Where the Darkness Goes

Chapter 26

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

GARRETT — PRESENT DAY

Fuck this.

It’s ten o’clock at night. Where the fuck is she? I feel like a worried parent, pacing in front of the door, watching for headlights on the road. She should be here by now.

Not that she had a curfew. She’s a grown adult, and I can’t control her. Maybe she won’t come home at all. Maybe she’ll stay over at his place.

And that would be fine.

Cool liquid pours over my hand, and I look down to see that I’ve crushed the cup I’m drinking out of. It’s one of those flimsy silicone ones Will brought home from a trip, convinced it’s going to save the world by eliminating plastic or something.

I curse and shake the liquid from my hand, storming into the kitchen to get a towel and soap to clean the mess from my hand and the floor.

The bag of cookies from Overflow is sitting on the table, and I consider trashing it. How pathetic am I, really? Stupid, fucking Mark Summers and his pretty-boy smile. Who cares if she doesn’t like the cookies he bought her? Not my problem. Why didn’t she correct him? Everyone knows she hates Joanie’s cookies. She always said they were too dry. I mean, she’s wrong, but whatever.

And why the fuck do I care?

Tessa Becker is not my responsibility. She’s not even my date.

She’s not mine.

I grab the bag of cookies, walk over to the trash can, and step on the lever, dangling them over the bag. Then I groan and take them back to the counter. Even when I’m furious with her, I still want to make her happy.

What is that about?

I tell myself it’s not a big deal. That Will would’ve done the same thing. He would’ve let her go on the date with a guy who doesn’t know her at-fucking-all because free will or some shit. And then he would’ve gotten dressed when he was dog-tired, driven twenty-seven minutes across town and back just to get these stupid, fucking cookies and bring them home to her. When she didn’t ask. When she probably doesn’t even want them. Just to maybe see her smile.

He definitely would have.

Probably.

I think.

Otherwise, it’s just pathetic.

I storm out of the room, scrubbing up my mess in a vengeful haze until my fingers hurt, and the floor is probably cleaner than it’s ever been. This girl makes me lose my mind. Nothing new there. I return to my pacing, every flash of light as a car drives past making my heart lurch. I should’ve never let her leave. I should’ve fought it somehow. There’s a killer on the loose, for goodness’ sake.

Maybe.

Sort of.

God. I scrub my face with my hands. Snap out of it. She’s a grown woman. She can make decisions on her own.

Still, I can’t help feeling protective over her for numerous reasons. Then again, I was getting ready to tell her about the stolen jewelry if the knock on the door hadn’t interrupted us, so maybe this is a better way to end the evening. Maybe I’ll just go to bed and pretend this entire night never happened.

Once I tell her, I have no idea how she’ll react. Maybe she’ll never talk to us again. Maybe she’ll turn us in to the police.

These past several years without talking to her other than an occasional holiday or birthday text have been enough to drive me crazy. The few times she’s visited—knowing she was just down the street at Frannie’s, with Will, and I couldn’t do anything about it—were nothing short of torture. Now that I have her back, I’m not sure I could handle putting myself through it again.

Still, she deserves the truth. As much of it as I understand.

I check the clock again. I should really text her. Just to, you know, make sure she’s okay. Ask if I should leave the door unlocked.

Did she bring her keys? Nope. They’re in the bowl next to the door.

So, logical question, Are you coming home? Should I leave the door unlocked, you know, since you don’t have keys?

She can’t fault me for asking. Any reasonable person would.

I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, and I’m pretty sure it’s the exact image you’d find next to “stress” in the dictionary. My hair is frazzled from running my hands through it, eyes red from rubbing them. My back looks as if I’ve never bent it a day in my life, shoulders stick straight and stiff.

I could just go to the restaurant. Just show up at Joanie’s and pretend I didn’t realize where they were going. If I don’t hear back from her quickly, maybe that’s what I’ll do. For her safety.

I won’t interrupt. Maybe I’ll just watch. Make sure she’s safe.

A light catches my eye outside, and this time the vehicle turns down our street and slows in front of our house.

My heart jumps in my chest, apparently participating in some sort of triathlon I wasn’t made aware of with the way it’s racing. My entire body floods with a mix of relief and new concern— did she have a nice time? Will she be a little wine drunk, lips red from being kissed? I swallow, bile climbing in my throat as my thoughts descend the stairs of my own personal hell.

Will she be seeing him again? Tomorrow, maybe?

Then, worst of all: Did he touch her?

Did she want him to?

Did she sleep with him?

My blood boils at the thought, and by the time he walks her up to the door, I’m practically balancing on a razor blade, I’m so on edge. I can’t breathe right as I watch him lean in for a kiss.

I’m going to die right here, right now.

Time of death, 11:13 p.m.

At the last second, she turns her head slightly, and from what I can tell, the kiss lands just next to her mouth.

I have just swallowed the sun whole, and it’s now living inside me, warming me from the inside, shining light on the entire room. I sit on the couch, then turn to adjust my legs, attempting to look more casual. I lie down, then sit up, resting against the arm.

When she walks in, I’m standing again, body stiff as a board.

She doubletakes, jolts, and claps a hand to her chest. “ Jesus . Sorry. You scared me.” She shuts the door with another look my way. “I didn’t expect you to still be awake.”

“You thought I would go to bed without knowing you were safe?”

“I was fine,” she assures me. Then, more gently, she adds, “I’m sorry if I worried you.”

“Worried me.” I scoff. “Of course I worried about you. You were the one just saying there might be a killer on the loose.”

“I know that. What am I supposed to do? Hide away and refuse to live my life because of it?”

I inhale through my nose. She’s right. More than that, she doesn’t deserve this frustration. Even through my anger, I know she did nothing wrong. “Did you at least have a nice time?”

“Yes,” she says, but her voice betrays her. She didn’t have a nice time, but only a jerk would celebrate that. Right? “It was really nice, actually.”

Yeah, I bet. She has no idea I saw the way she brushed him off at the door. “Great. I’m glad. I’m going to bed.” I move around her and toward the hall, then into my bedroom and shut the door. I drop down on the bed, huffing a breath.

She’s going to make me lose my mind.

This woman is going to make me lose my damn mind.

I can hear her moving around in her room and know she’s probably undressing, probably recounting the night. Thinking of him. Maybe I misread that interaction at the door. I was far enough away, maybe she actually did kiss him back. My throat is too dry.

When I hear a buzzing from next door, my entire body goes on alert. Every hair on my neck stands on end as I hold my breath and listen.

Yes, there’s definitely a steady hum coming from the other side of the wall. Buzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

Oh god. Is she…

My chest is tight. Is this what a heart attack feels like? Images of Tessa in bed, hand slipping under the covers, toy putting the pressure right where she needs it flood my mind.

Heat climbs my neck. I should give her privacy. Turn on my TV so I can’t hear anything. Better yet, I should go and take a cold shower and get my shit together.

Or… I could offer my assistance.

Just that thought has me on fire, my skin ablaze with thoughts of her. I move toward the wall instinctively, pressing my fingers against it.

This is so wrong.

Buzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

“No, fuck this,” I growl, pressing off of the wall and out of the room. I should burst in, demand to watch. Demand to join in. But I’m not an animal, despite my current feral state. I bang on the door and the buzzing stops. Caught red-handed. “Tessa, open the door.”

Within seconds, the door opens, and she stands in front of me, fully clothed in baby-blue silk pajamas—a matching shirt and shorts. Her lips are dripping with white foam, and in her hand, she holds a toothbrush.

An electric toothbrush.

Fuck me.

The balloon inside my chest deflates rapidly, as if it’s been popped with a needle.

“What?” she asks, mouth full.

I close my eyes, pressing my finger to the space between my brows. What is wrong with me?

When I open my eyes, she turns away, walking back to her bathroom to spit out the toothpaste and rinse her mouth. I step farther into her room, watching in the mirror as she dries her lips. She didn’t shut the door, so I’m not breaking any rules here.

She turns back around, leaning against the bathroom counter. “Um, hi there. You look ready to pass out. You’re sweating. Are you okay?”

Without warning to either of us, I cross the room, both hands going to either side of her face as my lips crush hers. She’s stiff in my arms for two seconds, and I worry I’ve overstepped, but then, she’s mine.

I feel her melt against me with an exhale of breath. I claim her mouth with mine, scraping my teeth along her lips. A little whimper escapes her, and I lift her up, setting her on the counter and pressing myself between her legs, letting her feel what she does to me.

Her hands are in my hair, nails scratching my scalp as I drag kisses across her cheeks to that space behind her ear that drives her mad. I move along her collarbone and up her neck, kissing and licking every inch of her I can.

She pulls me back to her mouth, and it’s like I’m home. I never want to stop this. My hands find the buttons on her shirt, and I tear them open with reckless abandon, my entire body a pulsing flame. With her shirt open and only her black bra between us, I drop my mouth to her chest, pressing my lips into the space between her breasts. I nip at the tender skin there, and she rolls her pelvis forward, grinding against me. She’s practically lying down at this point as I tower over her.

“Please, Garrett,” she whispers, head tilted back, eyes closed.

I step back, stopping.

She blinks slowly, legs spread, shirt dropped off her shoulders, body on display for me and me only. Her chest rises and falls with heavy, erratic breaths as she studies me. “W-what…are you doing?”

I’m out of breath, too, as I say, “Does he make you feel like this?”

She puts a hand to her chest, trying to catch her breath. “What?” Her legs slowly slide together as she sits up straighter.

“Because if he made you feel…an ounce of what I just made you feel, you should go for it. If not…what are we even doing?” With that, and against everything in me begging me to stay, to continue what we were just doing, I walk away from her.

It’s only the second hardest time I’ve had to do so.