Page 10

LIKE NOTHING HAPPENED

MILA

He gave me an excuse.

That’s what I tell myself as I approach Montgomery with Alex’s sweatshirt in hand.

I could have given it to Patience, who I know came by this morning. But then I would have to answer questions, like how I got the sweatshirt in the first place. She’d wonder why I came to Montgomery without her—in the middle of the night. It only makes sense for me to return it myself.

Hugging the navy-blue sweatshirt to my chest, I step through the doors and consider turning around. Maybe he wouldn’t miss the sweater or mind if I kept it.

But if I do that, I’ll probably sleep in it again.

I’ll let it become my crutch when nothing but the smell of Alex has been able to chase away my nightmares.

If he knew how this simple piece of clothing sent my mind running rampant, I don’t think he would have offered the sweatshirt to me in the first place.

When I reach the nurses’ station, I’m told Alex is in the courtyard at the back of the property. She points to a stairwell, and I follow it outside. A few patients walk past, but they don’t pay me any more attention than I pay them.

It’s like everyone here is lost in their own world.

The back of Montgomery is cooler than it is in the front of the building.

Sun-soaked concrete is replaced by dewy grass.

A large manicured lawn fills the giant courtyard, with two wings of Montgomery Psychiatric Ward towering on either side.

At the back edge is a tree line, and I catch the faint shine of silver from the camouflaged fence that surrounds what the building doesn’t.

Flowerbeds burst with color after last night’s rain.

Scanning the courtyard, I spot Alex sitting at a table alone. He’s hunched over his journal, writing, and I make my way over to him.

Some patients walk in circles on a path that surrounds the entire courtyard, while others are at tables farther away. And some toss a ball around in a space free of low-hanging branches.

Out here, it doesn’t feel like a psychiatric ward. It could be any other day at a park.

Alex doesn’t flinch when I stop at the table opposite him. But his pencil pauses as I set the sweatshirt down beside his journal.

“I thought you might want this back.”

His hazel eyes flick up, and every thought eviscerates. Warmth crawls my cheeks when it isn’t that hot outside. My neck prickles. I’m probably blushing when I’m usually good at schooling my expression around people. Hopefully, he doesn’t think much of it.

With his good looks, I doubt it’s strange for him to have a girl’s attention.

I slide onto the bench at the opposite side of the table, not waiting for him to invite me .

Nudging. Pushing.

Finding little ways to fit into his life, whether he wants me here or not.

“Thank you for letting me borrow the sweater.”

I made sure to wash it so he wouldn’t know I slept in it last night, but it somehow still managed to smell like him through the detergent.

He nods, and it knots my throat, so I let my gaze drift to the field. To anything but him before this flicker of interest stokes to something more.

“It’s nice out here. I didn’t realize there was so much green space in the back when the front of the building is a giant parking lot.”

Part of me expected stone walls to surround the rest of Montgomery, like asphalt shields the front from any sort of greenery.

Alex follows my gaze, and I dare to watch him from the corner of my eye. With the sun shining bright in a cloudless sky, his dark-blond hair is brighter. And without the shadows of midnight and nightmares, his expression is gentler.

But his eyes… they meet my gaze, and no matter how much they shine, I see the ghosts underneath.

“You’re writing again?” I ask the obvious, acclimating to the one-sided conversations I have when I’m around him.

I’m starting to understand why Patience speaks to him the way she does. Just because he doesn’t say anything doesn’t mean he’s not here. His responses are just more subtle, and I have to dig a little harder for them.

“Seems like a nice place to write. Sunshine. Grass.” I tip my face to the cloudless sky, taking a breath. “Better than that horrible air conditioner they always have running inside.”

When I’m done breathing in the rain-drenched morning, I drop my chin to find him staring at me.

Alex nods, tapping his pencil on the page in his journal.

“Can I read what you’re writing today?” I wet my lips, dropping my stare to the eraser striking the paper. “If it’s not too personal, that is.”

I sense it’s all personal, and that I’m inserting myself where I shouldn’t. But he gave me that inch last night when he let me read one page, and now I need more.

Alex taps his pencil a few more times, sliding the journal toward me. And like last night, I only read the page he offers. But instead of reading it out loud, I keep it quiet because there are people wandering around us.

If a tree falls in a forest and no one is there to hear the bark split—the trunk fall. If no one is there to mourn the loss of the leaves as they wilt and compost. If no one is there to sit upon the bench it has made…

The rot still comes.

The earth still reclaims what was lost.

The ground still feels it.

More riddles. Maybe that’s what it’s like being inside his head, trying to make sense of things lost.

Things rotten.

If I were brave, I might ask him to explain it to me. He wouldn’t answer with words, but he could write it down.

I don’t .

I simply press my lips tight and swallow the urge to ask for more as I slide the journal across the table.

“It’s beautiful.” And sad.

Heartbreaking, even.

Not that I say it. I don’t want him thinking I can’t handle his pain when I’ve had enough of it myself. When his words stir at the emotion swirling inside me.

The earth still reclaims what was lost.

The ground still feels it.

Sometimes I wish I could forget. That I could feel nothing at all.

My gaze lifts to Alex, and I search for something—anything to say. But my heart hammers so loudly it overtakes the chirping birds. His attention is all that sweeps my skin when the breeze tickles the back of my neck.

I don’t understand Alex, and he barely knows me, but the longer he stares, the lighter I feel. The world makes sense in his eyes.

I open my mouth to ask why he trusts me with his secrets when his gaze snaps past me.

Something flashes at the edge of my vision, and Alex moves so fast I don’t have time to process the breeze of movement that rustles my hair when he sweeps around the table.

One second, Alex is sitting in front of me. The next, he’s beside me, twisting some person’s arm behind his back and holding a sharpened pencil to his jugular.

The lead digs into the man’s flesh, blood leaking down a stubbled patch on his neck .

I jump up, putting distance between us as panic swells in the courtyard.

The man’s brown eyes widen, but not in fear. If anything, he’s amused at Alex’s reaction as he struggles against his grip. The man tries to pull away, but Alex twists his arm until he stops resisting.

Every movement is met with restraint. With the thin tether that snapped in an instant. I’m no longer staring at Alex Lancaster; I’m looking into the reflection of Sigma Sin. Cold eyes that are frighteningly deadly.

“Get over here now.” One nurse directs another as they come to either side of Alex. “Alex, let him go. We’ve got him.”

The two nurses slowly circle them.

The red-haired nurse has her hands up, and I can’t tell who she seems more worried about as her gaze drifts between the two men.

Another two nurses run over, and there’s a circle of tension ready to snap as a breeze whisps through the courtyard. The honeyed scent of spring teases my senses.

A larger male nurse and a woman grab either side of the man Alex is holding, and only once they have him secured does Alex let him go and take a step back.

I wait for them to move toward Alex next, but they don’t. No matter how pale their cheeks are when they look at the bloody pencil in his hand.

“Sorry about that,” the nurse says—to me or to Alex; I can’t tell. “Ricci has only recently been allowed to mingle with the others. He still struggles with personal boundaries. He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

She turns, and I realize she was talking to me.

“Hurt me?” My eyebrows scrunch as I process her question. “No, he didn’t. ”

He didn’t get the chance.

That’s why Alex must have jumped up from his seat. He saw Ricci closing in behind me, and he stopped him. He saw what that man was going to do, and he didn’t hesitate. Regardless of who was around or what danger it put him in.

Alex protected me.

“Good.” She forces a smile, hesitantly facing Alex. “I’m sorry for the trouble. We’ll take care of him. I hope you’ll share our regrets with your parents, Mr. Lancaster.”

She offers a final nod, walking away with another nurse. They whisper something to each other, glancing back at me over their shoulder.

The Lancasters can’t be that influential, can they? Alex was the one who held a weapon to another patient’s throat, but they didn’t do anything about it except apologize to him.

My attention slides back to Alex as he reclaims his seat. He picks up his journal and goes back to writing like nothing happened. The only hint that I didn’t imagine the entire thing is the blood mixing with lead as he scribbles another sentence.