“Just go…” she hisses to me before hurrying to offer Jacob her hand. “You’re doing great, Jake. One more step.”
I run.
I turn and hurry deeper through the house. There really isn’t a place I can go that won’t be a further inconvenience. I know they’ll take Jacob into the parlor. Mom will head into the kitchen to make him whatever he wants. Nicolas and Dominic are most likely back at the guesthouse, curled up in each other’s arms. Going to my room would start a new argument. That left the basement or the bathroom. Neither is appealing.
My feet carry me to the kitchen. It’s a risky gamble but I’m not sitting in the bathroom, and the basement is creepy.
The kitchen is no better. It’s a ghost town of abandoned tarts. The counters are layered with wax paper and lined with cold pastries. Several squares of unfilled dough are crusted on the island next to a gelatinous bowl of apple filling.
My stomach dips even before Mom stalks in after me. Her dark eyes blink twice in rapid succession as if disbelieving the sight before her.
“Are you serious?” she cries, rushing to the mess she left behind. “You didn’t wrap these up?”
I say nothing as she scrambles to salvage the tarts. But the dough is stiff, the filling dry. The few already baked ones are crunchy from sitting out for most of the day.
“I had to leave to clean up your mess, and you couldn’t even bother to do this one thing?” With a sweep and swing, she empties the entire tray of baked tarts straight into the trash. They hit the bottom like bombs going off. Each one makes me flinch. “What were you even doing all day while I was at the hospital with your uncle?”
I know what I was doing — nothing I’m proud of. Nothing I can tell her now that the high is no longer controlling my actions.
Mom isn’t listening anyway. She’s filling the trash with everything she’d done that morning. The bin is brimming by the time she’s twisted the top together and shoved the plastic into my fingers.
“Do you think you can manage taking this to the garage?” She sweeps her hand back through her hair, shoving the curls out of her eyes. “I have to restart everything. So much time and money wasted…”
It’s on my tongue to apologize again. To explain. But there’s nothing I can tell her that will make her believe I hadn’t meant to ruin her work. She’s a bundle of anger as shestalks around the room, flinging open cabinets and yanking out ingredients
I can only pull in a slow, shaky breath to keep the tears from falling. They cling to my lashes, and I struggle not to blink in fear of unleashing them.
But with my fist tight around the waste, I turn in the direction of the backdoor a second before it flies open and Nicolas and Dominic invade the room. Their combined presence swarms the space, consuming the air before they step foot over the threshold. Both find me immediately as if we’re magnets clicking together.
Only, I look away first. I drop my gaze to the floor, face hot enough to shame the oven Mom snaps on.
“Well, hello you two!” Mom chirps, all signs of her fury gone as if it never happened. She beams widely at them and motions they take a seat at the island. “I’m about to make a hot round of turnovers if you want to keep me company. Walker is in the parlor with Jacob if you want to go see them.”
Not an ounce of indignation for Dominic for being the one who broke Jacob’s leg. No accusation. No blame. It’s as if it never happened.
I feel my anger is justified when I shove past the two and stomp out onto the back porch. The biting chill rolling across the yard feels like heaven washing over the hot sweat clinging to my skin. A fine powder of snow crunches beneath my feet as I march along the path to the side of the house.
Walker keeps the garage doors unlocked. Piper Falls is a moderately close-knit community with neighbors watching over each other’s yards. Plus, the only thing my stepdad keeps inside is Mom’s car and the bins for the trash. Nothing remotely valuable for anyone to steal.
I don’t bother with the light switch when I delve inside and pick my way alongside Mom’s Mazda to the three-color codedbins stationed at the very end next to the roll up door. Mom always keeps them in the exact same spot to make it easier to pull out on garbage days. The black is always at the beginning, and I shove the top open to toss the bag inside.
It does dawn on me for a heartbeat of a second that I could just stay here. Mom never locks her car doors. I can crawl into the backseat and hide. I doubt anyone would even notice until supper.
I’m contemplating it, gaze fixed on the handle. The wussy part of my brain clings to the knowledge that it’s too cold in the garage. The concrete walls have converted the space into a deep freezer. I doubt the car will be any warmer and I don’t want to run back inside to grab a coat or blanket. The worst part of it all is the knowledge that no one will come looking for me until Mom decides to take her car out. Even then, I doubt she’d bother looking in the backseat.
“Isla?”
The deep, masculine rumble echoes through the silence. It implodes between my ears, tearing the very soul from my body as I release an undignified yelp and spin.
“Holy shit on a cracker,” I shriek, slapping a hand over my thundering heart and glowering at the looming figure standing between me and escape.
Nicolas stares at me, gray eyes enormous in the gloom.
“Jesus!” I snap. “Why are you sneaking up on people in the dark?” I swear there’s a hint of a smile on his face, but the shadows are too thick. “Did you need something?”
He says nothing for such a long time that I begin to suspect he’s fallen asleep standing up. My gaze shifts from his blurry silhouette to the door behind him, gauging my chances of making it past him without any sort of contact. The other part of me wonders if I stand still long enough, he’ll simply leave me alone.
But he remains in place, letting both our discomfort plume through the settling cold.
