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“Because no one’s ever asked me before.” I shake my head, my own fingers nervously twisting against the skirt of my dress until they’re hopelessly knotted. “What I want has never mattered.”
“It matters, Sunshine.” The bodice of my dress pooled around my waist, my breath catches in my throat when I feel his arms close around me again, his finger tracing the notches in my spine until it finds the closure on my bra. Pinching the straps together, he unhooks it, letting it fall open before he presses his palms flat against my back. “To the right person, it’s the only thing that does.” His fingertips dig into my skin for a moment before he lets me go completely. “Is there anything else?”
Stay with me.
Because I’ve already asked for too much, or maybe because I‘m afraid of what it might make me, I shake my head. “No… thank you.”
Leaning into me again, he brushes a soft kiss against my forehead. “Try to get some rest,” he tells me before he stands and makes his way to the door.
This time, I don’t try to stop him from leaving.
Go after him.
My eyes open on the last, resounding echoes of it and I sit up. Momentarily disoriented, I look around the room, expecting to see my sister’s blanket-covered shape in the narrow twin bed next to mine.
No Abbey.
No narrow twin bed.
It’s morning, the bright, silvery light of the moon replaced by the soft, peachy glow of a brand-new sun. Checking the clock on the nightstand, I breathe a soft sigh of relief. It’s not quite 7AM—I’ve been asleep for a few hours.
After Went left me alone in the dark, I finished getting undressed on my own, wadding Abbey’s dress into a ball before throwing it in a corner. Giving my bra the same treatment, I worked myself into Went’s T-shirt, a soft, dark cotton that felt like silk against my skin, before I put myself to bed. Convinced it was a wasted effort, I dropped off to sleep from one breath to the next.
Pushing myself out of bed, I make my way down the quiet hallway to the stairs. Legs still a little wobbly, I take the stairs slowly, hand gripped around the banister. Expecting to find Went in the kitchen, I’m a little disappointed to find it as quiet as the rest of the house. Thinking maybe he fell asleep on the couch again, I look over the back of it to find it empty.
Remembering his penchant for falling asleep on front porches, I open the front door and that’s where I find him, sprawled out in one of the deep porch gliders, my backpack open at his feet. My can of bear repellant on the table next to him, on top of a stack of notebooks.
My notebooks.
The blue one—where I keep my list—is on top of the stack, open like he fell asleep looking at it.
Went didn’t throw my backpack into the lake like I hoped. Cheeks burning, I pull my blue notebook out from under the can of bear spray and carry it with me to the lake so I can sit on the dock and watch the last of the sunrise.
THIRTY
Wentworth
Unsure of what to do next, and honestly, a little keyed up after helping Kait get undressed, I camped out on the front porch and waited for her fiancé to come back. I caught the splash of his headlights across the driveway as I was coming down the stairs.
Like she predicted, he didn’t even slow down. Didn’t park and start banging on the door, looking for her like I hoped he would. After everything she told me, I deeply regret that the only thing I broke was his face and a couple ribs.
Holding on to the hope that he’d come looking for her, I fell asleep, waiting for him.
When I open my eyes and sit up, the first thing I see is her. It’s still early—the sun, still too weak to warm the cool mountain air, sparkling on the calm surface of the lake. She’s sitting on the dock, her feet dangling over the edge of it like she’s thinking about jumping.
Go skinny dipping.
Remembering the entry in her notebook, I instinctively look at the table I left it on.
It’s gone.
I know it was there last night. It was the last thing I remember looking at before I fell asleep. That it’s gone can only mean one thing.
Kait came out here and found it, open on the table next to me. She knows I read it.
Shit.
Reaching into my pocket, I pull out my cell phone and switch it on. Ignoring the avalanche of missed calls and texts, I pull up my brother’s number.