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I stare at the familiar face, the one I see often in my dreams. “Is that what this is about? This obsession with Scarlet? You think Momma can come to life?”
My brows pinch as I observe the myriad of emotions that cross my sister’s face. Hope. Excitement. A childlike need that breaks my heart.
“Maisie. Momma is never coming back. You know that.”
She rears back as if I’ve slapped her, her eyes widening. Then she whirls away from me as she stands. “You don’t understand anything.”
“Maze, wait!” I call out, but she doesn’t stop until she gets to her room and slams the door.
I remain like that, staring after her, feeling like a first-class idiot for not knowing how to mend her heart. But how could I when my own wounds are still bleeding?
Lying down, I tuck my knees into my chest and cry.
* * *
I must have been exhausted, not from any kind of physical activity, but mentally tired. The sort that comes from too much thinking. From continuous scenarios playing in my mind over and over again, a treadmill for my brain, moving and moving but going nowhere.
My mind shut down and I fell into the most restless sleep I’ve ever had. I woke constantly from nightmares where I lost Maisie, had conversations with Daddy where he asked how I could love the man who killed him, and falling. Lots of falling.
But every time I woke up, I went back to sleep so fast, I couldn’t get off the couch. It was like being drugged almost, conscious enough to know it but unable to move.
By the time I’m finally able to sit up and shake off the haze of sleep, it’s six in the morning.
I wipe my hands over my face and sigh, still so tired. Always so tired.
“Coffee. I need coffee.” I push up and peer around the dark space, using my cell phone to illuminate my way to the kitchen.
There, I turn on the light and yawn, then drag my feet to the counter. Lazily, I start a pot. As it heats, I look around without really seeing, barely registering anything. That is, until I spot a note stuck on the white fridge by a little grape magnet.
Frowning, I grab it and read.
I’m sorry, Skye. This isn’t home. It never will be. I’m going back.
Maisie
It’s as if the world tilts on its axis. Everything seems to spin and I lose my balance, stumbling back against the wall. She’s gone back home. Back to the danger.
Immediately, my mind goes to the men who are still hunting us because Gideon didn’t fulfill his end of the bargain. And I think of her, so young and foolish.
How long has she been gone? How did she get there?
“Dammit!”
I grab my phone and dial her, but no answer. I dial again and again. Then I text.
Me: Where the hell are you?
Me: Please, I’m so worried.
Me: Why are you doing this?
Me: Maze, I swear to God, if you don’t answer me, you’re going to be in worse trouble!
Shoving my feet into my shoes, I go in search of my car keys. They’re gone. I race to the door and peer out into the gravel drive to confirm that she has in fact taken the Tahoe. Just because she has her permit and could drive Daddy’s small Mercedes, she thinks she can drive that giant all the way home?
“Fuck!” I throw the phone and scream.
Then I have to go dig it out of the bushes. With a shaking hand, I dial the first person who comes to mind in my desperation for help.
