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“Oh?” Connor says unbothered, stretching out on the chair. “What for?”
“I’m flying to Midnight Cove—tonight if possible.”
“What’s in Midnight Cove, other than Byzantine’s cottage?” he says, slightly confused.
“That’s where I’m heading… I just need a week or two, and then I’ll be back for good.”
Early this morning, while the sun was rising and Lucy was still tucked in my arms, I relented and told her about my relapse—and some details of my past along with it. Although still wracked with debilitating shame from waking up from a nightmare into what felt like another nightmare—Lucy’s throat now colored with bruises—I told her things I’d never told anyone before. I agreed I needed help, most likely rehab, and some serious therapy according to Lucy. But I wanted to get clean on my own terms first and intended to do it alone. She flat-out refused. Demanding I let her come with me. I’m ashamed to admit, I didn’t need much convincing.
Connor takes a beat, then asks, “Alone?”
I know what he’s asking, but I take a second to answer. Squinting against the hot Californian sun, I swipe my hand over my face, wishing I’d brought my shades with me. “Lucy’s coming with me.”
He hums while lighting a joint, inhaling deeply, and then puffing it back out before speaking. “Do you have anything else to tell me?”
Shame collars my throat and squeezes. I know he’s fishing for more information but I’m unsure what exactly. Lucy or—
“You think I wouldn’t notice?” Connor says, his tone serious and hard.
I play dumb, trying to avoid reality as long as possible. “Notice what?”
His chuckle is dry while he takes another long drag. “Don’t fuck with me, Bastian.”
My swallow is hard as I break out in a cold sweat.
“How did you find out?” I say slowly.
“Which time? When you disappeared for two weeks when you were eighteen? Or now that you’ve fucking relapsed.”
I blink, not knowing what to say. “Why didn’t you say anything back then?”
Connor shrugs. “I knew Kenzie had it under control. I didn’t want to pry. You’d been through enough.”
I know he’s alluding to me killing my father. He helped me dispose of the body that same night. We never said a word about it again.
Connor slides his inquiring gaze to me, his expression grave. “Should I be worried?”
I shake my head. “I’ll be fine.”
“Good. ‘Cause I’ll kill you myself if you aren’t,” he says, placing the joint on the ashtray between us.
I stand up, ready to get the fuck out here.
“And Lucy?” Connor adds before I can leave.
I sigh. “What about Lucy?”
“ShouldLenixbe worried?”
Irritation spikes, but I answer anyway, “No.” I turn, shoving my hands into my jeans pockets. “Thanks for the plane,” I say over my shoulder, sliding the patio door open.
“You’re welcome, fucker!” I hear Connor yell before I disappear into the house.
* * *
Later that evening,we land in NorCal. My shakes are getting worse, and I’m starting to feel the nausea crawl up my throat.Fuck. Here we go.
I tell Lucy to drive the car waiting for us outside the regional airport and give her directions to the cottage. Forty-five minutes later, we turn into the driveway leading up to the small yellow-painted house with its wrap-around porch overlooking the water.
