Chapter 21
Alice
Fallon’s telling me about the time seven-year-old Caden accidentally made a bargain with a lesser Fey, and somehow Wyatt weaseled out of it by stealing the corkboard from the old schoolhouse, which is situated on a site sacred to Them, and of course made Caden come along as penance.
I’m so absorbed in the tale that I almost slice off my finger instead of chopping lettuce, but luckily I manage to finish prepping the salad without any bloodshed.
“Wait, Fallon,” I say, laughing, dumping the lettuce into one of those old-fashioned salad spinners, “how the fuck did stealing a corkboard satisfy the deal?”
“Weren’t you listening?” she demands, throwing her hands up in the air.
Fallon is a terrible storyteller, but I’m sure as shit not going to tell her that.
Not a single shred of her recounting was even in chronological order.
She turns to face me, crossing her arms over her apron, a simple black garment with one line of text embroidered in white: “I’LL FEED ALL YOU FUCKERS. ”
“Yeah,” I tell her delicately, beginning to spin the lettuce. “I was listening, but—”
My sentence is broken off by Caden’s arrival in the room. He’s holding one end of a massive vintage chalkboard and walking backward into the big, open kitchen. It’s gotta weigh a ton, but he’s carrying it with one hand, while Wyatt’s gripping it for dear life on the other end.
“Don’t even know why I’m helping you with this,” he teases Caden as he sets his side down with a grunt. “Aw, fuck. It’s facing the wrong way.”
“I got you, Mr. Hayes,” Caden says, his tone sarcastic, as he grasps the board and begins to turn it so the corkboard faces out. I should be focused on dinner preparations so Fallon doesn’t go for my jugular, but the wide, beautiful expanse of empty cork draws me in like a riptide.
“You’re such a nerd,” Caden laughs, looking at me. “Lit up like a damn Solstice tree over a corkboard.”
I giggle, popping the lid off the salad spinner. It feels good to be teased like I’m one of them. I have a strong feeling that if any member of the Hayes family is super nice and polite to you, it means they don’t like you very much. But being ribbed on like this? Perfection.
“Before you fill it up with all those ideas in your terrifyingly massive and beautiful brain,” Wyatt says, walking over to the counter, something serious weighing his tone, “we gotta talk.”
I freeze, my heart climbing into my throat.
I thought we’d ironed things out, more or less.
Had Caden suggested things were moving too fast between us?
Or that there just wasn’t enough room in Blackbird Hollow’s hedgerider unit for me?
I swallow and push my racing thoughts away—no, he wouldn’t bring up something like that in front of everyone, I don’t think.
And he sure as hell wouldn’t have kissed me like that if he just intended to throw me to the curb.
“Okay,” I say, abandoning the salad for now. Beside me at the stove, Fallon’s paused her sautéing, peering over her shoulder at her brothers with a guarded curiosity and some degree of worry.
“When you emailed your parents,” Caden says, settling down in one of the mismatched kitchen chairs and folding his hands on the table, “I found Sector code on your account.”
I stare at him, my mouth parting but no sound coming out.
“Now, we don’t think you’re some traitor or spy, Alice,” Wyatt says, and he means it. “I just wanna make that clear from the get-go.”
Fallon snorts. “Of course she isn’t.” She says it fervently, like it’s more a hope or a prayer than a statement. My heart clenches.
“Makes sense that Sector would keep an eye on someone like you,” Caden says with a shrug.
In the kitchen’s lamplight, he looks so young, and yet he wears seriousness as easily as a high school jersey.
“And I’ve got things pretty much handled, so hopefully that email won’t blow your cover.
But…I gotta know if they’ve made attempts to track you before. ”
“We need to understand your history with Sector a little better, Alice,” Wyatt adds, his expression open, though his brows are furrowed. “And I’m sorry to be asking you about what might otherwise be private. It’s just, if we wanna work together here—”
“Yeah, you need to know,” I say with a nod. “Look, I’m really sorry about the email issues, Caden. I would’ve never asked to use your computer if I knew.”
The youngest Hayes sibling shrugs, nonchalant. “Shit like this is bound to happen.”
“I should’ve told you everything already,” I say, guilt gnawing at me. I dig one hand into my hair, fingers curling into my scalp. “God, I’m sorry. I just got so wrapped up in everything. It’s been such a whirlwind. It’s like the rest of the world stopped existing.”
Beside me, Fallon’s gone back to sautéing without a care in the world. “Now, I know my brother didn’t dick you down so good you forgot about the entire world, Blythe,” she says.
I turn bright red and let out a sound that’s somewhere between a stutter and a laugh.
“Fallon,” Wyatt implores from where he’s leaning on the kitchen island, his eyes fluttering closed as he steeples his hands. “I’m begging you. For just thirty seconds—”
“Mr. Rabbit!” I shout, clapping my hands to my mouth. All three Hayes siblings look at me like I’ve lost my mind. “I’ll answer all your questions about when Sector and I crossed paths. But right before I came here, they bugged my apartment.”
Wyatt’s eyes widen in alarm as Fallon sucks in a deep breath, but Caden’s cool as anything, just nodding along as I speak.
I’m gesticulating wildly now, the lettuce long forgotten on the counter behind me.
“I have this stuffed rabbit from when I was a kid,” I explain.
“They put some kind of a listening device on his eye.”
“And where is Mr. Rabbit now?” Caden asks, one brow arching.
Wordlessly, I raise one hand and point upstairs, where he’s perched on Wyatt’s old nightstand. In the bedroom where I’ve been sleeping for more than a week now—the one that’s already begun to feel more like home than the apartment I leased for a year.
The one I might have dangerously jeopardized because of my admittedly intense-ass crush on Wyatt Hayes. Fuck. I should’ve thought to have someone else check over all my stuff before I even came into the house.
“Alice,” Fallon says, clicking off the stove and setting the pan off to the side. “Go get Mr. Rabbit.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I say with a nod, fleeing the kitchen for the stairs.
A few minutes later, I’m tearing around the corner, my socks nearly slipping on the worn hardwood floor.
Mr. Rabbit is clutched to my chest as I reenter the kitchen to find all three of them gathered around the table.
The chairs are pushed to the side. A pair of scissors, a needle, sewing thread, and a pocketknife are lined up with military-like precision at one end.
Wyatt’s dragging one of the big old floor lamps toward the table, as far as the cord will stretch.
“Oh, no,” I whisper defensively, wrapping my arms around the plush toy. “I already had to gouge out his eye. You wanna cut him open?”
Wyatt switches the lamp onto a brighter setting as Caden snaps on a pair of latex gloves. “We’re gonna take good care of him, I promise,” Wyatt tells me as he approaches, holding his hands out. “And anything we gotta do, we’ll fix him. I swear we will.”
I’m caught between laughter and tears as I nod, handing Mr. Rabbit over to Wyatt. Gingerly, he places the plush on the table face-up. With a serious frown, Caden leans over Mr. Rabbit.
“Scalpel,” he says. Wordlessly, Fallon hands him the pocketknife, which Caden snaps open.
I shuffle closer to Wyatt, who immediately wraps his arms around me.
When Caden brings the edge of the blade to Mr. Rabbit’s rounded belly, I turn my head into Wyatt’s chest. His large, warm hand cups the back of my head as his brother cuts open the last remaining piece of my childhood.
I can’t bear to watch Caden rifle around in Mr. Rabbit’s stuffing, so instead I breathe in Wyatt’s scent—clean laundry and fir trees with a dash of bonfire smoke.
“Abdomen is clear,” Caden says. “Needle.” I turn to look over my shoulder, though I’m covering most of my vision with my hands. Through my fingers, I can just make out Fallon threading a needle. She snaps the thread with her teeth and then ties the end into a knot before handing it to Caden.
“See?” Wyatt murmurs into my hair, one hand rubbing my back. “Gonna fix him right up.”
I don’t know why we’ve all collectively decided to make an absolute production out of this, but I appreciate it so much.
If I cry about a stupid plushie, I know no one in this room would mock me for it, and if I burst into hysterical laughter, I have a feeling the three of them would follow me.
I suck in a deep breath as Caden pierces Mr. Rabbit’s soft little belly with the needle, deftly weaving the wound closed.
His sewing is all tiny, fastidious stitches, his eyes narrowed in concentration.
“He was top of his class in sewing in home ec,” Fallon tells me solemnly.
“Only the best for Mr. Rabbit,” I say with a nod, leaning back against Wyatt as Caden finishes his stitches.
“Now for the cranial cavity,” Caden says, looking up at me.
“Not the cranial cavity,” I gasp, my eyes widening.
Caden winces. “You may not want to watch this,” he says, tying off the thread and handing the needle back to Fallon. “Scalpel.”
Then Mr. Rabbit is face-down on the big table, either end littered with notebooks and hair claws and coffee mugs, though the circle of light from the big lamp halos a section that’s bare and empty, save for the stuffed animal.
Caden takes the scalpel from Fallon and then steadies himself, taking a deep breath.
The next moment, he’s slicing into the back of Mr. Rabbit’s head.
“Oh, no, I don’t want to watch,” I whisper, turning back into Wyatt. I let him hold me as Caden finishes up his exploratory surgery. What feels like ages later, Mr. Rabbit is given a clean bill of health—no bugs, though he’s got more new scars than I want to acknowledge.
“I’ll knit him a sweater,” Wyatt promises as I take the plush back into my arms. “Then you won’t be able to see any of the scars.”
“Do you knit?” I sniff, shoving tears out of my eyes with the heel of my palm.
“Yes,” Wyatt says at the same moment Fallon replies, “Poorly.” They exchange glances over the kitchen table as Caden rolls his eyes, and I find myself breaking into laughter.
Tears stream down my face, too, and I cuddle Mr. Rabbit against my neck, feeling silly and sad and utterly at home.
Wyatt finds a way to tuck the stuffed animal into the neckline of my sweater so I can continue making dinner without putting him down.
I chop vegetables for Fallon’s lettuce as Caden minces more garlic for the roast chicken she’s making, and then I tell the Hayes siblings all about my run-ins with Sector.
The blog, of course. The threats. The enrollment at OrthCon. We’re all standing around the kitchen island, beers in hand, as we wait for the chicken to finish roasting.
“So they’ve been interested in you for a while,” Caden concludes.
“Seems that way,” I say with a shrug.
“Ever approached you for recruitment?” Fallon wants to know, examining me.
I shake my head. “Nah,” I say. “I think I’m probably too insane, even for them. It’s always just been about keeping my nose clean.”
Fallon nods, her gaze going toward the stuffed rabbit still tucked into the neckline of my sweater. “Sorry again. About Mr. Rabbit,” she says softly.
I shrug. “We had to make sure. I don’t want Sector interfering any more than you do.”
I feel a little better now that Caden also went through the contents of my bag.
The entire Hayes family knows what kind of underwear I wear, so I’m glad that’s out of the way.
Wyatt wants to check in with Marion tomorrow and see if anything sketchy happened with the room I was planning to stay in.
“And if any of them bother you again,” he adds, his expression suddenly a storm cloud, “you just let me know.”
“Aw, you gonna defend your lady’s honor?” Fallon teases from the oven, where she’s bent double, checking the roast on the chicken.
A blush creeps across Wyatt’s high cheekbones. “Something like that.”
“If Sector fucks with Alice,” Fallon says, her voice muffled, “they’re fucking with all of us. Hope they damn well know that.”
My eyes blur with tears for the second time today, which is too many.
It’s not that I’m, you know, not in touch with my feelings or whatever.
It’s just that things are really, really fucking hard.
If I start to let myself feel too much, then I’m afraid all of it will come crashing down, like it did earlier when I told Wyatt about my grandparents’ farm.
I don’t know how to let myself feel everything until we’re living in some kind of utopia, which I doubt will happen in my lifetime.
Otherwise, it’s too hard to handle everything about this world and all the things I feel. I’ll explode.
“Yes, they sure as hell are,” Wyatt murmurs from behind me. One hand curls around my waist, and he speaks the words from the back of his throat in a way that makes my breath catch.
A golden silence descends on us as Fallon pulls the chicken from the stove. It smells wonderful, and the skin looks perfectly crispy, coated in all kinds of spices that make my stomach rumble.
“Oh,” Caden says, perking up on the other side of the counter. “By the way. I’ve got it all arranged.”
I look at him quizzically and can feel Wyatt doing the same. Caden waves a hand. “Sorry, sorry. I mean with learning more about the Hunt. Got you lined up with a professor over at the college.”
“Good,” Fallon says with a nod, pulling out a long carving knife from the block. “Wyatt and Alice, you two should go. Better cover that damn corkboard if it’s gonna take up so much room in my kitchen.”
I glance over at the empty board, just waiting to receive all my theories, no matter how insane or far-fetched.
And for the first time in my life, I won’t be following this thread alone.