Authors: Ayden K. Morgen
My muscles relax at the same time he collapses. He lands against me, his head nestled between my breasts, over my heart. He's sweaty and his heart thunders against my stomach.
I just lay there, too sated to move.
Eventually, he presses a kiss over my heart and lifts his head. His eyes shine with happiness and contentment when they meet mine, and I know…
I
made him feel this way.
"You're absolutely perfect," he whispers.
His lips meet mine again.
Chapter Twelve: Half-Mast
"I hate packing," Kit says, brandishing a handful of empty hangers.
She's been prowling through her closet for the last two hours, packing her things to return to campus in the morning. She's going about it slowly, painstakingly choosing what to take with her and what to leave behind. It's as if she's going across the country instead of twenty minutes away. I don't try to hurry her though. As much as she wants to return to school, she's reluctant to leave her sisters.
I don't really want her to go either. Now that I know what's really going on, I just want to beg her to stay here at the mansion where Jared can keep her safe. He promised me that she'd be fine on campus – that he has people there keeping an eye on her – but I'm having a hard time believing it. Not because I disbelieve him, but because the entire situation is just too real to me now.
I see danger everywhere I look. Demetri, Chris, and Stewart are no longer just the guards who keep the curious away. They're the people standing beside Jared between the girls and a murderer. The massive wrought iron fence surrounding the Talbot property no longer simply guards our privacy, but keeps a killer away. Knowing this is terrifying, and there's nothing I can do but keep on pretending that everything's okay.
I should be a professional at pretending by now.
"You should take that," I say from my spot on Kit's bed, nodding at the little black dress she pulls from the closet. It's nothing fancy, just a simple black sheath, but I know she'll be beautiful in it.
She regards the dress in her hands for a minute, chewing her lip indecisively before she nods once and folds it.
"Promise me something," she says.
"What do you need?" I take the dress from her hands and tuck it into the half full suitcase at the foot of the bed.
She's quiet for a minute, thinking through what she wants to say.
I love that about her. She's outgoing and spontaneous, but she always takes time to think things through when they matter to her. She rarely blurts out anything significant. She considers it from every angle. Like Matthew always did when it mattered.
In the week since Jared's confession, I find myself missing Matthew a little more every day. Now that I know the truth, it's impossible not to notice the toll it's taking on everyone. The little lines around Lexi's mouth grow deeper every day. Madeline's smile comes a little slower every day. Kit's made up her mind to return to school and then changed it a thousand times.
The tears drowning the mansion never end.
Jared and his brother appear to be caving under the pressure of juggling it all.
My first few weeks here, Chris smiled a lot. Now concern burns in his eyes constantly. When he smiles, it's strained. And Jared…. It seems like the entire world rests on his shoulders and he's trying desperately to hold it up. When he comes to see me every night, he's so tired. Even when his frustrated expression softens and he smiles, he appears exhausted.
He doesn't tell me what's happening – I don't think I want to know every detail – but I get the distinct impression that neither of them really knows what to do here. Jared and Chris might be professionals, but they're also close to the situation. They care about the girls and what happens to them. They're invested. That level of attachment makes it difficult for them to view things from a professional standpoint, I think.
Matthew would have known how to give everyone a little hope and remind us all that we can do this. He was always good at that, and we desperately need it right now.
The numbers on the page in front of me no longer make sense. My eyes are bleary and I'm fairly certain I just solved for X when I should have been solving for Y. I'm not even sure there
was
an X in the equation. I have a test in eight hours, and it's hopeless. There's no way I'm going to pass.
I groan and lay my head down on the table. Tense knots have settled in my neck. My lower back aches. I haven't moved since I laid out my books after dinner. It's one in the morning now. Everyone else has long since gone to bed. I should head back to the guesthouse to sleep, but I can't.
My chance at the scholarship rests on this grade. I'm hovering between an A and a B in my college algebra course. If I don't ace this test, I'll fall to the B-side and my GPA will be gone. I can't afford to go to sleep now and risk it.
"
Savannah?" Matthew says as I bang my head softly against the wooden tabletop, hoping that might actually pound the answers into my brain, or unlock some hidden aptitude for algebra.
"
Hi," I groan, sitting upright and rubbing my forehead when neither happens.
Matthew's leaning against the doorjamb, his arms crossed over his bathrobe, a sympathetic frown on his face.
"Not going well, kiddo?"
I shake my head. "Does your job ever require you to use algebra?"
Ms. Mason is notorious for telling us that algebra will save our lives some day and we'll thank her for it.
I don't believe her.
"Occasionally," Matthew chuckles, pushing away from the doorjamb. He crosses the room and stops in front of me. "I have a motto though."
"
What's that?" I ask, tearing the fudged problem from my notebook and balling it up. The notebook is noticeably smaller than it was when I started hours ago. Little balls of paper litter the table around me. If I keep it up, my face will be featured front and center on an environmentalist group's most wanted poster.
Matthews rubs his hands together and then holds up one finger like he's going to say something profound. "If at first you don't succeed, call someone in accounting."
I throw my head back and laugh at the mischievous gleam in his eye as much as at the way he says it. And this is why I love Matthew. He always makes me laugh. Even when I want to tear my hair out in frustration, he manages to make things better.
"
I'll remember that," I say, shaking my head and smiling. "Think I can borrow an accountant tomorrow?"
"
No objections from me." He grins at me and then sighs dramatically. "Ms. Mason might not approve, however."
I groan again.
Ms. Mason's one of those people who get excited by numbers. She sees them and her eyes light up like it's Christmas. Those of us who don't share her joy of numbers are a foreign species in her book. She's nice enough, but trying to explain to her that I just don't get it is all but impossible. Defeat doesn't exist in her number crunching, algebraic equation filled world.
She might be the antichrist.
"
You'll get it, kiddo," Matthew says, patting me on the back. He stands quietly for a minute, thinking, and then he continues, "If anyone can pass this test, it's you. You've done it every other time, and this time won't be any different. You're smart, you're determined, and you've earned this chance a thousand times over already. I know you think this grade will make or break it, but you've already earned the scholarship. Now all you have to do it is walk in that room tomorrow and believe that. The rest will come."
How does he always know exactly what to say at exactly the right time?
I may not belong in this world and I may be a charity case, but I
have
earned this scholarship and the chance it provides me. One way or another, I am going to get it.
"Thanks, Matthew."
He smiles at me again and winks. "I saw Madeline hide cookies in here earlier. You want some?"
"
Sounds good," I say, grabbing my pencil again.
It never mattered how major a problem was, Matthew made it seem less hopeless. He'd tell a joke, give a pep talk, or sit up until three in the morning eating cookies with you until you figured it out. He never lost hope and never let us lose it either. I miss that about him.
"Promise me that you'll go back to school," Kit says suddenly.
I gape at her, my mouth slack.
She notices my expression and hurries on before I can say anything, "You're so smart, and you always loved school. You deserve to go back and get your degree and do all the things you wanted to do. Toby took that from you once, don't let him keep taking it now that he's out of your life. Enroll here, even if it's just a class or two at one of the community colleges."
"He didn't take it from me," I say, staring down at my lap. "I gave it up."
"Ugh!" Kit cries, throwing her hands up in the air.
I jump a little at her outburst, my gaze flying up to meet hers.
"Stop defending him!" she cries, glaring at me.
"I'm not."
"Yes, you are." She jerks a pair of jeans from the closet before turning back to me, anger stamped across her face. "Every time someone says anything negative about him, you take responsibility. You say it was your fault he hurt you. It was your fault he made you quit school. It was your fault you stayed. You blame yourself for everything, but where is his blame, Savannah?"
When I don't say anything, she curses.
"
He's
the one who slept with your friend.
He's
the one who badgered you to quit school.
He's
the one who took you to Italy where we couldn't see what was going on!
He's
the one who called you names, yelled at you, and threw things.
He's
the one who spent two years treating you like crap and making you believe that's what you deserved.
He's
the one who abused and tormented you.
He's
the one who made sure you couldn't leave him. When do you stop blaming yourself for everything and start blaming him?" She takes a deep breath at the end of her tirade and tosses the jeans onto the suitcase. "You stayed because he convinced you that you had no other choice. He isolated you from everyone, and he did it intentionally. He's responsible for that.
He
did that, Savannah.
You
didn't."
I have no idea what to say because she's right. But she's wrong, too. Toby isn't innocent, I know this. But neither am I because I let him dictate my life and isolate me. I let him hurt me. So I'm just as guilty as he is, and I don't get to pretend that I'm not.
I don't say any of that though and Kit sighs before dropping down on the bed beside me.
"I'm sorry," she whispers. "I didn't mean to yell at you. I just… God, I don't even know anymore. You were always this strong, brave person to me. Your mom left and you survived it. You didn't once complain or cry that it wasn't fair. You just dealt with it. I've always admired you for that. And when Mom died, you were there for us, holding us together. You didn't complain then either. You just did it. And now Daddy is gone and you're here being strong for all of us again. You always take care of everyone else and never complain, but who's taking care of you? Who's telling you that it'll be alright?" Her lip quivers a little. "What he did wasn't your fault, Savannah. I
hate
that you think it was."
"I'm okay," I tell her. It's not really true, but I don't want to think about Toby.
Kit shakes her head, giving up. "Just promise me that you'll think about going back to school. You deserve that much. You might not see it or believe it, but I do. You deserve to be happy."
"I'll think about it," I promise.
She examines my face for a minute and then climbs back to her feet to resume packing. She works in silence for several minutes before I gather the nerve to speak again. I don't want to scare her, and I promised Jared that I wouldn't say anything, but I can't just let her go blindly off to campus either.
"You'll be careful, right?" I ask, striving to keep the question calm and my expression neutral.
She turns back to me, a frown on her face. "You know something," she says, half question and half statement of fact.
"I–" I start to lie to her, to laugh off her concern and tell her she's being silly, but I can't do it. "Just be careful," I whisper instead.
"What is it, Savannah?" Kit asks, pleading with me to tell her what I know. "What's going on? Why is Lexi so afraid all the time? What happened to Daddy?"
I want to tell her. The truth is on the tip of my tongue, but I swallow it back. Because I promised. Because no matter how unfair it is to keep her in the dark, I can't break that promise now. Because, yet again, pretending everything is okay is a whole lot easier than facing the truth.
"It's nothing," I lie. "I just worry about you."
"Right," she says flatly and turns back to the closet. She doesn't believe me.