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Fuck…I need to come up with something believable. I arch my brows at her. “Gabe.”

She angles her head, and I can’t read her emotions. She’s good…really fucking good. I know where I get it from. She gives her head a slow shake. “I’m super disappointed in you. Accusations like that can destroy someone’s life. Gabe has been nothing but kind to you. Why would you say something so vile?” Tears fill her eyes, and she walks over and lifts my shirt. “Let me see the bruises.”

I clench my stomach and slap her hand away. “Mom. Don’t do this.”

“Layla. I’m not asking.” She pushes my hand back and lifts my shirt, revealing the marks on my stomach. I always forget how strong Beth is because of her daily Pilates.

An emotional sob escapes her. “Gabe did this to you?”

I squeeze my eyes shut. They’re deep bruises now, yellow and purple. I pull my shirt down, trying to hide the bite marks on my boobs. As much as I hate Gabe, I can’t blame him for this.

Tears swarm my eyes now. “Gabe didn’t do this to me; I did this to myself.”

She lets her mouth hang open, her eyes swirling with shame. “You need to stop hurting yourself like this. You need to quit lying. I don’t know what to do with you anymore.”

The emotions I’ve been bundling up for the past few weeks finally spill out of me. “I don’t know what’s happening to me. I don’t know what to do either.”

She runs her hand over my back, and I finally accept her hug. I crumble into her, breaking down. “You are so strong. You’ve been through so much, and there’s so much you’re unprepared for. That’s why I brought you here. I need you, Layla. You need to be stronger than this. Ashbys can’t be weak. Do you understand?”

After a few minutes, I let it all out. Every icky emotion spills out. That lingering guilt, and this ache in my heart for a man who remains just out of reach. My mom’s arms are comforting, and I savor it. We never have these moments. She rises and walks to the door. “Pull yourself together, Layla. My patience is wearing thin.”

I wipe the tears from my eyes. Beth leaves, and I lie down for a few minutes before dinner. My bones are achy and my mind is fuzzy from crying so hard.

I miss Nick, I won’t deny that…but the memory of the shed pulls me into a cold sweat. I rub my wrists as phantom pain returns from where he had me strung up by that rope. The memory doesn’t feel quite right and a deep ache tugs at my soul.

I didn’t come down from that rope the same person. That was the turning point, the trigger of my trauma, but my memories beyond that are still void. I have no recollection of coming out of that shed. And even then, that memory is starkly different from the others. I can envision myself hanging by the rope. It felt like I was just an observer. Watching someone else's memories unfold, watching myself die.

My phone buzzes again, and I lazily reach over to check it. My blood runs cold, and my knuckles turn white from gripping the phone so tightly.

Unknown Number: Welcome home.

A knot of dread tightens in my stomach as I stare at the text. I can’t bring myself to believe it’s real. My breathing grows heavy and I finally give in.

Layla: Are you watching me right now?

Unknown Number: I’m always watching you, wildling.

Chapter 20

I’m always watching you, wildling.

A stream of sunlight shines through my window, waking me up. I take a moment to collect myself, realizing I’m no longer in the city. Instead, I take in the familiarity of my childhood bedroom and stare outside. The clouds are rolling in, and the wind is whipping across the lake, causing choppy waves. After the text message last night, I couldn’t bring myself to eat casserole. I went into bed, took one of my pills, and had a dreamless sleep right through until now.

I grab my phone to read the texts again. The proof I’m not crazy or dreaming. Nick is real. These text messages are real. Undisputed. I could show my mother and end this, but I need to be certain. I need to see him and not in some hazy dream.

He’s here somewhere…He’s always with me.

I pull on a sweater and leggings, throw my dark hair in a messy bun, and head toward the hushed voices in the kitchen. I stop stone still as I pass by the bathroom…

Drip. Drip. Drip.

My body bristles. The sound is an invasion. A threat.

Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip…

I push down the terror as it tightens its grip on my heart. Beth isn’t the sort to ignore a leaky faucet, and Jake would never stand for one of ours dripping like that.

It’s not a coincidence.