Her fingers tighten around mine, cold and uncertain.
“I’ve been in Huxley Bay since I was twelve,” she says quietly. “I’ve never looked for her, and I changed my name. I don’t know why I’d be on her radar, but I know in my gut that she didn’t come here to open a hotel. It’s a front.”
“Brax will figure it out,” I tell her. But even as the words leave me, a knot begins to twist in my stomach.
Brax knows more than he’s letting on.
And whatever he’s found, whatever hunch he has… He’s worried, and Brax doesn’t get spooked. Not easily.
Erin’s voice pulls me back.
“The best thing I can do is continue to stay out of her way. Trouble can’t find me unless I go looking for it.”
I bite back the truth. I think trouble’s already here, circling her like a force field we can’t see.
“You’ll be safe with me,” I whisper, tilting her chin up until her eyes meet mine. “You don’t have to pretend with me, either.”
Her lip wobbles, and tears well in her gorgeous eyes. “I’m?—”
“I know,” I whisper. “You’re scared. I can see it.”
A tear slips down her cheek. I cup her face and brush away the pain with my thumb. Her skin is cold beneath my hand. The fear has already seeped straight into her flesh.
“I’ll do whatever I can to keep that fear from pulling you under. Lean on me. Whatever you feel, it’s never too much for me. Don’t hide. Don’t pull away.”
Her lips tremble.
“I’m right here, sweetheart,” I whisper. “Always.”
She nods, but I still feel it.
That locked door.
And whatever’s behind it?
It’s coming for us.
Me: Hey Brax. I’m in California watching Chase’s away game. We’re heading back to Huxley Bay after. I want to tell him about The Octopus tomorrow, and I was wondering if you can be there when we talk?
My thumb hoversover the screen for a second before I hit send, like the message itself might crack open everything I’ve been trying to keep together.
Send.
Whoosh.
Message delivered.
I pocket my phone feeling a small weight lift.
It’s been a couple weeks since Clarissa Rose arrived in Huxley Bay and seven days since the opening of the Secret Roses Hotel.
Every time we drive past it, a chill crawls up my spine. I swear the building has eyes and is watching me.
Lately, I can’t stop thinking about the night my dad died. The memory hits like a fresh wound—shattered flashes that are bright and disjointed, his body on the floor, my mother’s words cutting through the room.
I love him.
You should have known better.
