I hurried to get dinner ready when I got home, then walked through the house one more time, looking for anything I might have missed. I’d cleaned the bathroom from both our showers, the rest of the house still looked spotless, the new purse and shoes I’d bought this afternoon were sitting on display on the entryway table for Collin to see when he got home, and I’d just finished putting all the dishes away before I’d began my walk-through. My hands were shaking as I stared at the plates on the table. Something was missing. I just couldn’t think of what it was.
Chicken, potatoes, green beans. Forks, knives, spoons, napkins. Salt. Pepper. I glanced at the time and swallowed thickly. Oh God, oh God! What the hell is missing?
I had two minutes before Collin drove up the driveway; he was never a minute late. I wasn’t sure, but I’d started thinking he parked down the street waiting until the same time every day just so he could instill this fear in me for when he would show.
Drinks!
I rushed through the kitchen and pulled down four glasses. After filling two with ice and water and the others with wine, I set all the glasses on the table seconds before I heard the key in the lock, and my trembling increased.
The door opened and shut, and after a few seconds, Collin’s footsteps echoed off the hardwood floors as he walked through the entryway and into the kitchen to look at me. There was a beautiful bouquet of pink roses in his hand—as there was every night he felt he needed to apologize—and I tried to keep my face neutral at the sight of them. I’d always hated roses, something Collin knew.
“Smells great.” He smiled quickly, tossed the roses unceremoniously on the kitchen table, and then turned around to walk through the house. His eyes were going everywhere as he looked for something out of place. Anything. Two minutes later he walked back into the kitchen with a genuine smile on his face. He wrapped his arms around me where I was standing at the counter, clipping the end of each rose and placing it in a vase. “Do you like your gifts?”
“I do, thank you.”
“And seeing your sister?” he asked as he turned me to face him. He captured my mouth to kiss me softly, his lips only moving far enough away to ask, “Did you two have a good time?”
“Yes,” I whispered before he was kissing me again.
One arm moved slowly up my back as he deepened the kiss, and I tried to not let on to the fact that my stomach was churning from his touch.
A cry burst from my chest as pain spread across my scalp and down my neck when he fisted his hand in my long hair and yanked roughly to the side. With another hard tug, he turned—causing me to hit the counter and knock the vase onto the floor, where it shattered—and stalked into the entryway with me stumbling behind him, bent in half. Facing the entry table covered in the things I’d bought earlier, he pulled me up only to force my face down toward the table so fast that a scream tore through my throat. Everything halted when my nose was within an inch of the table, and my jaw shook as tears fell onto the dark-stained wood.
“Are you trying to get someone killed?” he roared.
“N-n-n-n,” I stammered, then cut off on a sob.
“What is missing, Harlow? Tell me!” He jerked my head a fraction of an inch closer to the table.
I stared at the table, shaking, unable to figure out what he was talking about.
“Who do you want gone, huh?” he asked close to my ear. This time his voice was soft and dark. “Your sister? You want her gone, don’t you?”
“No!” I choked out.
“Then where is it?” he yelled next to me.
Card. Credit card! “Wall—wallet! I’m s-s-sorry!”
Using a fistful of my hair as a handle, he threw me to the ground and stepped over me on his way to look for my purse. My hands immediately flew to my head to cover the tender parts as I listened to his footfalls fading away from me.
“Don’t show your pain.” The words trailed behind him. Another reminder. Another warning.
On shaky hands and legs, I rolled onto my knees and slowly stood. By the time I was upright again, he was walking back toward me with my purse in his hand. Pulling his keys out of his pants pocket, he walked out the front door only to come back a minute later.
“I’ll give it all back in two days,” he crooned, and kissed my cheek with deceptive softness. “Come on, let’s eat. Dinner looks amazing.”
Placing his hand on the small of my back, he walked us toward the kitchen. He pulled my chair out for me, and held my hand on top of the table as we ate. He ate—I sat there staring at the shards of glass and forgotten roses on the tile, wondering again how the boy I’d fallen in love with had turned into my monster.
Chapter 2
Harlow
Summer 2008—Seattle
I WAS ABOUT to see Knox for the first time since meeting him a week and a half ago, and I could barely sit still, I was so excited. We had ended up staying outside for the rest of the concert, sitting on the wall and talking about everything: Thatch, his move to Seattle, and his plans to go to the University of Washington here in the fall. I’d told him about my family and life as a high school student who didn’t fit in—the story of most students’ lives.
The more the night of the concert wore on, the more I’d felt myself slipping into a place where Knox was all that mattered, and I wanted to be that for him as well. When the shows were all over, I could’ve sworn he would kiss me good night.
But there’d been no kiss, and no words. His body had been pressed close to mine, and one of his large hands had come up to cradle my cheek. For minutes we stood there as I silently begged him to kiss me. As if a switch had been thrown, that conflict from earlier had come back into his eyes and he’d taken a step away from me.
The connection was broken, and I was sure I would never hear from him again even though I’d given him my number. But the next day he called, and the next, and it was just like being back up on that wall. Even over the phone I could feel the intensity that drew me to him, and that husky tone had me wanting to listen to him talk forever.
Yesterday was Knox’s birthday, and tonight we were all hanging out at Neil’s house to celebrate. And Hayley’s car wasn’t moving fast enough! I could have run faster. Okay, that was a lie, but couldn’t she drive just a little faster?
I nearly sighed in relief when we pulled up to the house. Not waiting for Hayley, I threw open my door and took off for the guy standing on the other end of the lawn with a couple of guys I’d never seen before.