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Chapter 10

It felt like ice-cold claws had encircled my neck.

My knees were weak.

My heart stopped.

I couldn’t breathe.

I jerked away from the door and pressed my back against the wall.

“Bubbles?” Kaden called out and leaned toward the left on the couch, so he could see me from the living room.

With wide eyes, I stared at him and shook my head vigorously.

“What’s the matter?” he asked, his voice growing louder.

I looked down at myself. In this condition, there was no way I could open the door.

Kaden was instantly at my side, looking at me with a frown and then taking a look through the peephole.

The bell rang again, three times in quick succession.

“Is that… ” He raised both brows.

“My mother,” I whispered and hoped he understood.

“Crystal!” Her voice penetrated the closed door, muffled. An energetic knocking followed.

This time my heart was still. Kaden would have to call an ambulance to revive me.

“Crystal Allison Harper! I know you’re here. I located your cell phone signal!”

With trembling fingers I tried to smooth my shirt. Kaden stepped forward and grabbed me by the shoulders. His eyes darkened as he studied my face intensively. He couldn’t have any idea what was going on here, but his gaze told me he understood I needed help.

“Go change your clothes, take your time,” he said, thinking on his feet. “I’ll make her a cup of coffee or something.”

I couldn’t speak, only nod. I kept on nodding. And nodding.

“And you should do that in your room, Allie,” he said calmly and shoved me out of the hallway.

My legs were heavy as lead, as I went into my room and closed the door.

I looked at the room with Mom’s eyes and felt sick. She would hate it, I was sure of that. And she wouldn’t hesitate to say it, either.

Furious, I tore off my jogging pants and slipped into a pair of jeans. I’d barely moved in here. I was just getting used to it. How could she ambush me like this?

I heard voices in the hall but didn’t understand what was being said. As if in a trance, I put took a rose-colored blouse from my dresser, which I’d last worn in Lincoln. But then I paused.

No.

I wouldn’t dress up for her.

I glanced in the mirror. And now a strange calm descended on me.

I’d feel better if I could be myself, and I didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of turning me back into the girl I used to be, just by showing up. I stuffed the blouse back into the drawer and kept on my Woodshill shirt.

Now I just had to get my pulse under control. Sooner or later I would have to see her again. Now or in two months—what was the difference?