Unless he has a strong hatred for the color yellow or something.
He rolls his eyes and shakes his head, but there’s a small smirk on his lips. “Yeah, you’re like a fucking ray of sunshine, but that’s too cliché. So, you’re the brightest colored crayon in the box. I’m a rain cloud that falls on the darker side of the spectrum.”
“You’re the black crayon while I’m yellow?”
“Something like that. Now, let’s go.”
Usually, people tell me I’mnotthe brightest crayon in the box because I’m not great at picking up on social cues. But he sees me differently. And I’ve never been given a nickname before. Not an affectionate one, anyway.
I suppose Mom called me Phoebs, but that’s just a quicker way to say my name. I don’t think that really counts.
I smile and nod, my stomach fluttering in an unfamiliar way. “Okay.”
We walk to a door just off the living room, and I see the stairs leading down into the basement. My feet plant where I am, unable to move. Most houses in Nevada don’t have basements. It’s one of my favorite things about places around here. But of course, he has one.
“Come on, Yellow Crayon. I have a safe room in the basement—”
“I can’t go down there.”
My voice comes out just above a whisper, and my eyes stay locked on the stairs. Even though he turned on a switch to illuminate the basement, all I see is the darkness. Darkness and memories I keep locked away to never relive.
“Why the hell not?”
“You know how I said I can’t ask how you got your scar? This is my scar. The same thing. I can’t go down there.”
My heart races, but I can’t tear my eyes away from the staircase. The struggling in my head to keep the vault door locked up tight makes me feel faint, and I back up until I hit a wall, sliding down to hug my knees to my chest.
“It’s just a basement, and it’s the safest—” Tucker finally turns and his annoyance disappears as he hurries over to crouch infront of me with concern on his face. “Holy shit, Phoebe, are you okay? You’re white as a ghost.”
“Please don’t make me go down there,” I whisper, tears filling my eyes as I rock slightly.
My spine hits the wall behind me, and I don’t mind the small jolts of pain it sends through at the way I’m arched. It’s a nice distraction as I stare at the open doorway.
“Please, Tucker. Please don’t make me go down there. Please don’t make me go down there. Please don’t make me go down there. Please don’t make me—”
“Okay,” he says and stands, hurrying to shut the door.
As soon as the door shuts, the spell breaks, and my senses come flooding back. It’s almost overwhelming, and the tears slip down my cheeks as I feel like I can finally breathe again.
He walks back over and crouches in front of me again, but he doesn’t touch me. I’m grateful because I don’t know if I could handle it if he did.
“Hey, relax. No basement. Forget it even exists.”
If only that were possible. I’d give anything to forget about all the basements in the entire world.
Especially the ones in my world.
Chapter Five
Pacino
Phoebe’s reaction to the basement last night kept me awake. She calmed down after a few minutes, returning to her chipper self, but I can’t shake it.
And I can’t stop thinking about her.
Knowing sleep was impossible, I decided to spend my time digging into the car that was driving by the bakery. I ran the plates Zep got, and it led me to a shell company. Which led to another. And another. I ended up down the rabbit hole, and after four hours and twenty more companies, I called it a night.
Something keeps bugging me. It feels familiar. But how the hell would Phoebe have connections to the mob?
