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"I’m on my way," I sigh.
Rhys McGuire has gotten one more night of peace.
Chapter Twenty-Three
I wake up exhausted.I couldn’t sleep for the longest time, and neither could Rhys from what I heard from his side of the room. I think I finally drifted off around four.
Propping myself up to glance at the alarm clock on the other side of Rhys’s bed, I see it’s only nine. Five hours—that explains why I’m so tired. Rhys is still out, probably just as worn out as I am.
Plopping back onto my pillow, I stare at the ceiling. Holding Rhys’s hand during Madeline’s recollection kept me calm. In the last few weeks, I’ve let anger and betrayal run my life with Rhys as my anchor. But it’s a new day, and instead of rage or betrayal, I’m consumed with a different emotion—fear. It has completely taken over. I was kidnapped, drugged, stalked, abandoned, and brainwashed. Bile starts to rise in my throat, and I scramble out of bed to the bathroom, where I empty the remnants of my stomach into the toilet.
I cling to the white porcelain. My skin is clammy, and I have no control over the shivers rolling through my body. After the second wave, I feel a wet washcloth against my forehead.
God, that feels good.
Once I make no indication of a third wave coming on, Rhys pulls me back against him. We sit in the middle of the small bathroom. He is leaning against the tub, his legs on either side of me and my back against his chest. With one hand, he holds the cold fabric to my forehead, while the other is wrapped around my waist, pinning me in place. Both of my arms automatically wrap around the arm holding me. It takes several minutes for my breathing to even out, and I fully slump against him. I’m spent.
Rhys hands the washcloth to me and wraps both his arms around me. "Let’s go home."
All I can do is nod.
Home.
We getready and hit the road mid-morning. Rhys is driving, and I watch the landscape flying by. My stomach has settled, and the urge to spew my guts out has subsided, but I can’t shake the cold feeling that has taken hold in my chest.
"What if we made a mistake?" It’s just a whisper, but Rhys hears me.
I turn toward Rhys. His knuckles turn white as he grips the steering wheel harder, but besides that, he shows no reaction, and I amend what we both refuse to voice out loud. "What if he is still after me?"
His mouth is set in a hard line, and I’m about to ask what he thinks when he reaches over and holds out his hand, palm up. I glance between his face and his hand but place my palm in his. He squeezes my hand in a comforting gesture. "Then we’ll deal with it. You are no longer a helpless girl. You’re a fighter. You’ve been training with Spence for years, not taking into account the training Dad has put both of us through."
He’s talking about the weekends at the range, which now all make sense. Warmth spreads through my body. Heather and Tristen have taken every precaution to protect and prepare me. It doesn’t fully negate the lies, but it helps me understand their motives.
After another pause, he adds, "And you have me."
With this simple action and words, the courage and need for answers that I thought I expelled this morning into the toilet slowly returns.
"Thanks."
He’s right. I am no longer six years old. I’ve been training for a decade—a whole freaking decade. I might not have known for what, but I do now. I will work even harder. I refuse to let this define my future. The rage that has kept me going still simmers deep in my core. I don’t think the feeling of betrayal will completely go away until I know the truth. But I’m also not ready to confront Heather and Tristen. Logically, I should, but I don’t trust that they would be completely honest with me.
It’s a gut feeling, but that’s all I have for now.
The drive is uneventful.We ignore the ginormous elephant in the room, aka my past and everything we’ve learned. Instead, we banter about music and what to eat. We end up spending another night at a motel by the interstate and arrive home early Thursday.
The Defender hasn’t fully come to a stop in front of the open garage door when Heather tears into the garage. With Natty also being on break and us "skiing," she took the holidays off work to be with her youngest.
"What happened?" Her eyes scan both of us frantically, and I understand her thought process. She is not too far off, but Rhys and I agreed on a stomach bug before we left this morning. Seeing how tired I look, Heather doesn’t ask any more questions and begins fussing. She smoothes the hair back from my face, and I see her lips moving, but all I can focus on is Rhys’s retreating form. Before he clears the threshold to the kitchen, he turns, and our eyes lock. Glancing at his mother’s back and then at me, Rhys briefly closes his eyes before turning and leaving me alone in the garage. No, not alone—I’m with Heather—but why does it feel like I’m alone all of a sudden?
For the entire drive,I did my best to prepare myself that I’d have to face one—if not both—of my adoptive parents. But as soon as Heather is in front of me, all the pep talks were for shit. My throat constricts. I have the urge to flee and cry in her arms all at the same time. I excuse myself to my room under the pretense of lying down and unpacking.
I send a quick text to Denielle, telling her that we’re home and the change in the story.
Her response is almost immediate:U ok?
I type back:Yes and no.
I still don’t know how much I want to reveal to her. She is my best friend. But, for one, do I want to burden her with all this? And second, am Ireadyto talk about it?
