Elio leavesafter that to go back to the city, saying he needed to check in with Ronan and actually help with the search for me—or at least appear to be helping—so Ronan wouldn't get suspicious. He promised to be back sometime tonight, and I have to believe that he will. That nothing will happen to spoil our plans.
I spend the time alone trying not to spiral. I clean the already-clean kitchen. I read the same page of a book four times without absorbing a word. I stare out the window at the woods surrounding the safe house and wonder if Desmond is out there somewhere, watching. If he’s found me already and is just biding his time.
By the time I hear Elio's car pull up, it's well past dark. I'm at the door before he's even out of the vehicle, desperate for any news.
"How did it go?" I ask as he comes inside. He’s carrying a bag that smells like Chinese food, and my stomach automatically growls. I haven’t eaten since the sandwiches he made us earlier. I don’t know how to cook in the first place, and I’ve been too stressed to even try.
"Fine." But he looks exhausted, and there's a tension in his shoulders that wasn't there this morning. "Ronan's getting more desperate. He's offering a reward for any information about your whereabouts."
"How much?"
"Two hundred and fifty thousand."
I whistle low. "That's going to bring out every opportunist in Boston."
"That's what I told him." Elio shrugs off his jacket and tosses it over a chair. "But he's not thinking rationally right now. He just wants his sister back." He sets the bag of food down on the coffee table and starts to unpack it.
The guilt returns, sharp and insistent. "What else happened?" I frown at the bag. “And where on earth did you find Chinese takeout?”
“There’s a town about ten miles from here, on the way in. One of those little places people stop in, and out of the way up here for camping. They have a tiny Chinese joint, and I remembered you like it.” He takes out a container and holds it up. “Orange chicken still your favorite?”
Something melts in my chest at the fact that he remembers that. It’s such a small detail, from so long ago. “Yes.” I swallow hard against the lump in my throat as I sit down on the couch, reaching for the hot container. “With lo mein?”
Elio smiles—the first real, wide smile I’ve seen from him all day. “I’m glad I got it right.”
For that brief moment, everything else falls away. The danger, the trauma from the attack, the guilt, the reason whywe’re here, the guards outside. It’s just Elio and me, in this small, private space, sharing a meal together. Something we haven’t done in years.
“We almost never got to get takeout,” I say, biting down on a smile as I take the container of lo mein from him, too. “Padraigh hated it. Said it was ‘below us.’ Remember the times when he was out of town and we’d play rock, paper, scissors to see whose allowance would buy it? And then we’d pretend to not be hungry at dinner and sneak off into the garden when it was delivered to eat it, so no one could tell on us?”
Elio laughs. “I do remember that. I remember us bribing the driver to take us places, too, when we were older. Like that Italian spot, or our favorite Chinese restaurant.”
Our. The word makes my breath catch for a moment. It doesn’t mean anything—he could have meant all of us, him and me and Tristan and Ronan. But it feels like he means just him and me. Just the two of us.
Elio takes his own food out—an egg roll, Mongolian beef, and shrimp fried rice—and sets it out. “I pointed Ronan in the direction of a small gang that used to be affiliated with Rocco. Did some of their dirty work.” He looks at me sideways. “Ronan is about to make their life hell for the foreseeable future.”
Guilt burns through me again. Bad things are going to happen to those men because we’re lying to Ronan. But I tell myself that if they worked for Rocco, they were bad men anyway. Maybe Ronan will uncover some things they’re doing that need to be stopped. Maybe it won’t all be for the worse.
We sit there for a few long minutes, digging into our food. It’s delicious, and I was hungrier than I realized until the food showed up.
“What did you do all day?” Elio asks, glancing over at me, and I laugh.
“Tried to stay busy and keep my mind off of things.” I glance over at the sparkling-clean kitchen, and Elio’s mouth twitches.
“Did it work?”
“Not really,” I admit. I stab another piece of chicken with my fork to keep from saying what’s on the tip of my tongue:I was waiting for you to come back.
I missed Elio when he was gone. I’ve missed him for years; I’ve just never wanted to let myself admit it. Why, when he was the one who left me? Why, when I could never have him?
It just felt like punishing myself for something that was never my fault. But now he’s back. Now I’m alone in this cabin, with him, and everything that I’ve been pushing down for all these years feels as if it’s coming back up, like the sudden proximity combined with the trauma is making me remember how I used to feel.
Everything I used to want so badly.
Elio gets up when we’re finished eating and cleans up the meal, waving for me to stay seated as he collects the takeout containers and bag. When he comes back in, he pauses in the doorway, looking momentarily awkward.
“It’s getting late. We should both probably get some rest.” He rubs the back of his neck, then heads toward the linen closet, where I realize he’s probably getting out pillows and blankets to crash on the couch.
I’ve slept alone my whole life. I’ve never had anyone in bed next to me. I don’t even know what it’s like to fall asleep with or wake up next to someone. But suddenly, the thought of going to bed alone feels unbearably lonely. Almost… frightening.
