Chapter 37
Thirty-Seven
Norah and I are packing her belongings into a backpack in silence.
She doesn’t have many belongings; a few scattered items, nothing more than what would fit in a small backpack.
When we got back from the school, Brooks was sitting on the ground next to a wooden box.
Kyler closed the lid and then had a heated conversation with God knows who.
Without saying a word, everyone knew who was in that box.
Even now, I don’t feel like talking about it. The memories are enough. Apparently, Norah feels the same way.
A few minutes later, we walk down the stairs in silence and head for my car, which someone had retrieved from its spot by the river.
“Get in,” I say to Norah and nod toward the passenger seat.
With a slight creak, I open the driver’s door, the scent of old leather filling my nostrils as I lower myself into the seat.
I stare at the interior for a moment, letting my fingers curl around the steering wheel.
The last time I drove this car feels like a lifetime ago.
So much has happened since then. I pull myself together, grab my keys, and insert the right one into the ignition.
The engine roars to life, and after backing up, we pull out onto the road.
“It’s so damn unfair,” Norah whispers as we pull into the Paisleys’ driveway.
“Tell me about it,” I mutter, leaning on the steering wheel, both arms resting on it like I’m too tired to hold myself up. I stare at the front door. “She should be walking through that door. Not us. She should be the one raising Brandon. Not you. With all due respect…”
“You don’t need to say it,” Norah cuts in, her voice soft as she lowers her head. “She was his wife. His mom. That was her place. I’m grateful you’re all letting me stay, I really am, but yeah… you’re right. This isn’t how it should’ve gone.”
I whip around to face her, heart suddenly pounding. “You do know I’m not saying you should’ve stayed in that hellhole, right?” My voice cracks on the last word.
She looks up, and there’s a sad smile pulling at her lips. “Of course I know that, Layne. I shouldn’t have been there either. None of us should’ve. She should be here. I should be somewhere—anywhere—else.”
Her freckled face turns toward me, her eyes too wise for someone her age. “No one deserves what happened in that basement. No one should rot in a cage like that. Not even those assholes.”
I shake my head slowly, the rage still coiled just beneath my skin.
“Yeah, see… that’s where we’re different.
I say let them rot. Lock them in and forget the key.
Starve them, slowly. Keep them just alive enough to feel every ounce of what they took from you.
Let their muscles waste away while they beg for something warm to eat, and never get it. ”
A short, startled laugh bursts from Norah’s throat. “Jesus. There’s a little sadist in you after all.”
I chuckle, the sound catching somewhere between relief and release. “Must’ve inherited that from my dad.”
She laughs too, and for a moment—just one—it feels like we’re not drowning. Like maybe, somehow, we’ll be okay.
As the sound fades away, I look at her. “Shit, I really needed that.” Then I open my car door and get out.
With a heavy heart, I slide the key into the lock. It turns with a quiet click, and I push the door open.
This isn’t a mausoleum, Layne.
Brooks and Brandon live here. It’s their home.
The fact that Jen lived here too… it doesn’t change that.
I inhale deeply and step inside.
“I’ve never actually been to Brooks and Jen’s place,” I say, more to the hallway than to Norah.
She tilts her head. “Seriously? Why not?”
I shrug, staring down at the beautiful rug in the hallway so I don’t have to look at her.
“When we were younger, she wasn’t really part of our group.
I just saw her a couple of times at the mall.
And after I came back… well, we got taken before I had the chance.
Jen was Rebel’s teacher, not really someone I ever visited casually. ”
I bend down and unzip my biker boots, placing them neatly beside the door. “Come on, let’s go find your room.” I nod toward a door that looks like it leads deeper into the house. When I push it open, I freeze.
My jaw drops.
A large, modern kitchen stretches out in front of me—clean lines, warm light, and a six-person dining table with sturdy chairs.
I step inside, my fingers trailing across the backs of the chairs.
“Good thing there’s a fruit bowl and dishes in the sink,” Norah murmurs behind me. “If not, I wouldn’t even dare touch anything. The rest is spotless.”
I walk farther in and glance around the corner. My eyes land on an enormous U-shaped couch that looks like it could swallow a person whole.
“Damn,” I whisper. “I’d watch movies there every night.” I nudge my chin toward the couch.
Norah doesn’t move. “It’s not going to be my home, Layne,” she whispers.
I chuckle, turning back to her. “You’re living here, aren’t you? And let’s be honest, Brooks is probably going to be gone more than he’s around. So yeah—you should make yourself comfortable. That couch practically begs for popcorn and a blanket.”
She rolls her eyes, but there’s no fire behind it. “Let’s just find my room.”
We move down the hallway. First door—Brandon’s room. His name is spray-painted across the wall in bold, graffiti-style letters. No mistaking that. I close the door gently behind me.
“Brandon,” I say softly, just to acknowledge it.
Next up, the bathroom. Big walk-in shower. Double sinks.
“Oh, you can keep your stuff in here,” I offer, holding the door for her.
Norah shakes her head. “I’ll just keep it in my room. I don’t want to take up their space.”
I frown. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m sure they wouldn’t care.”
“I’ll wait and see,” she mumbles, eyes fixed on her shoes.
Finally, we find the guest room. She tosses her bag on the bed without a word.
“This looks perfect,” she breathes.
I glance around the room, taking it in slowly. “It’s kind of bare,” I murmur, turning in place.
Norah shrugs and unzips her bag like she expected that. “It’s a guest room. It’ll fill up eventually.”
She moves with quiet focus—pulls out two pairs of jeans, a couple shirts, and folds them neatly into the closet. Then comes a handful of underwear, a few pairs of socks, and her toiletry bag. That’s it. She zips the bag shut again like this is normal.
I gesture between the nearly empty closet and the closed backpack. “That’s really all you have?”
She nods slowly. “Yeah. I mean… Abby got me these.” A small smile tugs at her lips. “I’m super grateful.”
“Abby?” I drop down onto the edge of the bed. “You haven’t had the chance to get anything for yourself?”
“Layne…” She exhales like I’m missing the obvious, then sits down next to me.
The bed dips under her weight, just enough that our arms brush.
“How am I supposed to do that? You guys got me out. Abby gave me something clean to wear. Brooks is giving me food and a place to sleep. That’s already more than I ever expected. I’m okay.”
I don’t think—I just pull her into my arms. Hold her like I can keep all the broken pieces together if I hold tight enough.My voice is quiet. “How long were you in there?”
She hesitates. “I don’t know… not too long, I think.”
I lean back so I can see her face. “You think?”
There’s a flicker of amusement in her eyes before she lets out a soft laugh. “Yeah. I think so.”
I frown, confused. “What’s funny?” I scratch the back of my neck.
She grins at me. “Your face. You looked like you were ready to hear I’d been locked up for six months. But Layne… they would’ve shipped me out if I’d been there that long. You know that.” She stands and pushes the empty bag under the bed.
“Fair,” I mutter. “Still doesn’t make me feel better about any of it.”
I pause, glancing around again. “Okay. Next mission—let’s find out if this house has a real coffee maker or if we’re dealing with some pod machine abomination.”
Back at Kyler’s apartment, I go through my evening routine on autopilot. My mind is on everything Norah told me while we were having coffee.
“Mom?”
I look at Rebel. “Hm?”
Her dark-brown eyes study me. “Nothing,” she murmurs, her lips barely moving.
I leave the dishes for what they are and go over to her. “Hey, you don’t have to worry.” I press a kiss to her head.
“Too late,” she whispers and presses her nose against my chest.
My hand slips under her chin and I lift it. “Hey, honey. Everything that happened will not happen again. I promise.” My gaze holds hers as I say it.
“You can’t promise that.” She pulls herself away and walks off. She takes the throw blanket off the couch and crawls into the corner with it.
“Fuck,” I curse under my breath. I take a few steps and sit down next to her on the couch. “Sweetheart,” I mumble, but Rebel refuses to look at me. “You’re the most important thing in the world to me.” I pull her close and kiss her on the top of her head.
We sit together on the couch for a while until Rebel finally falls asleep. Meanwhile, Kyler comes home and gestures that he’s going to take a shower.
I place Rebel on her pillow on the couch and cover her with the blanket.
Then I head to the bedroom. As I undress and put on my pajamas, I can hear the shower running.
I crawl under the covers and turn on the television.
With nothing interesting on TV, I settle for a movie, the flickering light painting patterns on the wall.
My thoughts drift to Connor. I’ve got so many questions for him, but none I can ask.
And even if he were still here, I wouldn’t have the chance to ask him, because he hid everything so well from me.
Questions like: Did you know what you were getting yourself into when you took the job?
Did you know they would come after you? Did you deliberately put Rebel and me in danger?
So many unanswered questions, but at the same time, so many things that have fallen into place.
The reason for his murder is most likely because he knew about the human trafficking, and I really hope that justice will be served and that whoever gave the order for his death will be punished. In whatever way possible.
Simultaneously, I’m grappling with entirely different questions. What happens now? Did I make the right choice back then? Is this all indirectly my fault?
I’m now uncertain about the decision I made regarding Connor. On the one hand, my heart screams yes, because without that choice, Rebel wouldn’t be here now. But I also wonder if I’ve ever been completely honest with Connor. And that bothers me.
“Hey, Lay.” I jump when Kyler walks into the bedroom with a towel around his waist and water dripping from his hair onto his shoulders. He walks over to the dresser under the TV and rummages around in the top drawer.
“Ky, do you think I was truthful with Connor?”
He immediately stops what he’s doing and turns to me. “About what?”
Fidgeting with my fingers, I shrug my shoulders. My eyes are fixed on the comforter. “Our relationship. The reason I chose him back then. Everything?”
His footsteps are soft on the carpet, and then he sits down next to me on the bed.
“I don’t know.” With a sigh, he runs his hand through his hair and then dries it with the towel.
“I asked you a while ago if it was all that bad. Growing up here. The club.” His fingers wrap around mine.
“I asked you ten years ago if you were sure, and even though you said you loved me, I always felt like it wasn’t enough.
Not enough to stay.” He lets go of my hand and rises.
When he returns to the dresser, he says, “What you need to ask yourself is whether I’m right and, probably, whether you loved him enough to marry him. But you’re the only one who can answer that question, Layne. Not me. Not Connor, if he were still alive. Just you.”
And that’s exactly the point. Sometimes I’m afraid I made a mistake ten years ago. One that cost me Kyler and caused him unnecessary pain. One that deprived Connor of true happiness. Although I can never say for sure that the latter is true. And I still have to find out about the former.