I'm still raw from the fight that triggered me to leave. Nothing about it was new--it was the same fight that we had the night of Dad's heart attack. The same fight we've been having all week. Well, thatthey'vebeen having all week--they cut me offfor dad's heartevery time I try and argue. This time, I didn't let it go.
Dad's stable. Mom has a routine down. And I want to go home.
I'm so close I can taste it.
My aching chest warms, tingling at the thought of being wrapped up in Grey and blankets and my bed and my cat and--God, why did I even leave? I should have stayed home, but Mom was so overwhelmed, and I was so upset. I'm still not over my part in Dad's heart attack. But I'm over punishing myself for it.
And until my parents are going to treat me like an adult, they can fuck right off.
I didn't text Grey, wanting to surprise him. I'm dying to see the look on his face when I walk in the door, and as I turn onto my street, a wave of delirious giddiness washes over me. But then I pass the big tree a couple houses down from mine and can see my empty driveway.
All that joy flushes out of me like a toilet, and I'm just exhausted again.
I don't know where he is, but I'm sure he'll be home soon. At least Scout is inside. Maybe she'll take a little nap with me while we wait. Happy with that thought, I park the rental car and get my stuff. Climb the steps and slip my key in the lock.
It's unlocked.
Frowning, I open the door. Grey never would have left it unlocked in a million years. But I quit worrying when I hear music in the kitchen and the sounds and smells of cooking.
god,He's here!
"Grey?" I call, dropping my bag by the door, my heart thumping and hopeful as I head for the kitchen.
But I stop dead, my smile falling when Carlin turns around with a towel thrown over his shoulder and a strange, contentsmile on his face. A chill runs down my back at something in his eyes, a hard glint I've never seen before.
"Hey, Mols--you're finally home."
My brows quirk and I laugh awkwardly, confused. "Carlin? What are you doing here?"
He's casual. Warm. He turns to the oven and pulls on mitts. "I wanted to surprise you. I'm making chicken piccata, your fave."
He looks so normal here in my kitchen, like he's been here a thousand times.
Oh my god.
"How did you get in?" I ask quietly as he pulls the dish out of the oven and approaches.
"Oh--I made myself a key ages ago, just after he fixed the lock." He puts it on a hot plate between our place settings, all made up and waiting. "Come and sit," he soothes. "Dinner's almost ready." He heads back to the stove to dump the boiling pot of pasta into a strainer.
"Carlin, what is this?" I take a step back on instinct. "Where's Grey?"
"He's not here. It's just us." He winks at me over his shoulder.
My brain screams, taking stock of my surroundings and myself. My purse is still on my shoulder, keys still in hand. Pepper spray--I have the pepper spray, ironically given to me by him. But can I find it and figure out how to use it before he stops me? How far am I from the doors? He's between me and the back door, and I don't think I have enough lead to get away out the front.
He turns with a dish of pasta, takes a look at me. "What's wrong?"
"You're scaring me."
He chuckles. "Me scaring you? I'm not violent, Molly. You don't have to be afraid of me. I mean, it's not likeIbeat the shit out of somebody in front of half the town."
"I think you should go."
Carlin sets the dish down and turns to me, hardening. "Why? I've been here for hours cooking for us. I wanted to be with you. You've been gone or with him so much. I've barely seen you."
"I didn't ask you to come here." I'm backing away from him slowly, but he keeps pace with me.
"You didn't have to. I knew you'd need somebody after all the bullshit he put you through and your dad's heart attack. I brought you some books too! Now, come on. I know you're hungry--"
