dark out. Thomas and Tyler left the room hours ago. I don’t think they locked the door behind them, but I haven’t checked—they know I won’t leave without Ethan.
Teeny’s at the foot of the gigantic bed, asleep. And Ethan is still unconscious.
His last words to me repeat on an infinite loop in my head:What did you do…what did you do…
Thomas pulled the bullet out of the meaty part of Ethan’s arm and stitched him back up. He said Ethan would be asleep for a while, but I think it’s been too long. All I ever heard about concussions was to keep the person awake. But I don’t think Thomas could have gotten the bullet out with Ethan conscious.
I hid the gun we took from Mateo the second Thomas left the room. It’s a handgun, but I don’t know what kind, and it has some sort of tube screwed to the end of it. A silencer, maybe? I guess that’s why no one came running when he fired those two shots.
By now Will has gotten to town and he’s waiting in some unknown club for Ethan to show.
This is so screwed up.
The door creaks open and Tyler’s head pops in. “You have to be hungry. Come down and eat something.”
I’m hesitant to leave Ethan and Teeny, but my stomach makes the most god-awful noise once he mentions food and I remember I haven’t eaten today.
“Can I bring something up for them for when they wake up?”
He nods, and just like that, he’s the friendly host.
I follow Tyler down a hall toward a set of steps. There are lots of doors, all shut, but once we get downstairs the whole room opens up. There is a living area with several different groupings of furniture, a long table and chairs, and then the kitchen. It’s warm-feeling, which is not what I expected. I scan the room but don’t see Thomas anywhere.
“Who’s place is this?” I ask.
Tyler shakes his head and answers, “Please don’t ask me too much.” He’s different and I wonder what brought on the change—Ethan beating the crap out of him or something else.
He gestures for me to sit at the bar while he moves around the kitchen. He pulls out long, slender white packages and small bags of chips from a white grocery bag.
“I got some roast beef po’boys. I think you’ll like them.”
I’m so hungry I could eat dirt, so I rip the package open the second he hands it to me and shove a huge amount of the sandwich in my mouth.
He brings over a small Styrofoam container and says, “It’s better if you dip it in the gravy first.”
I nod and try to choke down the food. It is a little dry and it’s hard to force it down my throat.
“Can I have some water?”
Tyler brings two bottles and sits beside me.
We eat in silence and it’s awkward. There are a million things I want to ask him but I don’t know where I stand with him right now.
“Look, I’m sorry,” he finally says. “If I had it to do over again in Florida, I would do things a lot differently.”
I finish chewing and think about what to say to him. This is not what I expected. At all. I need to feel him out, see what’s ticking in that brain of his.
“I thought after what Ethan did to you, you might not help him.”
His left eye twitches before he says, “I would try to kill someone, too, if I thought they hurt you. He just doesn’t understand what’s going on here. I’m trying to save you. That’s all I ever wanted to do. I would have never given you the journal back if I’d have known all this was going to happen. I swear. And I’m glad you trusted me enough to call when you needed help. Better late than never. No matter what I will always be here for you.”
He’s sick. Seriously sick in the head. Does he honestly think there’s hope for us?
He reaches over and squeezes my hand. I hate him. The desire to hit him, like Ethan did, is so strong, but another idea pops in my head—what if I use this moment to my advantage? If I can make him believe I’ve forgiven him and there is the slightest chance for us, then maybe I can get us out of this mess alive. I just hope I can act nice without showing how I really feel about him.
I turn toward him, letting my knees bump his. Tucking a stray piece of hair behind my ear, I say, “This is all so hard to take in, but thank you for making sure Thomas didn’t kill me or my family.”
He blushes and plays with his food. “I wanted to tell you so many times who I really was.” He looks around the room, making sure we’re alone. Even though we’re the only ones in here, he leans in close and whispers, “I’m so sorry about your mom. I really liked her. Is she getting better?”
