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The tedious minutes in the hospital gave me ample time to form theories though, which is where my research will focus. Sadly, the one I’m most convinced of breaks my heart.
Theory one: this is my trial. I’m not convinced what the objective for said trial is, but all signs point to that being a logical reason for the extensive gaslighting. That theory also aligns with the timing, but I can’t understand how my mother’s deceit or Wells, Ty, and Gage abandoning me plays into it. There’s no denying the guys erased themselves, which means if this is my trial, they turned me over, took the money, and left me.
And that pisses me the fuck off.
But I’m reasonable, so I’ll continue to build my case against them before I act.
Theory two: Liam was shot by the people hunting me, so Wellsstashed me in the hospital as a means of protection. That one has holes all over it and is most likely my wishful thinking. How could I be safer away from Wells? If the people hunting me know my name and location, why am I not currently riddled with bullets? And finally, how could lying to me protect me further? It would have been far safer to have me in on that plan so I wasn’t constantly shouting who I was. Theory two is weak and makes me miss Liam.
Theory three: I’m losing my fucking mind. I’ve already chucked that one, but it’s important to give the elephant in the room a name.
Theory four: Wells, Ty, and Gage fought off my hunters, and on a last-minute whim, they decided my shock in that situation was proof that I wasn’t fit for their world, so they forfeited the money and left me here, hoping I’d eventually be convinced it was all imagined. Possible, but unlikely. Wells was so territorial; I can’t imagine him walking away with nothing. No power. No payment. No wife. That has loss written all over it, and Gavin Wells doesn’t lose. If he was concerned I couldn’t hack it in his world, he would either erase me with him or lock me up somewhere he could still reap the benefits.
Theory five: Liam survived and spit out a deathbed confession to Wells about kissing me, so they both decided I wasn’t worth it. Doubtful. I’ve been over everything said between us before the shooting, and I handled that incident in a way that oozed grace and loyalty all over both of them. This would land them in the unforgivable asshole category without question. Besides, if Wells knew Liam kissed me, he’d need to mark me for his own alpha satisfaction.
Those are all the theories I’ve got, and none of them bode well for the men my heart still beats for.
My time hasn’t only been spent on theories though. A lot of smaller details have become clear.
I’m fairly certain that Wells and the guys have control of my phone. It was returned to me upon discharge, and while Celeste drove me home, I spent the entire ride scouring it. Rena’s number and any correspondence between us are missing, as are any traces of the guys—no pictures, no communication, no search history.No activity at all since I left Celeste at the airport. But I did find an embedded program linked to an unidentifiable IP address. I’m still working on that. I think that when Wells snatched my phone the first day we met—to input his information—he installed that program. From that moment on, they controlled whether my texts reached someone or not—and vice versa. Celeste fell firmly in theunapprovedcategory, which leads to my next hunch.
Wells was responsible for Celeste’s last-minute invite for the six-continent adventure trip. I had used her home address on my ancestry form, so this assumption wins them the benefit of the doubt since I assume it was to keep her safe. I’m not sure how us texting would have compromised her safety, but it seems connected. The texts we did share were obviously one of the guys taking pity on me and furnishing afalsemingling with my best friend.
The pictures Celeste has of me in the hospital are troublesome, but my guess is, they used someone who looked like me since it was only my red hair showing. Why? I’m not sure. Probably as an attempt to hide me from the people hunting me in case the link was made—another motivation which points to their honor. Of course, it’s odd they didn’t fill me in on any of these tidbits when they told me everything else, which brings it all into question.
I’m not going to remove the program on my phone. Until I have a fuller picture, it’s best they think I’m not onto them.
Nervous to use any computer in my house and unwilling to bunk down the hall from my lying mother, I shower, dress, and pack a bag to stay at Celeste’s. On the way, I make a couple of stops.
The first is to see my father. It isn’t a productive visit. He’s a mess of confusion today. My heart breaks for the time stolen from us—four Wednesdays—and I let a few tears fall with his arms around me, wishing I knew what he’d want me to do. After our time, I ask around for Theresa, hoping she can confirm speaking with Wells on multiple occasions. It’s not that I don’t trust myself, but I’d love to have one person blow the theory that I’m delusional out of the water, mainly because it would be sweet justice to watch my mother squirmas she ate her lies. Unfortunately, Theresa retired unexpectedly and is living somewhere in Hawaii. And when I request the sign-in logs, which Wells and I used only on the first visit in September, I’m told they only keep three months’ worth.
The whole encounter has me hot. My heart thrashes with fury. Did he have us entering covertly through a back entrance for my protection or for this impending mindfuck?
On the way to my next stop, I drive past our home. Flashes of Liam’s bloody body, his sweet words telling me I was worth it, and his command to run assault me to near shattering. I’m trembling in my idling Ferrari, staring at a home that isn’t ours anymore. Regardless of what their motives are, there’s aFor Salesign in the yard. The walls that shaped me and made me feel alive, that filled me with hope and purpose and family, are being tossed aside. Wells said we’d stay if I wanted, but that was just another lie.
I drive on, swinging by the pub Wells and I met at for our marriage negotiation, hoping Abby—the manager—can help me piece things together.
She’s standing before me, her blonde hair swept up and face void of expression as she dries some glasses with a dish towel. “Sorry, girl. I meet a lot of people. I can’t place you.”
Annoyed, I release a slow breath and jog her memory. “We met in September, Labor Day evening. I was with Wells. I gave you my information in case he murdered me. You thought it was hilarious. And then I realized you two knew each other.”
She laughs, eyes barely meeting mine. “That seems like an encounter I’d remember.”
Is she fucking serious?I’m about two seconds from going gangster on people and giving them a piss-in-their-pants incentive to stop fucking with me.
My teeth grind. “Look, Abby, I don’t know what game Wells is fucking playing or what the hell your role is, but I am becoming seriously unhinged. So, cut the shit.”
She slams a glass onto the rubber drying mat on the bar top. “I’m sorry you’re having a tough time, but that subtle threat is my limit. Time to go, darling.”
Two beefy guys start toward me, which has me rolling my eyes.
“Who owns this place?” I ask.
Her gaze flits to mine, and there is the briefest hint of panic—an apology she’s gulping down. I hit on something.
“The owner prefers to remain as a silent partner,” she supplies. “Any issues are mine to handle.”
I scoff, realization smacking me in the face like a baseball bat. “It’s him, isn’t it? He owns this place. That’s why he brought me here—so he could control the situation. He was always ten steps ahead, setting my life ablaze while I chased the fireworks. He still is.Fuck.”
