Chapter 88

My room was exactly as I had left it. The bed was still made from yesterday, the sweater lay draped over the chair, the books stood in a small crooked tower on the desk. All of it waiting for the same girl from yesterday morning, as if she still existed.

A bitter laugh nearly escaped me.

I shut the door and locked it. I didn't have it in me to walk further. I let myself slide against the cool wood, body numb, and let the thoughts come.

I thought of Ethan's wounds. I thought of Dad standing barefoot in the yard with his shirt buttoned wrong and his face tired and distraught. I thought of Hailey on the stairs. I thought of Jack's silence and Elise's worry and Nell's hand against my chest at the boundary, holding me back from a world that held me and wanted me gone at the same time.

And then, when there was nothing left to hide behind, I thought of Mom. Because I wanted her back and alive with a violence that frightened me.

Then I remembered Dad's face when I said I wished it was him in her place.

I pressed my forehead to my knees. Grandpa Gerard's knife, that pathetic, useless thing I had always carried in my right pocket pressed mockingly against my thigh. That tiny discomfort was all it took. The sound that left me was long and wounded and wasn't anything I recognized. Because in that moment I had meant to hurt Dad, and I had known exactly where to cut. Only, it cut me back too, deeper than I thought possible.

And I realized that I had run away from him, that I had forgotten about the rule against running, that I could have broken him again, and myself, and all of us.

Perhaps I had, and I just hadn't realized it yet.

Except I didn't have it in me to worry about it anymore.

Then the tears broke out, like an old dam finally collapsing, ugly and hot, pouring until everything in me emptied into something duller. When it finally ended, my throat hurt. My head throbbed. My eyes felt swollen. At some point, I crawled from the floor to the bed and lay on top of the blanket without taking off my coat, because the thought of moving with intention felt impossible.

Downstairs, the house stayed quiet. Once, I heard Elise's voice through the floorboards, low and strained. Jack answered, even lower. A door opened. Closed. I listened for Dad's voice and heard nothing.

Maybe he had left again. Maybe I had sent him back into the woods with one sentence.

The thought should have made me get up. Except it didn't.

I lay there, staring at the wall, while the morning thinned toward afternoon and the light in my room shifted from grey to a pale, colorless wash.

My phone buzzed.

The sound jolted through me so violently I sat up before I knew I had moved. For one second, I thought it would be Nell. Then I saw the name.

Ethan.

Everything inside me stopped.

The message sat on the screen. Kelse. I'm awake.

My hands began shaking so hard I almost dropped the phone. I opened the thread.

Are you okay? I typed.

There was nothing. No dots, no answer. The message was unread.

I stared at the screen. Someone must have walked in on him, he needed to put the phone away.

My brain offered a dozen explanations.

None of them helped.

The screen remained dark. I got up and started pacing around the room, my whole world rearranging around the empty black glass.

About ten minutes later the phone finally buzzed again.

Sorry, got caught up with something. Don't worry. I'm just a little beaten up. I'll heal.

I covered my mouth with one hand. The relief hurt.

I'm so sorry , I sent, and then stared at the words because Nell's voice came back to me, fierce and exhausted. Don't put this on him as well.

But I was sorry. Because it was my father who had done it to him.

Before I could decide whether to delete it, or add explanation, another message appeared.

Don't. I need to see you.

My breath caught. There was something odd about it, an urgency Ethan didn't normally possess. And he didn't even address the marking thing. Not that I needed him to confirm it was accidental, but still, something in me refused to settle.

Holding my breath, I typed. Ethan, you're hurt.

Three dots appeared instantly. Almost too fast. I can make it.

I stared at the screen, my thumb hovering. Nell said I can't come to your house.

Not here.

The next message came almost immediately. Come to the spring tonight.

The room seemed to tilt around that word. The spring.

My thumb moved. Everyone in the house will hear the car.

The bubble appeared a second later. Don't drive. Walk.

I swallowed. Ethan.

There was a beat before he replied. Kelse. Please.

That undid me more than anything else could have. Please from him, especially after last night, felt like a hand reaching through the wreckage.

Another message appeared. I need to explain before they decide everything for us.

The sentence shut down the doubt and left a warm ache beneath my ribs. I pressed the phone against my heart and closed my eyes.

Downstairs, someone moved through the hallway. I opened my eyes and typed with my pulse beating in my fingertips.

When?

At midnight.

I'm not sure if I can leave. They'll hear me.

A pause. Then: Don't tell anyone anything. Wait until you're sure the whole house is asleep. I'll wait for you. Just come.

There was something about that message that sounded off. Small unease settled in the pit of my stomach and wouldn't let go.

Are you sure you're okay? I typed again, with trembling fingers, as I tried to push the feeling away. We can wait until you're healed.

The reply came fast. No time. It's serious. I'll explain everything tonight. Just come.

I bit my lip and looked toward my locked door. My room had a window that opened onto the little sloped roof over the back porch. I had never climbed out of it, but I had thought about it once. Or twice. The latch was old. The roof was not too steep. The drop from the porch to the ground would be ugly but not impossible if I used the trellis.

My heart finally trumped my gut. Ethan needed me, and after what my father had done to him, I needed to see him too. To set things between us straight and for us to decide how to move forward together.

I typed: Okay.

The answer was quick: Thank you.

I stared at those two words for a long time. Then I locked the screen and sat very still while the decision settled over me with cold unease. But I gritted my teeth against it.

Because Ethan had answered. He wanted to see me. That was enough for the part of me where anger, fear, and grief had already burned through common sense.

And so I waited for the night to fall.