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Suddenly feeling like I’m intruding on her privacy, I begin to skim the darker details of the abuse she recounted to the therapist. Some of the facts make my blood boil and I skim faster. I reach the name of the child protection officer who handled Chloe’s case after she was arrested and stop dead in place. My blood runs like ice water in my veins as I stare at the name.
Marissa Reed.
Marissa knows Chloe?
Why would she not tell me she knew Chloe that night outside the restaurant?
Unless…she was setting me up.
No.
Marissa is fucking awful, but this? Send Chloe to my school, have her seduce me—if that’s what we’re calling Chloe’s tactics;blackmailis more accurate—and everything that’s happened? To what end? Why?
No way.
This is too messed up, too crazy…even for Marissa.
Isn’t it?
I sit back in my chair as the springs give a squeak of protest as I continue rereading her name. Confusion wrinkles my forehead and my eyes strain from staring so long without blinking. Marissa processed Chloe. She didn’t mention knowing her that night at the restaurant. She told me to take Chloe home. She accused me of sleeping with her. How do I even know for sure our neighbour saw Chloe leave my house? Maybe Marissa just knew all along because she was the one behind it.
All this so she could take Kelsie away from me. She knew I would never agree to let her take my daughter out of the country, so she wanted to make damn well sure I would lose if I fought for custody.
A thought hits me, which makes me uneasy in my chest. If Marissa is somehow playing Chloe and Chloe has figured it out, she might take matters into her own hands.
Which means if I want to find Chloe, all I need to do is find Marissa.
CHAPTER19
CHLOE
It’s Friday afternoon, two days since I spoke to Jake last, and I can’t find him anywhere.
It’s like he’s disappeared from my life, nowhere to be found. Every time my phone rings, I jump, hoping to see his name, but it’s always an unknown number. I know it’s Sam, because he always leaves a message. A fresh wave of anger surges through me. Fucking Sam. Why won’t he take the fucking hint that I can’t talk to him right now? He needs to forget about me and leave me the hell alone. The less he has to do with me, the better off he is.
Things weren’t supposed to go like this. I feel like my world is caving in around me and there’s nothing I can do to stop it. I haven’t slept in days. I’m paranoid over everything, and the flashbacks and nightmares are worse than they’ve ever been. I’m not sure I can take much more of this.
Anxiety twists in my stomach. How did everything become so messed up? I’ve ruined the life of a man for no fucking reason at all and I’ve fallen in love with him at the same time. All those years of therapy feel like they’ve been for nothing. I feel worse than I did at twelve, when I was taken away and locked up for killing someone who deserved to die.
Sam doesn’t deserve this. If I were truly sorry about everything that I have done to him, I would have the balls to tell him the truth. He needs to know not only what I did to him, but how sick and twisted his wife is.
My hands shaking, I grab my phone and unblock his number. He’s tried calling me so many times which shows me how much he cares about me. Acid burns my lungs, and I can’t breathe, because I know all of that will change if I tell him the truth. But I need to do it. How can I live with myself if I don’t set this right?
Taking a deep breath, I dial his number, but all I’m met with is his voicemail.
“Sam.” I whisper. “I’m so sorry for everything. You’re such an amazing man and you deserve so much better than this. Please call me. I need to talk to you.”
Dropping the phone, my heart aches as tears stream down my cheeks. Pulling my knees against my stomach, I rock myself back and forth. Goosebumps prickle my skin as a shiver ripples through me, but I barely notice how cold it is. I’m so tired, so sick of everything. I just want to curl up in a ball and sleep forever.
I leap forward and grab my backpack, rummaging through it until I find the little orange bottle that I found in Sam’s kitchen. My hands shaking, I unscrew the lid and tip a handful of the tiny white pills into my hand, anger surging through me when I spy Marissa’s name typed neatly across the label. I have no idea what these are, and I don’t care. I just want to forget.
Laying back down, I close my eyes, willing sleep to take me.
For the first time in a long time, I find myself hoping I never wake up.
* * *
Pain ripsthrough my skull as I force open my eyes. My mind is hazy, and my throat is so dry it feels like sandpaper as it rubs against the back of my mouth. I sit up, nearly gagging on my own saliva as another wave of pain rips through my head.
