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Chapter 23
Astrid
The car ride takes less than forty minutes, and my cocky determination takes a hit when Attleboro Rehabilitation and Care looms in front of us down a winding lane. The tall white building is surrounded by forest like a fortress in the woods. Wyatt slows his car but doesn’t stop as we drive past. We take in as much as we can check out, including a gatehouse with a security guard and gate. My plan is crumbling into disappointment.
“We might have to hike in.” Wyatt taps on the gas and drives further down the road.
“You still want to do it?” I ask him softly. My gaze searches for hope in his severe expression.
“Of course. I love trouble too,” Wyatt laughs, “That’s why I’m dating you.”
My eyes widen, and suddenly Wyatt’s comment is consuming my attention. “Dating?” I ask, “Is that what we’re doing?” I grin stupidly. “Is this what you do on dates? Breaking and entering?”
Wyatt parks his car off the street behind a stand of pine trees. He stares out the window and frowns at the roofline of the rehab building, almost visible over the branches through the noonday sun. He turns his attention back to me, and that sexy gaze will be my undoing. The laws I would break to be with him.
“We have an understanding now,” he says, moving closer, “You and me.” His lips press against mine as my mouth parts. It’s not the time for this, but the moment is perfect. Wyatt closes his eyes as his hand lifts and grasps me by the back of my neck, pulling me into a kiss that fogs the windows. The kiss is so intense that when he pulls back, I have to gasp for breath.
“You and me?” I ask. I stare into his eyes because that’s the only place where I’ll see the truth on his stoic face. His lips press together, and his jaw locks, but his eyes are asking me if he’s right.
I don’t know what to say. I want Wyatt with my body, my soul, and my head. But when I watch Bryce saunter into our secret room, I want to fuck him like an animal hooked on lust.
Wyatt sits back in the seat and looks straight ahead. “It’s okay,” he says, “We’ve discussed it, but I thought I’d give it a try.” He grabs the scrubs from behind his seat, pushes open the car door quickly, and jumps out.
“Gave what a try?” I ask, leaping out of the car. I watch him peel off his T-shirt with one arm over his head. “Discussed what?” I ask and wait until he puts on the scrubs, changing quickly in the brisk air. I know the boys talk about me, but what exactly do they discuss?
Wyatt shoves his feet into a pair of knockoff Converse we picked up at the dollar store in Weymouth. He looks past me through the woods, and the silent trees are densely packed. Strips of sunlight reach the ground, but nothing is visible in the distance except more trees. Even the sky is hidden by a canopy of trees. Wyatt starts walking in the direction of Attleboro.
I follow close behind, my eyes darting back and forth as my heart races. As we walk further into the woods, my nerves jump at every sound. A stick cracks under my foot, and the loud sound echoes around us. We had to leave our coats in the car, and I hold myself and shiver at every shadow that darts behind a tree.
Wyatt looks over his shoulder and laughs.
“Why are you laughing?” My voice fights to stay steady.
“My big-city girl is freaking out in the creepy, spooky woods.” He laughs harder. “The fairy tales are true, Astrid.” Wyatt stops short and lifts his hands up to protect himself. “Oh fuck. Run. Here comes a bear.”
My feet freeze to the ground, and my eyes stare at nothing but fucking trees. I shove Wyatt in the shoulder when he starts to laugh, and he hurries away from me. I hurry to keep up. “How do you know where you’re going?” I ask him.
He stops to look at the trees, and I lean against his back, trying to catch my breath. I’m fit, but freaking out is making me winded. Wyatt nods and points toward the bark of a maple nearby. I recognize the shape of a leaf from the Canadian flag. And I also see two deep marks etched into the bark above eye level.
“Someone has marked a path on the trees,” he replies, “We’re not the only ones sneaking in.”
We keep walking, and my pace quickens, reassured by the marks on the trees. Maybe someone else wanted to sneak in to see a relative. Or maybe it’s a shortcut for the employees. Or maybe the inmates like to sneak out every once in a while for a drink or a joint in the woods. Feeling elated, I imagine the expression on my mom’s face when she sees me again. The smile that will glow on her face when I surprise her.
The makeshift dirt path ends by a thick evergreen hedge that stands above our heads. There’s a break by our feet that forms a tunnel to the other side. Crouching down, Wyatt strains to look through to the other side. He eyes the opening again, and then me.
“Wait here. I’ll go first,” he says, “If it’s clear, I’ll come back for you.”
“And if it’s not?” I ask.
“Run like your father is chasing you.” He tosses me his keys. “And lock yourself in the car until I can make my way back.”
Wyatt crawls through the hedge and disappears in the thick green interlacing branches. I lean down and peer into the tunnel, watching his sneakers until the white soles disappear. I wait for him to call for me to follow or a shout telling me to run away. Nothing happens, and my anxiety slams into me as I wring my hands raw and red. If he’s caught, it’s my fault for talking him into it, and I won’t run away and leave him.
I wait a few more seconds, but not knowing is too much. I get down on the ground and start to crawl through the tunnel of branches. My pants catch on a ragged branch, and panting with panic, I tug at it to break free. I scramble through and come out to a blue-gray sky and a flawless thick lawn. I don’t know what I was expecting, but not this perfect landscape.
Wyatt stands by the hedge and motions with a finger to the mouth for me to be quiet. I do as he says and notice two employees at a distance dressed in scrubs just like ours. They don’t notice us as they split a cigarette by a fire exit door and bullshit about their hard day so far. The woman stamps out the cigarette while the man holds the door open. They step inside, and as the door begins to close. Wyatt hauls ass toward it. I follow quickly as we race to catch it. He makes it, and his fingers grasp the edge, turning his fingernails white. He holds on as I reach up, grab the top edge, and pull it open.
“That was dumb luck,” I whisper as we slip inside. “Do you think we’re on camera?”
