I glance at the toilet. Yeah. That’s where I’d do it, in hopes no one would see. Trying to remain calm, I walk over there. I bend down, looking to see if there’s anything behind the tank, then out of desperation, lift the lid off the tank, too. But there’s nothing. I breathe a sigh of relief until my eyes land on an open box of tampons, and I can’t help it. It’s a last-ditch effort to make sure there’s not a damn thing in this room that could hurt her. I squat beside the toilet and shove my hand in among the colorful wrappers. At the bottom of the box, my fingertips hit some sort of rough material instead of the expected cardboard.
Frowning, I pick the box up and scramble to get ahold of the mysterious item beneath the lady corks without pulling all of them out in the process. She’s been hiding whatever it is right where she thought none of us would go. What could be in here? Razor blades? A knife? Or…? I grit my teeth as I manage to pull a bag of some sort free.
My brows shoot up in surprise. I immediately recognize the black pouch in my hand for what it is. The front of it carries the logo of a company I’ve purchased tech items from before.
Why would Elliot be hiding a fuckin’ Faraday bag at the bottom of a box of tampons? And the even bigger question—what the hell is she keeping in it?
NINE
CANNON
My feet poundthe pavement on the way back to the house early Tuesday morning. I’ve had a constant cycle of things circling in my head since I woke up. But I did sleep, thank fuck. Kingston made sure I did.
I hadn’t wanted to step away from Elliot yesterday, but I was feeling everything a little too deeply, and dammit if I wasn’t afraid I’d do something to upset her. As it was, I put a fuckin’ dent in the wall of her bathroom because I’d been unable to handle that the bastard carved his first initial into her skin. I flex the fingers of my hand, feeling it all over again. I did what I did. And I don’t fuckin’ regret it.
Like I told Kingston, how am I supposed to feel when I know in my heart that this girl who means so much to me has been abused to the point where she’d choose to hurt herself to escape the way she felt? I’d been out of my head. If Kingston hadn’t convinced me to talk it out, I would have chosen a completely different course of action. Everything went haywire in my head, and all I’d wanted to do was end that guy once and for all so he could never hurt Elliot again.
I must have sent Kingston a million text messages yesterday as we worked through things. I’m insanely frustrated that we don’t have answers—not for what’s happened to her in the past, not for how everything went down yesterday morning, none of it. And did something happen in class that Dane missed? Or did he say something to her that she took the wrong way? He’s a good fuckin’ guy, so I can’t imagine that’s the case, but I think we have to look at every angle and possibility. I huff out a laugh. I sound like fuckin’ Archer.
Kingston is right about one thing for sure, and we spent a lot of time going back and forth about it yesterday—if I don’t better control my stress levels and make sure I’m treating my body with respect by fueling it and resting it the way I know I need to, I will be putting myself on a collision course with another seizure. I can’t risk that. And that’s why I’d actually listened when he told me to get food and then go the fuck to bed and sleep through until morning. He knew I needed it. Bad. I hadn’t wanted to admit it, but I knew it, too.
There would have been no rest for me, though, if I didn’t trust Archer so fucking much. I know he made sure Elliot was cared for the way she deserved to be, even if it couldn’t be me she relied on, or even Kingston because he was busy dealing with my sorry ass.
I power up the driveway, pushing as hard as I can, only stopping when I reach the porch. As is my habit, I pace back and forth with my hands locked together on top of my head until I’ve cooled down some, then do light stretches while sweat continues to pour down my torso. I need water, meds, and food. In that order.
The moment I open the door, I know there’s something off because there are low voices coming from the direction of the kitchen. It’s still really fucking early, not even six thirty, so this is bizarre. My brow furrows when my eyes land on Kingston and Archer already at the kitchen island, talking quietly.
“Hey. We’ve gotta talk,” Kingston grits, morning voice rough.
Archer pushes a bottle of water and my meds toward me. “I’ll scramble you a few eggs.” He gets up before I can respond at all and begins to pull out what he needs.
My eyes connect with Kingston’s, and I don’t know if my face gives away myWhy does this feel like a DEFCON 2 type situation?thoughts, but he shakes his head.
“Once you’ve had food, we’ll go outside to talk.”
Exhaling sharply through my nose, I uncap my water and chug a bunch before I toss back the small pile of vitamins and my prescription medication that Archer obviously saw the need to manage for me this morning. I don’t mind, but it feeds into my thoughts that they don’t want to waste time because something has happened since I went to bed late yesterday afternoon. Fucking hell. I suppose I can choose to be irritated with myself or I can focus on whatever’s happened. They haven’t said a word yet about Elliot. I hope like fuck she’s fine, because now all sorts of awful thoughts are firing at me like bullets to my heart. I pull my phone from my pocket and tap out a text to our group chat.
I take it something has happened.
Please tell me she’s okay.
I wait for Kingston to glance down and read, all while my heart rate jacks up as high as it was when I was running earlier.
He shakes his head, holding up a hand. “She’s asleep. I was going to wake her with enough time to get dressed and get to class.”
My brow tugs together hard.
Should she be going anywhere?
Kingston glances over at Archer, who hasn’t seen the message because he’s busy pouring eggs into the skillet. “Archer, you were the one who was with her yesterday… and last night, I assume. Would you say she should stay home today, or—”
He shakes his head, his answer swift. “Nope. She needs normalcy. She should go to classes today. She’s got, what, English and history? I think it’d do her good to keep her mind off other things.” Archer spins around, spatula in hand, propping his butt against the edge of the counter next to the stove. “And yeah, I stayed with her or watched her from my computer the entire night. There are a few things that came up that I want to talk to you all about.” He turns again, moving my breakfast around in the pan another few seconds before he pulls a plate out of the cupboard and loads it with a pile of steaming-hot scrambled eggs, then opens the drawer to his right and plucks out a fork for me.
I mash my lips together. Stew.
“What’s up, Cannon?” Archer’s brow raises, and the cheeky bastard holds my eggs hostage while he waits for my answer.
With a loud exhaled breath, I silently tap out my thoughts into our group chat.
