Page 109 of Three Months Yesterday

“My mother,” I say through a chuckle.

“It’s a good video.”

My stomach does that fluttery thing it does whenever Beckett comes up. It’s embarrassing and wonderful and something I hope never goes away.

“You think so?”

“Madison Hawthorne. Are you serious right now? That man spent five minutes introducing a new song, and four of those minutes were spent talking about the woman he met over the winter who he’s going to spend the rest of his life with.” She pauses, and I have no doubt it’s for dramatic effect. “Of course it’s a good video.”

I don’t fight the smile as I finally find my keys and get the door unlocked.

“I can’t believe how lucky I am to call him mine.” The words are hushed, as if I say them any louder I’ll jinx it and lose him.

“I’m happy for you,” Sadie says, the teasing in her tone gone. “You deserve this. You deserve someone who looks at you the way he looks at you—the way he talks about you.”

“Thank you.”

“Of course. Now, go relax. Put your feet up and grow that baby! Love you, babe.”

She’s gone before I have a chance to respond, but I know I’ll talk to her later. I push the door open, leaving it gaping behind me and start to key in the alarm code, but something stops me. A presence, a shift in the air behind me. Before I can turn something sharp presses against my back, right between my shoulder blades.

“Act normal,” a voice says. It’s familiar, one I’ve heard before, but I can’t place it, not with the fear coursing through me. “Turn off the alarm and lose the guard dog.”

My heart hammers against my ribs and I glance down the porch stairs to where Ian stands in the afternoon light. He watches me with concern etched across his features, holding there for only a moment before he steps forward.

I force my voice steady, keeping my eyes locked on his. “Don’t forget the cookies.”

Hopefully to the presence behind me those words sound normal, as if I’m finishing a conversation with Ian, but to Ian, those words mean danger. I thought it was stupid when he told me we needed to come up with some code phrase for situations like this, but now I’m grateful Ian prepared for every possibility.

To anyone else, nothing about his expression changes, but I see the shift in his eyes, the understanding. He reached for his pocket, pulling out his phone and offers me a reassuring smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Jotting it down now,” he says, and I know he’s calling in the cavalry.

I turn back to the alarm panel, my fingers shaking as I enter the code. The system beeps, signaling it’s off, and I shut the door, getting one more look at Ian before something hard crashes against the back of my head and the world goes black.

Pain. That’s the first thing I notice. A sharp insistent throbbing at the base of my skull that makes my stomach roll and cramp. I try to move, but my arms are pinned behind me, wrists bound together with something that bites into my skin. My ankles too, tied tight.

I force my eyes open and immediately regret it. The living room swims into focus in fragments, the couch beneath me, the afternoon sun still streaming through the windows, the fact that I can’t sit up because of the way I’m positioned.

How long have I been out? The light hasn’t changed much, still that bright afternoon glow.

The sound of heels on hardwood pulls my attention from the window right before Holly’s face appears above me, smiling like we’re old friends catching up over coffee.

“Finally,” she says. “I was starting to think I hit you too hard.”

“Holly? What are you doing here?” The words are out before hers register, but when they do, fear like I’ve never felt before paralyzes me.

“You haven’t figured it out yet?” She laughs, bright and brittle.

I stare at her, a knife in her hand and a wild look in her eyes that I somehow missed every time we interacted, and it clicks. The pieces fall into place with terrible clarity.

“Beckett,” I whisper.

Holly’s smile softens into something almost pitying. “Oh, Madison. I feel bad for you, I really do. Walking around, thinking he cares about you, thinking you’re special.” The last word is said in that mocking way, as if I’m anything but. “How could he care? He’s on tour right now, isn’t he? Performing while you’re here, hurt and alone. And before he left, did he tell you about the private show he gave me? In the loft at the cottage?”

My stomach twists, but my mind rebels. She’s lying, she has to be lying. He’s done nothing but prove just how much he loves me—the flowers, the support, the song. He told thousands of people⁠—

“I was there,” Holly continues, her voice taking on a dreamy quality that makes my skin crawl. “I watched him. He knew I was there, knew I could see him while he touched himself while he thought of me.”