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I stare up at the Silver Estate gate. They look even more imposing at night, lit up with the additional bathe of moonlight. I pull my phone out again.
Come on, Jasmin.
She texted me when I was in the cab, worrying over where I was and I told her I was safe, so she said she was making her way home, sharing a cab with Logan. They both live near the estate, so they should be home now too.
I check the time—three in the morning. I texted her over ten minutes ago now asking what the security code is for the gate. I’ve only ever come through it in a vehicle that’s got an automatic sensor in, so the keypad on the stone wall to my right is as good as useless.
I shiver. I can’t stay here all night.Maybe I can—?The top of the black metal gate is spiked. No. I don’t like the idea of being impaled, even if I could climb that high.
I shuffle over to the keypad.Damn you, Jasmin. Now I’ll have to wake up that confusing brother of yours.
My finger hovers over the call buzzer.
Dax disappeared tonight. Took that phone call and then stormed off. I saw him through the bar window, face like thunder, dark eyes almost black as he growled something into the phone. I wouldn’t want to trade places with whoever was on the other end of the line.
Jasmin said he had probably used it as a ruse to leave early. Apparently, he isn’t a big socializer anymore. She didn’t say it in so many words, but she said enough for me to know that if Dax made one wrong move—being drunk and disorderly, get into a heated argument, or a scuffle, the way I’ve seen so many people do on nights out after a few drinks—then he could be straight back in jail.
I guess they are less lenient if you are caught offending a second time. However, I don’t agree with her it was a ruse. I saw his face when he was on that call. He looked ready to murder someone.
“Damn it,” I mutter, jabbing the button and squeezing my eyes shut.
Ten seconds pass.
Maybe he’s not home yet.
“Rose?” His voice slices through the night air from the intercom. “What the hell are you doing out there?”
I pop my eyes open and look up. There’s a security camera trained right on me.
“The taxi dropped me off and left. And I don’t know the passcode. Can you please buzz me in?”
“Wait there,” he snaps.
Like I’ll go anywhere else.
I look over my shoulder to the dark, deserted country lane behind me. Ordinarily, I would love this if it were on screen in a movie. The moment before the stupid girl gets caught by the psychopath. But that’s from my sofa in my pajamas. Standing here now while strange English animals snuffle and squawk, hidden from sight, is not doing it for me.
I shuffle closer to the gate.
How long does it take to press a button?
I turn back to the gate and squint as headlights approach, casting me under a spotlight, as they stop inches from the other side of the gate.
It slowly slides to one side as the front door of the Range Rover flies open and Dax jumps out. He marches over, leaving the door wide open behind him. He’s wearing black sweatpants and a half zipped up hoodie.
He slams to a halt in front of me, his eyes scanning over me ruthlessly.
“What the hell, Rose? You’re fucking shaking.” He unzips his hoodie and peels it off, leaving his chest bare as he curses under his breath.
He loops his arms over my head and throws it around my shoulders, pulling the edges together over my breasts. His eyes simmer with anger as they meet mine. But I recognize something else there too.Concern.
I’ve spent years having my family and other people around me back home look at me with concern in their eyes. But not like this. Theirs was always tinged with sadness and hopelessness at how much they think I have changed since Brett’s accident and losing Dad. I always felt some eyes—of the interfering neighbors—held blame in them, too. Much like mine when I look into a mirror.
But Dax? The concern in his eyes burning right through me right now isn’t because he’s remembering who I was once. He’s thinking about who I am now. Standing here in this moment. Not the me I was before Brett was knocked down and hurt while out looking for me. Not the me I was before the stress of it all brought on my Dad’s heart attack that killed him.
Just me. Here. Now. Alone and cold.
And it makes something inside me unfurl like a forgotten leaf, so far into spring that the other trees are all in full bloom and hope had all but gone.
