I mumble something not quite intelligible, hand squeezing into a fist, over and over in sets of four until I get outside and shut the door behind me. As soon as it’sshut, I can’t help sucking in a huge breath of cool night air.
I pull her door closed. Then I touch the doorknob twice to make sure it latched. Two is the only even prime number. Two is good. Stable.
I suck in another breath of night air.
Because I am. So. Screwed.
SEVEN
HARPER
Yesterday,Dad bombarded me with a bag of “presents” he said Helen suggested I might need.
The shiny logo on the outside of the bag told me he’d really put his heart into wrapping them.
But I didn’t say no to the new laptop, new phone, and new earbuds—because apparently, seventeen years of abandonment can be fixed with Apple products. The irony isn’t lost on me that I’m now using his bribery to ignore him.
He’ll try to talk to me over the table at dinner, and I just wave to my earbuds and shrug, whispering, “Podcast.” He did say no phones at the table but not to leaving my phone upstairs with just my earbuds in at the table.
Right now, the laptop’s propped on my knees, and I’m sitting cross-legged on the bed—which is too soft, toohigh off the ground, too everything—waiting for the video call to connect.
My earbuds are in, and Sox is curled in my lap beside the laptop, purring so loud Z will probably hear her through the speakers.
Caleb helped me set my little baby up properly yesterday. Hit up the pet store and got her actual kitten food, real litter, even a little pink collar. He didn’t have to do it. Or agree to hide her from Helen and Silas. But he did anyway, because apparently that’s just who Caleb is—the guy who helps even when there’s nothing in it for him.
The thought makes my stomach twist with something I don’t want to examine too closely.
Sox stretches, her tiny claws catching on the expensive fabric of the bedspread. I pet her absently, waiting for Z’s face to appear on screen. She nuzzles into my palm, warm and trusting.
I frown down at her even as my chest goes tight. Every morning, I wake up at five a.m. to her jumping on my face. It’s pretty damn cute, even to a cold-hearted bitch like me.
I’m not used to having all these fucking…feelings.
Luckily, the screen flickers right then, pixelates, and resolves into Z’s face.
Except seeing him makes my chest hurt, too.
God, he looks so tired. There are shadows under his eyes that weren’t there a week ago, and his hair’s hanging in his face the way it does when he hasn’t had time to deal with it. Usually, I give him a haircut every few weeks. My throat tightens. Who will cut it now?
Behind him, I can see the familiar peeling wallpaper of his bedroom.Home. The word hits different now—like something I left behind in a gas station bathroom.
“Hey, beautiful,” he says, and his smile is real but strained at the edges. Like he’s trying so hard to hold it together for me.
“Hey, yourself.” I try to sound light, breezy, like my heart isn’t currently attempting to claw its way out of my ribcage. “How’s paradise?”
His laugh is bitter. “Oh, you know. Living the dream.” He shakes his head, and there’s something in his eyes—something wounded. “You always did have a sense of humor about the shittiest stuff. That’s what I miss most, I think. How you made everything feel less... suffocating.”
Guilt lands like a fist to the sternum.
“Z—”
“Jesus, Harp, is that acat?”
I brighten and grab Sox by her fuzzy middle, holding her up to the camera with a big smile. “Meet the newest member of the family.”
“Damn, they gave you a fuckin’ cat to try to win you over? Silas is laying down a real full-court press, huh, pretending he’s an actual dad now?”
I snuggle Sox back to my chest and nuzzle the top of her head with my chin protectively. “No, it’s not like that. She’s a… a stowaway. Silas doesn’t know I have her.”