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“I don’t know you,” I finally answer.
Oz blinks like I said something profound, then returns his gaze to the east and appears to choose to ignore the past few exchanges. “You can go to sleep if you want. The window to that spare bedroom behind you is open. You can crawl in since you have an issue with doors.”
“Why were t
hose guys at my motel?”
“The bed, Emily. Do you want it or not?”
Like Cyrus earlier, he’s not going to answer. The bed is tempting, but... “No, thank you. I’m going to wait for my parents and then I’ll go to sleep.”
“They’re safe,” Oz says, and I choose to believe him because the hollowness that happens inside me at the thought of any other option is too harsh to bear.
“You could be kidnapping me and trying to do that thing where I grow to love my captors. I’ve seen it on TV before.”
“You caught us. We knew you were going to walk out of the motel at three in the morning and we created this situation to freak you out into loving us. That’s how fucked up we are.”
“Why were you there?”
“Maybe I was using a room.”
I flat-out frown at the thought and I don’t understand why. My fingers tap my thigh and the picture in my hand moves. I seriously hate Oz and Olivia, and I shouldn’t hate Olivia, because she’s dying. “How far along is Olivia’s cancer?”
“Too far.” His voice is why-the-hell-did-you-bring-that-up clipped and I try to pretend I don’t exist.
The chatter of bullfrogs, crickets and the wind. It’s what’s between us. That and the fact I asked about Olivia’s health.
“I promise if you go to sleep, nothing bad will happen to you,” Oz offers.
That’s where he’s wrong. If I go to sleep, I can’t stop the worst from occurring. Staying awake is the only way I can chase the nightmares away. I am, like I was for twelve hours when I was eight, left to fend for myself. I shiver with the memory.
A light breeze dances across the yard and the picture Olivia gave me drops to the wooden porch. Oz leans forward faster than me, swipes it up, then pauses. After a second, he hands me the photo and I shove it into my pocket.
“Where’d you get that?” he asks.
“Olivia.”
He’s silent and he’s watching me and I despise the expression that tells me he sees things and knows things he shouldn’t. “Don’t tell Eli Olivia gave you that.”
“Why?”
“How far down this rabbit hole do you want to go?”
I don’t want to even be in the same state as the hole. “Can we just watch the sunrise?”
“I mean it,” he says. “You’ve already caused this family a world of hurt. If you tell Eli she gave you this, it’ll end badly for Olivia.”
Anger wells up inside me to the point I feel like a volcano. Olivia, Olivia, Olivia. I am so sick of him mentioning Olivia. “Well, I guess your precious Olivia is safe because besides having this picture I don’t know anything!”
“Good,” he snaps.
“Good,” I shout back.
“Great!”
“Can we watch the freaking sunrise?” I seethe.
“That we can do.”
