No interruptions. No chickening out. They deserve to know.
I've worked it all out. I know what to say.HowI plan to say it.
Because Atticus isn't the only one who needs to apologize. I've kept this secret since Sunday afternoon, and about two hours ago, it became Wednesday.
If I'm honest with myself, it's a secret I've kept for much longer. Ever since the moment Ambrose recognized my necklace. He didn't say as much, but I saw it in how his entire bearing shifted when it fell out of my blouse. And I said nothing.
I convinced myself I imagined it. It was weak of me. Cowardly.
All things I promised myself I would never be again.
So,tomorrow.
Even though the house has been sleeping for hours, I'm still as quiet as I can be when I sneak out my bedroom door. I half expected Elijah and Seven to be waiting out in the hall, but they both respected me enough to listen when I told them through the door that I needed the night alone.
Ellie slept in Seven's room, which means I don't need to worry about waking her as I pad down the stairs.
I need to clear my head. I need air.
And something tells me maybe he'll be there, too.
Like he was that night before everything went wrong. The night we shared a cigarette, and he told me it wasmychoice.
If he's not, then there's the crisp autumn air and the pool, which I am praying he's still heating even though I'm not really here anymore.
Pulling my sweater tighter around myself, I slip through the dark halls of the house and look out the glass pane in the back door. But I don't see him. The pool glows with soft blue light far down the flagstone pathway, little wisps of steam rising from the surface of the clear water.
At least it looks like it's still heated.
Small mercies.
Realizing I forgot a towel, I tiptoe the rest of the way down the hall to steal one from their home gym. The strong scents of heady musk and lemon-scented cleaner hit me in the face as I snatch a couple of white towels from the shelf and head outside.
"Fuck," I hiss when the cold air hits my bare legs, and I almost turn back, but…to what?
Another five or six hours staring at the ceiling?
I don't think so.
My toes are icy cold by the time I reach the edge of the pool and toss the towels and my sweater onto one of the loungers.
I move to dive in, but catch the soft gold glow from the little structure off to the left of the pool deck, past the outdoor kitchen. I've never seen the steam room turned on, but as I squint, I'm sure that there's the smallest glow coming from the steamed-up pane of glass on its wooden door.
If it's dark but still steamed up, it means I probably just missed him.
Probably for the best, since I don't even know why I was hoping he'd be here.
Except…that's a lie.
I do know. I don't want to admit it, because that would mean admitting that I'm starting to understand him.Whyhe did what he did. How out of all three of them,he'ssomehow the one I want to talk to.
Fuck, am I that much of a masochist?
But I know he would be honest with me.
He wouldn't try to make me feel better about the truth. He wouldn't lie to me and tell me it doesn't matter. Atticus would ask the hard questions. Therightquestions. And then he'd have run the odds and decide what to do, so I don't have to.
Deciding hot steam is preferable to a lukewarm swim, I hustle to the steam room and search the outer wall for some kind of dial to turn it back on, but there doesn't seem to be any controls.
