Page 12

I sink into the warm tub, a small sigh of content leaving my lips.

It took me a solid four times to scrub my body to get rid of the blood and the stench, and don’t even get me started on the hair. It’s matted, filled with dirt, sticky from blood and sweat. I don’t think I’ve ever been this gross.

Mom’s hands massage my scalp, my eyes fluttering closed as I lean my head further against the edge of the tub, allowing her to pamper me a little. It was her idea, and I’m never the one to reject such an idea. She even put scented oils, bubbles, and rose petals.

She puts a conditioner all over my hair, then starts brushing through it. She hums a soft tune, sitting on a small, wooden stool behind me. Neither of us speaks. I’m too tired to even open my eyes, and if she continues like this, I’ll fall asleep.

“Sweetheart,’’ she calls, and I open my eyes. She looks down at me with a smile, but there’s something else in her eyes. “So… how did it go?”

“Oh, Kortlek? It was so fun.’’

“Yes, I’m aware.’’

My brows narrow a little, and a hint of amusement dances in her eyes. I blink, still confused about what the hell she’s talking about. Mom gives me a sly smirk, her upper lip twitching a bit from holding in a laugh.

“You’re aware,’’ I repeat, “can you not be vague and just tell me what the hell you’re talking about?”

“You do remember that whenever the Kortlek games happen, your father and I sit in the monitoring room in the basement and watch it in real time, right?”

Oh, fucking hell.

Blood drains from my face, and I go pale. My wide eyes stare at her, and no matter how many times I open my mouth to speak, it just ends up closing, with no words leaving my lips. My heart is hammering in my chest, and I’m on the verge of a breakdown.

“Please don’t tell me Dad saw it.’’

Mom winces. “To be fair, the moment I realized what you and Cove were up to, I went to distract him. Unfortunately, your father realized it, too.’’

A loud groan slips from me, and I straighten up in the tub, burying my face in my hands. My cheeks feel blazing hot, getting redder and redder the more I think about it. I’m fucking mortified, embarrassed, and ashamed.

My Mom and Dad nearly witnessed me giving a man a blowjob.

My eyes snap to her when I hear her stifled laugh. The moment she sees the flush on my cheeks, she bursts out laughing. She’s not even trying to hide it anymore; she’s outright mocking me. She presses a palm over her mouth to silence it, but it’s not helping. It only makes her laugh harder.

“Mom!” I whine.

“I’m sorry,’’ she manages to utter between laughter.

“Stop laughing at me! I’m mortified!”

That only makes her laugh harder. I groan and lie in the tub, annoyed, embarrassed, and feeling a big bubble of shame in the pit of my stomach. Oh, God. I don’t remember the last time I was this embarrassed about anything.

“Alright, alright, I’m done,’’ she chuckles. “But on a serious note, I’m not going to ask. It’s too fucked up, and I don’t need to know. Just for the love of God, keep that stuff in the bedroom.’’

I roll my eyes with a sigh. “Yeah, yeah.’’

“But.. for what it’s worth, Hudson and I are very proud of you. He was a bit pissed you snuck into the playground, but once he saw you in action, he was very proud of you. You handled it well.’’

A happy smile tugs on my corners, my cheeks slowly losing the redness. “Yeah?”

She kisses my forehead, then gets on my hair again. She washes out the conditioner and runs her fingers through it, making sure there’s no longer any matting. Her fingers feel soft, and it brings me back to my childhood.

She used to do this often. Whenever I’d ask, she’d either play with my hair, let me lie on her lap until I fell asleep, or scratch my back gently. I’m a sucker for back scratches. I love it. It relaxes me unlike anything else.

“Now, there’s something I wanted to talk to you about,’’ Mom says once I’m done.

She hands me the towel, and I wrap it around my body, stepping onto the fluffy mat near the tub. I slide into my slippers, and we walk in silence into my bedroom. She goes to the kitchen to make me something to eat while I get dressed.

The closest house from the playground was theirs; hence, I had Cove drop me off here. Since my childhood bedroom is basically intact from the day I moved out, I had a lot of clothes left and something comfy to change into.

Mom waits with breakfast ready, and my stomach growls. It’s around seven in the morning, and I haven’t slept a wink. The final prey was dealt with around five in the morning, and it was Blair’s. She did an amazing job, and she proved yet again just how well she fits with all of us.

We’re lucky to have her and proud to call her one of our own.

I take a seat at the kitchen counter, and Mom pushes a plate filled with food my way. I almost moan at the divine smell. She made my favorite, cream cheese bagels with thinly sliced prosciutto and some seasonings.

Immediately, I take a bite of one, relishing in the taste. My taste buds are forever grateful for this, as if I hadn’t had a proper meal in years. Mom snorts at my less-than-ladylike table manners, though she doesn’t comment.

Four bagels are gone before I can realize just how quickly I devoured them.

“So,’’ Mom starts, sitting across from me, fingers interlocked on the counter. Her tone is serious, and I straighten my back, giving her full attention. “I tried doing damage control on two fronts. Which one do you want to talk about first?”

My brows crease. I take a sip of the water, then lean forward. “Just… pick. You’re scaring me a little.’’

Mom’s a little hesitant; I can see it in her eyes. She’s always looking for the easiest and the best way to approach a situation, which I hear is a new thing. Apparently, in her youth, she was a reckless idiot who didn’t give a shit about anything or anyone.

“It’s just… a serious thing to discuss.’’

“From what Dad has told me, you never used to care; you’d just say it how it is,’’ I chuckle. “What’s different now?”

She deadpans. “It’s different because I have two children to think about now. Back then, I was doing it because my actions affected me and me only, and I was the one dealing with the consequences. I can’t afford that now.’’

My eyes soften, and I take her hand across the counter, stroking the back of it with my thumb gently.

“It’s okay. Just spit it out.’’

She blinks, nods, and takes a deep breath. “Arlo’s pissed.’’

I raise an amused brow. “That’s it? I mean, yeah, I figured he’d be pissed. I snuck into the playground. He’ll get over it, I promise.’’

“I haven’t seen him this angry since… well, since when he found out about Blair. He’s angry, Aria. But more than that, he’s scared.’’

“I’m fine, though.’’

“Yes, you’re fine, but you also got lucky. I regretted giving you the address as soon as I heard some good points that Arlo made.’’

I try not to let annoyance show on my face. Releasing her hand, I cross mine in front of my chest. “And what good points did he make?”

“You got lucky,’’ she breathes out. “And Arlo thinks, which, for the record, I do agree with, that this could’ve ended terribly. You got the location and simply waltzed in. Arlo and Cove had traps prepared. Traps that could’ve killed you if you stepped on them. You also weren’t dressed as a hunter, and you could’ve been killed by the prey. I’m proud of you for handling it the way you did, but I’m also worried about what could happen next time during the Kortlek.’’

She’s right, but who cares? I certainly don’t. Blame the stubbornness on her; it’s her most known trait, and I inherited it from her. With a deep breath, I look at her, as serious as I could possibly be.

“There’s something else you’re not telling me. What is it?”

She chuckles to herself, shaking her head slightly. “You’re my daughter, alright,’’ then she glances at me. “Arlo feels guilty.’’

“Guilty? Why?”

She swallows. “He’s always been overly protective of you, and you know that he’d die for you in a heartbeat if needed. However, he still feels guilty over what happened with Wyatt.’’

My body recoils in disgust at the mention of the name, ugly images flashing through my mind. I don’t think about him often anymore. The breakup was nasty; the relationship was terrible, too, but since the nightmares have stopped, so did the thought of him. At least, that’s what I like to tell myself.

“That wasn’t his fault; it was mine; he shouldn’t feel guilty.’’

“No!” Mom raises her voice, and I lean back. I can count on one hand the number of times she’s raised her voice in my twenty years of life. This would be the third. “It was not your fault, Aria. Do you understand me? None of that was your fault. If anything, it was Hudson’s and my fault for not being able to protect you. We’re your parents.’’

Her words are laced with venom, directed toward Wyatt, but the guilt and sadness over the entire situation are there, too. For a moment, she looks away from me, trying to collect herself. My heart aches, and I know that the whole thing affected her and Dad more than they’d like to admit.

“It’s in the past,’’ I say, softening my voice. “I’m okay now.’’

“You are, thank God you are, but you almost weren’t. And Arlo feels guilty as much as we do. That’s the reason he wants you away from Kortlek.’’

“I think you’re overreacting. It wasn’t that bad. I was never kidnapped, tortured, or abused.’’

“No, physically, you weren’t,’’ she sighs. “Mentally, though? He ruined you, and I feared I’d never get my daughter back.’’

“I’ll talk to Arlo,’’ I sigh. “I’ll see what I can do over there.’’

She nods.

“But you said you tried doing damage control on two fronts; you’ve clearly failed this one, so what’s the second one?”

“So, funny thing,’’ she laughs nervously, uncomfortable to even speak about it. “Micah… saw you and Cove… and he may or may not have told Arlo… and Hudson.’’

“Jesus Christ,’’ I groan in annoyance, slamming my head against the marble counter. My eyes close, and I try to remain calm.

“Oh, that’s not all of it, sweetheart.’’

My head lifts off the counter, chin resting on it. I’m not ready to hear whatever it is she has to say, because I just know it’s going to be fucking terrible. She has an apologetic smile on her face, and it seems as though she’s struggling to say the words.

“Just spit it out,’’ impatience echoes in my words, my heart hammering against my ribcage. Mom’s eyes look at me, waiting for a reaction to her next sentence. Anxiety starts spreading through my body, a terrible gut feeling probing in the pit of my stomach.

“Arlo and Hudson may or may not have gone straight to Cove’s.’’

Oh fucking hell.