From the grim set of Archer’s jaw when he opens his eyes and stares steadily at his friend, I can tell he agrees with me wholeheartedly. On top of that, from his twisted expression, I’m certain his brain is working overtime, trying to decipher what’s going on in Kingston’s head. Archer’s gaze shifts back to me again, and it’s obvious he hears me loud and clear, even if no words have been spoken—Kingston is a hair’s breadth from losing it.
“I’ll drive.” Archer juts his chin out, then hurries toward the driver’s side before anyone can argue. That’s the great thing about push-button ignitions. So long as the key’s in the car, we’re good. No need to wait for Kingston to agree.
I get into the back, letting Kingston have the front passenger seat. Archer hands Kingston the phone, offering him at least some degree of control by making him the navigator.
“Just tell me where we’re going, K.”
His exhale is hard, and he rubs his free hand over his jaw. “Yeah. Get to the interstate. I’ll direct you from there.”
We haven’t gotten more than five miles when I sense from the seat in front of me that Archer is now desperate to know what’s in Kingston’s head. I try to get his attention in the rearview, and I don’t know if he’s purposely ignoring me or not. Maybe we shouldn’t do this while we’re driving. But I can’t stop him, he wets his lips before glancing at Kingston. “Are you going to tell us what’s wrong or are we supposed to guess?”
Kingston side-eyes him, then turns his head for a moment to look back at me. “It’s nothing. Just old shit cropping up again.”
Old shit.He means his sister. What does Juliette have to do with any of this?
“Do you need me to act like your therapist and remind you that nothing is worth bottling up like this? You’ll get all ragey and explode eventually. So you may as well talk about it.”
Kingston huffs out one breath, then another, staring away from us out the window. For several moments, I think he’s going to block us out, ignore us, and leave us in the dark. But then, his head whips around and there’s so much emotion in his eyes, it knocks me sideways and has my senses tingling with awareness.
“Juliette,” he gasps out, then stops abruptly, stark fear sliding over his features as if he’s reliving in his head whatever he’s about to share with us. “I fuckin’ got to the house and called out for Elliot, and no one answered. I ran upstairs… the entire time terrified of what I might find.”
My eyes crash shut, and I lean forward, my elbow planted on my thigh, my hand covering my mouth at the pure anguish in his voice. It’s not the craziest jump ever. She went home on her own, purposely not waiting for one of us. And fucking hell, Kingston must have thought he was going to find Elliot in the process of trying to harm herself. Or like he had with Juliette… find her after it was too late. I reach out with my other hand, grasping his shoulder and giving it a squeeze.
“Fuck. I’m sorry.” Archer reaches across the console, taking his hand. “But as much as it may have been a harsh reminder of those events, Elliot is not Juliette. She’snot.That’s not what’s happening here. Don’t fuckin’ do that to yourself.” He turns his focus back to the road as he guides the SUV to the exit for the interstate.
Giving Kingston’s shoulder another gentle squeeze, I release him, sitting back in my seat again. Archer is right. But that doesn’t mean he didn’t feel those things.
I can imagine his panic, envision how he must have run through the house looking for her, even though he was terrified of what he might find. It tears my heart out—both for Kingston, knowing his past, and for Elliot. Because if Kingston is keeping things from us and he had the worry in his head that she would harm herself…Fuck.My stomach gives an ugly lurch.
I want to know what we’re dealing with.
Hypocrite. You didn’t want Elliot to know that you have epilepsy. Why would she share her issues with you?
And if what I’m thinking is at all close to the truth Elliot’s hiding… I’m so fucking scared. I want her to be able to come to me. I need to know everything about her. But she doesn’t trust me enough, not yet. That thought burns through my veins, searing my soul.
I hang my head. I swear, if we find her, I will remedy all of this.
Whenwe find her. Because I can’t consider anything else.
FOUR
ELLIOT
A noxious smelldrifts up my nostrils, making my stomach churn and heave. My head pounds. I feel like I’m going to throw up. Woozy and disoriented, I attempt to steady my breathing. Inhale slowly. Hold. Exhale. Count—three, two, one. Repeat.
As I become more aware of my surroundings and my own body, I recognize I’m flat on my back on an uncomfortably hard mattress, my arms splayed out, angled upward, like I’m cheering V for victory. Only, this doesn’t feel like much of a win. It’s an unnatural, uncomfortable position, but when I attempt to bring my arms into my chest, there’s something holding me, scratching and pulling at the skin of my wrists. It burns with the friction of it. Panic rises within me, helping to bring me into full consciousness as I struggle, and the more I yank, the tighter the bind becomes. My eyes fly open to my own living nightmare.
I’m in a dank, musty-smelling room, my wrists tied with rope to the bed posts. I swear from the way my head is swimming I’ve been drugged. My heart immediately speeds away like a Formula 1 car. Zero to sixty in 2.5 seconds. It hammers so hard, it’s gotta be bruising my rib cage from the inside.
Blinking, I try to adjust my eyes to the darkness. The curtains are drawn, and very little light penetrates the heavy material. That awful, cloying scent is back again—the same one that made me want to hurl back at the house when he grabbed me. Nick’s cologne.
I was so goddamn innocent when my father suggested I date the son of his colleague. And at first, Nick had been charming, kind, and so sweet to me whenever we were in public together. The fact that he’d treated me like I was his princess—his trophy to show off—was probably something I shouldn’t have waved off like it’d been acceptable. I should have seen him coming a mile away, but I’d been inexperienced. And this cute, charismatic guy likedme.Foolishly, I’d thought I was special to him.
I couldn’t have been more mistaken.
It didn’t take long at all before Nick showed me his true personality. When we were alone, he’d accuse me of trying to look better than him, dress better than him. I’d simply been trying to look pretty to go out with my boyfriend, so his nasty streak had caught me off guard.
Soon, it almost seemed as if he hated me. He tore me down. Made me feel like I was worthless. Laughed at my still growing and developing body. He made me feel like shit. I was sixteen. And I let it go on for way too long. I won’t say he was the only reason why I started on the path of self-harm… but he was a large part of it.
