her manipulative glory, is seducing my future husband right out from under me.
I quickly scan the room for a weapon and land on a crystal vase sitting on the dresser next to me.
It’s expensive looking, heavy enough to do some serious cranial damage, and positioned perfectly for me to grab.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I snatch the vase and take a step forward, my arm already drawing back to bring it crashing down on Chloe’s thick skull.
I’ve only got one thing on my mind, and that’s murder.
But just as I’m about to commit what would definitely qualify as assault with a deadly weapon, someone grabs the vase from behind, with enough force to stop me mid-swing.
“Don’t you dare stoop to her level.”
The voice is familiar, and warm, and completely unexpected. I whirl around, my heart thumping wildly as I take in the face of the person who dared to rescue Chloe, and I gasp at the sight.
Sometimes, the person who saves you from making the biggest mistake of your life is the last person you’d expect to see.