My thumb hovers over the screen for a few seconds as I think over what I just read. When I grasp for every reason as to why this person is texting me, I fall short. I’m not experienced in social situations or dynamics. Maybe it’s Tillie. Maybe this is what girls do and how they text.
I open my settings and set a new passcode, saving the number as a ?. Grabbing my AirPods, I push them into my ears while I make my way downstairs. I move through the large living room, opening the old wooden doors that open out onto the patio. This house is like a dark maze. It’s shaped like a U and the middle is filled with gardens so rich and vibrant they almost look too wonderful for the house. There’s also a pool in the middle, which never gets used but is always maintained. Behind the pool is a concrete archway that has the letters EKC stamped over top. Moss and ivy claw up the sides of the stone, reaching for everything it can to grow and climb onto. Behind that archway lies the Vitiosis cemetery. I don’t go in there often.
Scrolling through my phone, I push play on an old classic I’ve been trying to learn. Gardening helps my mind breathe.
Breathe…
Past
“Breathe,” Brantley whispered, closing the door behind him.
I shook my head. “I don’t know what he wants me to do.”
Brantley’s dark hair flopped over his forehead, distracting me momentarily. He needed to cut it, I thought to myself. Or maybe he wanted it to look like this. He was thirteen, and I was nine.
Brantley’s jaw tensed, his fingers diving into his hair as he slid down my bedroom door.
I took the two steps toward him, kneeling in front of him. “Does he do this to everyone?”
Brantley shook his head. “No. Not to my brothers.”
I found it strange, but I didn’t say anything. He brought his eyes up to mine. Dark. His eyes were so dark, a contrast to his pale skin. “He’s going to make you do shit.”
“What?” I whispered, and even though he didn’t elaborate, I could tell by the tone he used that I wouldn’t like it. Not at all.
“He’s going to do shit to you that you won’t like. I can’t stop him.” His head hung between his shoulders.
I reached for him, my skinny fingers wrapping around his already developed arms. Well, unless all boys had some muscles at thirteen. I wouldn’t know. “What do you mean?”
There was a bang on the door. Brantley shot up to his feet, pushing me behind his body and hiding me behind his tall frame. Turning, he studied my features. “I can’t stop him yet. I’m not strong enough. I promise I will one day, though. I promise he won’t hurt you forever.”
I could see in his eyes the pain he was trying to hide. Whatever Lucan was about to do to me must be bad.
I didn’t know what kind of bad.
“Fuck,” Brantley cursed. “Fuck this.” He squared his shoulders and I watched in fascination as his jaw tightened and his pupils dilated. “He’s not touching you.” His hand was on the back of my neck as he tugged my face up to his. “Look at me, Saint.” I did. I looked at the way his mouth moved, too. I also looked at how his eyes had darkened. How I knew he should scare me, but he didn’t. Not ever did he scare me. “He’s not coming near you. Do you trust me?” He spoke with resolve, like he had absolutely made up his mind.
“I—” I paused. I didn’t quite understand the word trust, but I felt deep in my gut that if I was in danger, Brantley would more than likely get me out of it. He had always been that way with me. He had always been the silent shadow that guarded me behind the scenes. He never had to be loud about it, because his energy alone was enough to warn anyone.
I nodded my head. “Yes.”
“Okay. You’re not going to like this, but the latter would be worse. Do you trust that?”
I nodded again. There was another bang on the door.
“Motherfucker, I’m coming!”
Before I could say another word, Brantley spun around, yanked the door open and stepped into Lucan’s space. “You’re not touching her. Ever.”
Present
Sweat swelters over the nape of my neck as images flash behind my eyes.
“Saint!” Brantley’s voice snaps me out of my daze, and I grip the watering can in my hand.
“What happened?” I ask, squeezing the metal in my hand and looking from left to right to see who else is out here. My head throbs with pain, and it’s not until everything comes into focus that I realize I’d either fallen or dropped down into the corner of one of the garden beds.
His jaw clenches, his eyes on mine. His gaze penetrates me like a lit match would a dark room. “I don’t fucking know. Do you do this often?”
“Um.” I get to my feet, my knees wobbling like jelly. “Yes. I think. But it’s usually the nightmares.”
He exhales, grabbing my hands and helping me up. “You’re not going to be here alone without someone from now on. If it’s not me, I’ll leave you at Tillie’s.”
I begin shaking my head because he doesn’t need to go to such an extreme.
“You don’t need to do that. I’ll be fine.”
His eyes close, his nostrils flaring before his eyes are open again. I don’t like when he looks at me this way. It makes my stomach roll and my heart falter. He makes me uncomfortable in a way that has my stomach aching, but his presence also pacifies me. Like a gentle stroke of electricity setting fire to my veins. “Nonnegotiable.” He turns to walk away from me, so I remove my garden gloves, tossing them to the side. “Go get changed.”
“Why?” I call out, following behind him.
“Because I’m throwing a fucking party tonight.”
He had turned the car around after the phone call, and we slowly rolled down a street with lights lining the road. It was clearly private and exclusive. Nothing like where I came from.
He pulled the car into a long cobblestone driveway until we came to a stop outside of an oversized mansion. I mean, honestly, it was just flaunting how much money the owners clearly had.
Brantley—now that I knew his name—turned to face me. “Get out.”
They both climbed out of their seats, and he moved the passenger one for me to slip out. When I heard the music blaring and people in the background, I relaxed a little, figuring they had obviously brought me to another party.
I straightened my skirt and flipped my hair over my shoulder, gazing up at the house. “Nice house. This yours?”
Brantley looked between me and the other guy. “Nah, a friend’s.”
We began walking to the front of the house, when Brantley opened the door and entered, leaving the other one close behind me. As soon as I was inside, I stopped breathing. It was like a museum, not a home. With glass windows, stairs, and no family photos, just art. It was the opposite of what I was used to. I didn’t realize I had stopped walking until I felt a metal clasp click around my neck.
My hands rose to the front. “What?”
The guy who was behind me tugged on the lead. “You said you wanted to play a game, so guess what?” He rounded my body until I was in front of him, and my eyes flew between him and Brantley, who was now stopped at where the glass walls opened out to the outside dining area.