Page 12 of Where Daisies Breathe (Star Meadows #2)

AVA

T he place that Clara’s mom rented for us is a single-story house located near the foothills.

Other houses are in the area, but they’re spread out by acres of land that’s flourishing with overgrown grass and flowers.

The land that encompasses the house we’re staying in is billowing with blooming daisies, something I’m attempting not to overthink about, but am miserably failing.

“You should keep the doors locked,” I tell Clara after I’ve hauled the last of my belongings in.

She sinks onto a sofa that’s in the living room. “I was planning on it.”

It features an open floor plan with a hallway that leads to three bedrooms. I told Clara to pick whatever bedroom she wants, and I'll take one of the two that’s left.

I’m not planning on getting settled in until I talk to Ellis.

I’m unsure I’ll ever be able to be settled until this mystery is solved.

“Are you sure you don’t want to unpack first?” Clara asks, frowning. “And maybe order some food.”

I tuck a strand of my hair behind my ear. “I really need to leave. Ellis texted me that he was back at the hotel, and he’s basically just waiting around for me. I mean, he didn’t say those exact words, but I can tell that’s what he’s doing.”

“Are you going to tell him about your creepy cousin?” She gives a dramatic shudder. “That guy has some of the worst creep vibes.”

“He’s been that way forever,” I mutter, my stomach clenching at all the vile things Trystan has done over the years. And who knows what other secrets are rotting inside him that I don’t know about.

The silence that stretches between us is heavy.

“Tonight, when you come back here, I want you to talk to me.” She pushes to her feet. “I want you to tell me what’s going on. I know it can be difficult to talk about heavy stuff, but I want you to trust me.”

Trust? Do I even understand the word? But I owe Clara the truth. So I nod, give Bailey a few pets, then leave the house. Once I’m in my car, I start the drive to the hotel. I’m on edge being alone.

Fortunately, the drive is uneventful, and by the time I arrive at the hotel, it’s nearing mid-afternoon.

Before I head in, I check to make sure I have the key I took from my mother’s bedroom, the photo, and the note that was left in my car.

I’m also avoiding. It’s something I’ve been good at for most of my life.

I don’t want to be that way anymore, though.

So I grab my bag, climb out, lock up my car, and enter the hotel. When I arrive at Ellis' room door, I remember that I left the drying daisies on his table but never told him about them. He’s probably wondering why in the hell they’re there.

Lifting my hand, I knock instead of using the keycard he gave me. It seems weird to waltz in when he’s in there doing who knows what.

A beat skips by, and then the door opens up. Ellis is standing on the other side, his phone in hand.

“I was just about to call you.” He steps back and holds the door open while motioning me inside. “Do you know why there’s a vase of dry daisies on the table?”

I enter the room, then turn to face him as he shuts the door. “Someone left them in front of the door while you were gone, and Clara and I were still here.” I pluck up the note that’s tucked underneath the vase. “And this was with it.”

A crease forms between his brows as he takes the note and unfolds it. His lips part as he reads the words.

“What kind of sick joke is this?” He lifts his gaze to mine. “Who would do this?”

“I don’t know. When I answered the door, the hallway was empty.” I pause, struggling to breathe evenly against the soaring beating of my heart. “I don’t know if you remember this, but Clover used to call me her daisy friend.”

“I remember.” A frown tugs at his lips. “But I still don’t understand why someone would do this.”

“I don’t either.” I set my bag down onto the floor. “As far as I know, no one knew she called me that except you. Well, unless someone overheard her call me it. That may have happened at a party or something.”

He fiddles with his tie, loosening it. “But even if they did, why would they do this to you? It’s fucked up.”

I chew on my bottom lip, dragging out what I’m about to do next, my cowardly instincts clawing at me. But I’m getting better at pushing through the pain.

“The other day, while I was stopped at a gas station, I got into this argument with this guy over me not moving my car out of the way quickly enough. While I was distracted, someone snuck up to my car and dropped these on the front seat.” I dig out the photo and note and hand them to him.

“I’m not sure who did it, but the note says they want me to meet them. ”

He takes the note and photo from me. He examines the photo first, then proceeds to the note.

“You have no idea who left it?” he questions, his gaze elevating to mine.

“No… But Camilla was there, and we saw each other. I don’t know if she did it or why she would, but she did get in my face at the park yesterday and said some weird stuff to me… Did I mention that to you last night?”

“You did.” He doesn’t offer any more information about what I did and didn’t say.

So, I decide to test it out, as if stepping out of the woods for the first time in years and dipping my toes from the shadows and into the sunlight. “Did I…” I tug at the hem of my shirt. “Did I tell you about the words cut on my flesh and Camilla’s?”

Confusion flashes across his features. “You told me about Camilla but not you.”

My throat clicks as I swallow hard, then nod.

I sit down on the bed and stare at the floor.

“It happened at the bar the other day during that night you were there. I got blacked out drunk, or my drink got drugged—I’m not sure—but anyway, when I woke up, this was on my back.

” Summoning every ounce of courage I have, I twist to face him while lifting my shirt enough so he can see it:

Slut .

His breath catches, but he says nothing. I don’t look at him, shame washing over me for indecipherable reasons.

“Aves, I don’t think you should be involved in this anymore,” he utters quietly. “I think you should let me handle it.”

I lower my shirt and look at him. “What? Why?”

He leans against the dresser with his arms crossed. “Because the word on your back…It’s just… There’s more to it than what you think. I wish I could tell you, but it’s confidential because of the case.”

“I’m guessing it’s because the girl that was found in the park yesterday had a word cut on her,” I say. When his brows rise, I add, “I think you’ve forgotten how much people gossip around here.”

He huffs out an exhale while dragging his fingers through his hair. “I know, but… fuck. I forgot how much this town drives me crazy.”

“You and me both,” I mumble, my chest constricting as I prepare to say the words burning on my tongue.

I don’t want to say them, but I have to—I have to do this.

“I want to help. I'd like to show you where my father used to like to hike. I want to meet this person at the bar. I want to tell you about what I overheard Trystan saying today when he was in my room, and he didn’t know Clara and I were hiding in the closet.”

His expression crumbles. “What?”

“It happened when we went to get our stuff.” I stand up, ignoring the tremble in my legs. “I need to help with this. I need to make things right for all the wrongs I did in the woods that day, all those fucking years ago.”

Pity fills his eyes. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You fought for your life. You ran because if you didn’t, you’d be dead too.”

I’ve always wondered that myself, if I ran to survive or because I’m a coward. While it’s nice to hear him say it, a drop of doubt still stirs inside me.

“Maybe that’s true, but I still feel guilty about it. And I can help now, so…” I shrug. “And besides, someone who knows something about it wants me involved in this and that could help, right?”

He doesn’t want to answer. Even all these years later, he’s trying to protect me.

“I don’t want you getting hurt,” he conclusively says. “This is a murder case. And possible multiple murders are involved. I just… I don’t think you should be involved in this.”

“Whether I should or not is irrelevant. Whoever is taunting me is making sure I’m involved.” I gesture at the flowers. “I think I’ve been involved since I walked into those woods years ago.”

We trade a look, and I can see it in his eyes: he knows I’m right.

“I don’t want you doing anything alone. Ever .” He straightens and steps toward me. “If I’m not with you, you have to promise not to do anything related to this.”

I nod, but in the back of my mind I question if the promise is in my control. The reality is that I’m tangled in this web of lies plaguing the town, and whoever is creating it clearly wants me to remain stuck inside it.

“Okay.” He contemplates for a second. “Do you feel comfortable enough going up to the mountains today?” He checks the time on his watch. “There’s still a handful of hours left before the sun sets, but if that makes you nervous, we can go tomorrow.”

“I have to meet that person at the bar tomorrow,” I remind him, my anxiety spiking at the idea of stepping foot into the shadows of the woods.

I haven’t been back in these particular woods since that day. And I promised myself I’d never step foot in them again. But those promises allowed fear to feed off me, to eat away at my inside and nearly hollow me out. I need to do this. I need to make things right.

“Let’s go.” I sound more confident than I feel.

“Are you sure?” He double checks.

“Yeah.” This time, being a good liar might not be such a terrible thing.

Perhaps if I keep doing it, I'll convince myself I’ll be okay.