Back To Back - Cameron Chelsea M.. Страница 50

Someone picked me up and carried me back to the car and put me in. And then I blacked out.

I’m violently sucked back into the present by Sylas shaking me so hard my teeth knock against each other.

“What the hell are you talking about?!” He’s screaming at me and I don’t know what to say.

“Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God,” I say, over and over and over. He finally stops shaking me and gets out of bed, shoving me aside.

“What the fuck are you telling me right now?” he yells, raging around the room like he’s a trapped beast and needs to get out.

“I’m telling you that I was there. My father was there. And that’s all I know.” How is it possible we were all there on that day? And how is it possible that my brain locked up that memory for this long and I’m only now remembering it?

“I can’t fucking believe this. Can’t fucking believe it,” he says and the leaves the room, slamming the door behind him.

I’m unable to move. My lungs are hesitant to draw breath. It’s just too much work. I hear the front door slam again and I know I should chase after him, but moving is definitely not in the cards right now.

I’m absolutely still. Now I know what Sylas went through. My brain is still working, but my body refuses to respond. I struggle to flex my fingers and finally get them to wiggle. Then I work on my toes, legs and then arms. What seems like hours later, I slide my feet over the edge of the bed and stand. I need to find him.

I ignore the fact that I’m barely dressed in a pair of thin shorts, a tank top and no bra. I don’t even grab shoes as I leave the bedroom and walk out of the front door. He can’t have gone far, because the keys to the cars are still in the skull by the door.

My bare feet slap against the wooden floor of the hallway then down the stairs and out to the street. It’s the middle of the night and everything is quiet. Not even a car alarm. I look left and right and listen hard. Nothing.

I have to find him. I choose to go left and start walking as fast as I can. The uneven sidewalk bites into my bare feet and I know they’re going to be bloody soon. I go fast, running, and I start calling his name.

“Sylas!” I scream. Someone is probably going to call the cops, but I don’t give a shit. I have to find him. I get to the end of the street and look right and left again. Maybe I should try another direction.

And then I see him. He’s standing against the corner of a building, head bowed and his shoulders shaking. Oh thank God.

“Sylas!” I scream, running across the road and reaching him.

“Go the fuck away, Saige. Go away,” he says, but there’s no strength in his words. He’s breaking again. We both are.

“Come home, Sylas. Come home with me. We don’t have to talk about anymore. Come home with me, babe.” The endearment comes out without me even thinking about it. He lifts his head and swallows before nodding.

I throw myself at him, putting my arms around his neck. He hesitates for a moment before he hugs me back. Thank God. Thank God.

We walk back together and I realize how cut up my feet are. He’s also barefoot and just in a pair of boxer briefs. We’re lucky it’s the middle of the night so no one can see us like this.

We don’t exchange any words as we enter the apartment building again and go back upstairs. I shut and lock the door behind me and turn to face Sylas.

“I’m sorry,” he says, his voice rough. “I shouldn’t have hurt you like that. I just… you brought it all back to me and I got lost in that day for a moment. I just can’t believe you were there.” So was my father. And he never told me. I know he probably did it to protect me, but it didn’t work. The memory surfaced anyway and now I have to deal with something from my past that now feels as fresh as a knife wound.

Sylas wipes his eyes and then holds out his arms.

“I’m sorry I freaked out. I’m so sorry,” I hold him tight and then we go back to the bedroom. He sets me on the bed and then sees my feet.

“Hold on,” he says, going to the bathroom. With gentle care, he gets a washcloth and carefully wipes my feet before slathering them with antibiotic cream and putting a clean pair of socks on them.

“Talk to me,” he says, sitting back on the bed. “Or don’t. Whatever you want to do.” He seems to be overcompensating now for running out earlier. I want to tell him he doesn’t need to, but my words are stuck in my mouth.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” I say. I’m trying to put the pieces together and I have so many questions I can’t answer. Why was Dad at the house? Why did he run away? Why wouldn’t he call the police? Why would he let Sylas discover the body? Why, why, why?

My father is the only one who can answer these questions and tomorrow (technically today) I’m getting answers. Once and for all.

“I know,” Sylas says. “What are the chances?”

“Shitty chances,” I say and he chuckles half-heartedly. Nothing is funny right now.

“I don’t know what to say.” He wraps me in his arms again.

“Me neither,” he says. “I don’t think there is anything we can say.”

So we sit in silence and hold one another until there’s light in the sky and the start of a new day.

Twenty-Six

Neither of us gets any sleep and we finally get out of bed around six. Without even asking, Sylas goes to the kitchen and makes coffee for both of us. I consider taking a shower, but don’t feel like it. Sylas comes back with the coffee as I’m trying to get dressed.

“What are you going to do now?” he asks as he hands me the cup and sips from his own.

“There’s only one thing to do. My father kept this from me. I want to know why. And I want to know how he could keep this from me for so long. And you deserve to know, too.” He sets his cup down and looks out the window, splitting the blinds.

I finish my coffee and go to the kitchen for more, wincing as I walk on my cut feet.

“You should have let me do that,” he says, coming up behind me.

“It’s okay,” I say and top him off while I have the pot in my hand.

“I don’t want to put you through something that’s going to hurt you,” I say, trying to give him an out.

He steps behind me and starts massaging my shoulders. It almost hurts because my muscles are so incredibly tense.

“A part of me wants to confront him too. I want to see him explain himself. I think it will be good for both of us.” Good.

Sylas keeps massaging my shoulders and I wish we could just go back to bed and spend the day naked and sweating together. For the thousandth time, I wish we were a normal couple with normal problems.

I can’t deal with sitting around the house, so we both get dressed and head over to my parents’ before eight. My father is a morning person and my mother will still be too drugged out on sleeping pills and wine to know what the hell is going on.

Dad’s car is in the driveway and Martha seems thrilled to see me. She even gives me a little hug.

“Let me get your father. Would you like some breakfast?” I shake my head as she walks briskly to the dining room where I know Dad’s eating his breakfast and reading the paper. He does the same thing every morning. Like clockwork.

He comes out, still wiping his mouth with a napkin.

“Saige?” he asks and I can tell he’s wary, but happy that I’m here.

I take a breath and squeeze Sylas’ hand.

“Why didn’t you tell me I was there when Marina was killed?” The napkin drops to the floor and Dad goes completely white.

“When did you remember?”

“Last night.” He brings his hand to his mouth and I’ve never seen him look so spooked. So scared.