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“Joanna!” I snarl, baring my teeth at the screen. She flinches, the gesture breaking through the murderous fog that had descended at the visual she’d painted. “Shit. J, I’m so sorry.” I rush to apologize, but the little brat seems unbothered. In fact, she’s smiling at me.
Goddammit. I walked right into that one.
“Figure your shit out, Nicky. God knows you’re smart enough.” She stands, carrying the phone with her as she makes her way through the apartment to her fridge, where she retrieves a soda. Popping the top, she props her cell against something on her kitchen counter as she takes a swig.
The new angle allows me to see more of the room, and I take notice of the obnoxiously large arrangement of deep dark burgundy flowers behind her.
“Damn, J.” I whistle. “When it comes to flowers, Caleb goes big or goes home, huh? What are they?” I squint to gain a better look.
“Uh. They’re peonies.” J quickly swipes up the phone, briefly glancing over her shoulder before scurrying back toward her bedroom. “Look, Nick, you’re telling me there’s no real feelings on your end? Fine. Then stay away. Stay away from her house, stay away from events you know she’ll be at, and you should definitely stay away from Dutchess Square this Saturday.”
“Dutchess Square?”
“Yeah.” She takes another sip of her soda. “Specifically, the high-end home goods store around 12:30 where my best friend will be shopping. You absolutely shouldn’t be there.” The corner of her mouth tips up to accompany the conniving glint in her eyes.
I shake my head, failing to rein in the smirk creeping across my face. “You’re a menace.”
“I’m an optimist. I trust you’ll figure it out eventually. Don’t take too long, though.” She holds her hand up, wiggling her fingers at the screen. “Love ya, bro.”
I mirror the gesture, my smile slightly more somber. “Love you more, brat. Woogity woogity.”
“Woogity woogity.” She blows me a kiss, throwing up a peace sign before the screen goes dark.
CHAPTER 17
THEN
NICKY – Age 20
The morning sunlight streams in through the sheers of my eastern-facing windows. I squint, lifting my head before pushing up and resting back against my black leather headboard. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes with one hand, I haphazardly slap the top of my nightstand with the other until my fingers close around my cell.
Pulling the screen toward my face, I blink several times to clear my vision, taking in the numbers glaring back at me.
8:18 a.m.
Blowing out a breath and tossing it aside, I lean forward to drop my head into my hands.
This is the hardest part. Finding the strength to climb out of bed and confront the turmoil I’ve caused. My mind drifts to my baby sister tucked away upstairs, and I can’t help but wonder how many nightmares undoubtedly plagued her sleep last night. They’ve been happening steadily since the incident with no sign of easing.
I, however, think I actually got a full night’s sleep for the first time in months. While much needed, the realization that the first reprieve from night terrors was gifted to me makes me double over with guilt.
I can’t remember the last time I shut my eyes and wasn’t assaulted by the memories of my sister on the brink of death in that hospital bed four months ago—the tubes that ran into her mouth and down her throat, forcing air into her lungs as the doctor filled me in on the medical findings from her exam. As if the savage beating she’d been subjected to wasn’t enough, the evidence she’d been raped by not one, but three people was enough to slaughter any remaining slivers of my soul.
It's all my fault. The scumbags who nabbed her did so over some years-old vendetta against me. They wanted to hurt me. And because she’s the thing I love most in this world, they took aim where they knew it would do the most damage.
I had them chained in my warehouse within hours, subjected to unspeakable tortures. And though their bodies, along with the secrets of that night, have been buried deeper than anyone can dig, the trauma she endured still haunts her.
Every day I try my hardest to bring her back to me, but I see the light inside her dying. She’s supposed to start her junior year of high school in less than two weeks, but most days I can barely convince her to climb out of bed.
How do I save my sister when the things that are harming her live within her mind? How do I fight ghosts?
My phone chimes, and my eyes are drawn to a text from my father that flashes across my screen. Our parents don’t know the truth of what happened. I paid the chief of police a fucking arm and a leg to conceal the attack. Not to mention, threatened half the doctors. After I had Tommy wreck the car, it was relatively easy to pass off the entire thing as a bad accident. The kind she was lucky to survive.
POPS: HEY. LEFT WITH MOM TO CHECK ON THINGS AT THE SHOP.
ME: KK. I’LL GO GET J UP IN A BIT.
They’ve started to become worried over her increasing withdrawal as well, though they attribute it to anxiety she’s supposedly developed from the accident. As a result, he and Ma have been neglecting a lot of the business aspects to stay home with her, especially since I’ve been gone pretty much every weekend since May for the Pro Motocross Series. However, I took home the championship last weekend, which now frees up my entire schedule for the next four months.
