My eyes expand.Three days later.After something like that happened? Unease scrapes under my skin. I hug my knee tighter, trying to suppress all the other questions that continue developing.
What happened during those three days he was gone?
Where was he?
We both turn our heads, laughing as Elena runs around in circles with the ball, trying to dodge Rossco as he leaps for it. His body crashes into her petite frame, sending her flying and sprawling out across the lawn.
Jess and I gasp, rising to our feet, but Elena jumps up and giggles so loud that it sends the crows flying off the patio roof. Maybe it’s her contagious happiness, or he’s tired of being bored, but Tristan finally joins her. He wanders to the rope lying in the grass, piquing Rossco’s interest in the toy. He picks it up, and Rossco darts for it.
My body warms, feeling Jess’s eyes on me. “We never talk about it,” she sighs. “Well, sometimes we do, but Colten shuts the conversation down pretty fast. I know you hate this situation, but I’m glad they brought you here when they did—before I leave for school.” My chest rises and falls a little heavier. “It feels good to talk to someone about it. Each year, I think my brain gets a little fuzzier about it all.”
I’m relieved she shared, giving me more insight into their complicated family history and why they’ve made the decisions they have. But I’m not a therapist. I don’t have wise words to share or advice. How the hell does someone get past something like that? I may not talk to my parents, but I know they are there if I need them.
The Lindenvale children have nobody; they only have each other. And when my eyes settle on hers, the reality of my situation sinks further into my gut, hardening the truth into something solid.
They once only had each other. Now they have me.
EIGHTEEN | TARYN
The sweltering steam hangs heavy, coating my already-dripping skin. I draw the hot air into my lungs, letting the warmth cascade down my throat and soothe my exhausted mind.
The last few days have dragged on. I’m one second away from crashing onto Brennan’s fluffy memory foam bath mat and drifting to sleep right here since it’s nearly one a.m.
One moment, I woke up trapped in the tower, and the next, I was running around with Jess, learning to care for the two children I’m nannying for. Forced to nanny. But even when I sayforced, my tongue is shit at convincing my brain that’s reality. After learning about what happened five years ago, I feel for Elena and Tristan.
My heart aches for all of them.
It doesn’t make it right to abduct someone, not even a little bit. But they are close, and I’ve never had to ponder the extreme lengths I’d go to for my family because I don’t have what they have. It’s not something I can relate to.
In a way, it’s surviving—watching out for themselves when the two people who were supposed to be there for them aren’t.
Each day I’ve been here feels less and less like I’m trapped against my will. I have money flooding into my bank account, a beautiful room, a massive house, a stocked fridge, and a pantry I don’t have to pay for. My dog may not be allowed inside the house, but he’s here and has already settled into the enormous yard. If I drag him somewhere else or back to that piece of junk I rented after this, I’m sure I’ll get those big, brown, pouty eyes from him that make me reevaluate my choices.
It’s a nannying gig that someone would be idiotic to turn down if they came across it on a typical job-searching site. But sometimes, the feeling of being confined floods my veins. I’ve always had the free will to go anywhere. I’ve never been restrained. And although they aren’t locking me in the room anymore, this property is starting to close in on me.
Jess wasn’t wrong when she said the guys have a full schedule running the company and tending to the orchard. I’ve barely seen them besides at dinner, breakfast, and occasionally when they return to the house for lunch.
Jess and I keep the kids busy enough, and after spending more time with her, I genuinely enjoy her company. She’s sweet and has a personality I would’ve loved in a sister if my parents had ever decided to have another child. When we are sitting at the table coloring with Elena while Tristan joins us on his tablet or Switch, it almost feels like we are sisters in a way. Our hair color is similar enough.
“Shit,” I mutter, my eyes darting desperately around Brennan’s matte black bathroom for my clothes.
My skin was itching to shower so badly that it didn’t even cross my mind to grab a pair to change into. The massive walk-in shower with tan tiles and gold accents is relaxing. It’s one of the reasons I don’t mind taking an hour-long shower. I sit on the floor with my arms wrapped around my knees while the watercascades over my head, drifts down my neck, and the ridge of my back like a boulder under a waterfall.
Wrapping the towel tight around my breasts, I tuck it in, gritting my teeth. I have to enter Brennan’s room practically naked.
Please be out of the room.
Gripping the door handle, I repeat the silent prayer in my head, eagerly hoping that he needed to leave the room for a glass of water or to smoke since he’s restricted from doing it in the house.
I exit the bathroom and am hit with a wave of dry, chill air that peppers my damp skin with gooseflesh.
At least, I think it’s the air. Or it could be that I’m wrong. So. Unbelievably. Wrong.
Brennan lounges into his fluffy pillows propped against his headboard. His bed is impeccable, and so is his muscular frame in only a pair of dark gray joggers hanging low on his hips and a book in his hand. His pattern tattoos dance across his skin, down his chest, and onto his stomach. He flips a page, the tendons in his arm rippling below his skin.
Like the bathroom, this room is nearly completely black, with a tan area rug under his king-size bed and a charcoal duvet. Each time I breathe his scent of leather, orange spice, and a hint of smoke, it drips down my throat, covering me from head to toe in tingles.
The light from the lamp flickers across his tan skin. His lack of a farmer’s tan makes me think he works outside without his shirt on. God, what he must look like—
