Heart So Hollow (Dire Wolves Book 1), page 53
I can’t wait to see their faces. Maybe I’ll pop some popcorn and have a good laugh. I can’t imagine what he’ll be thinking, what’ll be running through his mind when he sees my gift to him. His reaction will be gold. Granted, it could never be as bad as mine was years ago, but nothing can ever come close to that. I have a good imagination, though, and that’ll have to do.
The beauty of it is, when he sees it, he’ll know it was me who did it. And he won’t be able to do a damn thing about it. I turn back to the wall and glare at each of their faces.
Nothing but lies and deceit.
Each one of them was complicit—is complicit.
And if they think they’ve gotten away with it, if they want to run with the big wolves, I’ll introduce them to the real ones…
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
Brett
One Year Ago
I’m starting to wonder if I’m going to wake up every day just to remember something horrible that happened the day before. It’s what happened yesterday, when I opened my puffy, red eyes and remembered that my book is gone—my entire book is gone.
I should’ve been pleasantly surprised when Bowen sat down on the edge of the bed and started brushing my hair out of my face like we didn’t just have the weirdest argument ever the night before.
“Dad needs my trailer, then I’m running over to Jay’s,” he murmurs as I blink sleep out of my eyes, “I’m taking your laptop. One of his coworkers is in IT and said he can take a look at it.”
But it didn’t matter.
Even Jay’s friend couldn’t salvage my files, inexplicably lost in the ether.
Some people lose receipts or calendar invites or confirmation emails. I lose a 150,000-word labor of love.
Sunday isn’t much better, because today I woke up and remembered that Jay’s friend couldn’t salvage my book and it’s still gone. And, on top of that, I don’t know how to process any of this. Because the one person—my best friend—who would know how to help me, is no longer my best friend.
A small shred of me wonders if I should just text Barrett. Can I overlook her tits being on Bowen’s phone for just a little bit while I try to navigate the utter pain and devastation of this loss?
What the hell am I saying?
She also told Bowen about Colson, that I’m trauma-bonded to him and I always will be. Then she walked downstairs in nothing but her underwear and asked my fiancé to go upstairs to her room with her. The more I think about it, the more I remember tiny details spread out over our entire friendship, and I get angry all over again.
Were there signs? There are always signs.
No, I can’t just text Barrett. Even about this.
Bowen’s gone for most of the day again with Jay, because it’s always with Jay. But I don’t think he’s avoiding me; I think he’s just trying to give me some space because he’s otherwise acting relatively normal. But I can’t concentrate on reading and there are only so many times I can walk around the house aimlessly before I feel like I’m going insane.
But I’m already going insane…
When Hildy texts me and asks if I want to go to dinner with her and Leona, I immediately welcome the distraction. I don’t even change, just grab my purse and head out the door in flops, running shorts, and baggy off-shoulder t-shirt.
It’s hot, but sitting creek side with a breeze coming off the water while drinking margaritas and eating tacos and ceviche isn’t a bad start to the evening.
“So, what did you think about Bo’s plan for the wedding?” Hildy grins at me over the edge of her margarita glass, teasing the straw between her teeth.
“Oh, so you were in on it, I take it?” I chuckle, “I think it’s a really good choice. The views are amazing, obviously, but the food and the drinks were stellar, too. Was it his idea or yours?”
“It was actually his,” Hildy reluctantly admits.
“Shocking, I know,” Leona breaks a tortilla chip in half with her pastel pink acrylic nails and shoots me a side-eye, “but he’s gotten good at these kinds of things.”
“Did he not used to be?” I lick some flaky salt off my fingertip and take a swig of my own margarita, thankful they seem to give decent pours here, too.
Leona gazes up in thought, “Bo’s always been good at reading people. He can tell when things get to be too overwhelming and he knows when to take charge of situations. I guess he got used to it after last time.”
I give pause at her response and the unsettling way she says, last time. Looking down at my drink, I inconspicuously lift my eyes in time to see Hildy shoot Leona a sharp look across the table. Leona brushes her off with a shrug and Hildy turns back to her tacos with a roll of her eyes.
“What do you mean, last time?” I ask nonchalantly as I take another sip of my drink.
“Oh, well,” Leona stammers, “you know…”
No, I don’t, Leona. Why don’t you tell me?
Suddenly, Hildy cuts her off, “Bo told us about what happened to your book,” she says sympathetically, “and how devastating it was.”
I stare down at my half-eaten tacos, my appetite suddenly gone. So much for a welcome distraction…
“Yeah?” I don’t look up, focusing on tracing my finger over the condensation on my glass.
“And,” Hildy continues, “he told us what happened with your best friend.”
Oh my god…
I take a deep breath and smile down at the table sardonically. I can’t believe this is happening right now. I don’t want to think about the last week, or even the last month. When did all of this madness start, anyway? It doesn’t matter, though, because I don’t want to talk about any of it. And I can’t believe Bowen told both his mom and sister about all of this.
But Hildy’s not finished, “It’s understandable you’d be so distracted and not even know what happened to the book. It’s like adding insult to injury.”
I finally glance up at her, “How’s that?”
“Because, Brett,” Hildy scoffs, “I can’t imagine if I had to go to work every day with a stalker that tried to murder me. I can’t believe you’ve been living with that for so long!”
I just stare back at her, not breathing.
“Bo said it’s been driving you crazy. You’re distracted, forgetting things, and then you accidentally delete your book—”
“I didn’t delete my book,” I suddenly snap, making Hildy jump.
Leona’s eyes dart between us as she stirs the ice in her margarita.
Hildy shakes her head, “Sorry, I know you didn’t delete your book, what I mean is with all of this going on at once, it’s no surprise you’re getting so stressed out about getting married. It should be the happiest time in your life and, instead, your best friend betrays you in the worst way possible while you’re also dealing with some psycho at work.”
I want to die.
Leona turns to me, “We just want you to know we’re here for you, sweetheart. Bad things happen to good people, but it doesn’t mean you have to deal with it on your own,” she points one of her long, acrylic nails at me, “you’re family now—don’t forget it. I know the rest of yours is far away, and I can’t imagine what it’s like to live in a different country than your parents and sister, but we’re here for you, no questions asked.”
I stare back at them as the realization sets in. This isn’t dinner, it’s an intervention.
My skin starts to crawl as my muscles tremble with agitation. I’m stunned and mortified that Bowen thought it was a good idea to tell Hildy and Leona any of this. And I don’t like either of them talking about who did what and how I should feel about it. Maybe Barrett’s been a rotten best friend, but she’s still my rotten best friend and I’m the only one who can say shit about it. And, as for Colson…
“Mom’s right, Bo’s a really good guy and he would do anything for you, Brett. If you have a problem, he’ll do whatever it takes to fix it…”
Hildy’s voice begins to fade until it’s a muted hum in my ears. The tingling over my skin gets more intense, like someone poking me in the arm, trying to get my attention. My leg starts jiggling and I feel like I’m preparing to jump up and run off the deck any moment. I can feel the adrenaline pumping, but I don’t know why. Finally, I shake it off as much as I can before meeting Hildy’s eyes again.
“Brett, you know I’m always here for you,” Hildy continues, “you’re already like a sister and I’ll help you with whatever you need—wedding-related or otherwise.”
I don’t know why, but suddenly everyone at this table is acting like I’m one enchilada away from a nervous breakdown. And I don’t appreciate my entire dumpster fire of a life being laid out across the table between the two-for-one margaritas and carnitas.
“That’s really nice of you—to help me, I mean.” I let my eyes wander over the trees before settling back on Hildy, “Did Emily also go crazy after Bowen proposed to her?”
Hildy opens her mouth, but nothing comes out. Leona drops her glass back onto the table with clang.
“Proposed?” Leona whips around to Hildy, “To Emily?”
“Did you try to help her, too?” I spit, rolling my eyes as I look away.
Leona ignores me and stares at Hildy, “And you knew about this?”
“Jesus, Mom…” Hildy groans with a roll of her eyes, “No, I didn’t know.”
I let out a scoff and stare across the creek in astonishment.
God, I’m so tired of all your family secrets and keeping track of who knows what.
Leona turns away from Hildy and grabs her glass, tilting it back and gulping down the second half of her margarita in one go. Then she sits in irate silence, tapping her nail on the wrought iron table and shaking her head at Hildy every few seconds as she tries to calm down.
Maybe the reason Emily ghosted Bowen is because you all can’t mind your own goddamn business!
I turn back to Hildy, holding her panicked stare as my jaw tightens and I slowly scoot my chair away from the table. Leona doesn’t seem to notice me leave as she begins interrogating Hildy about Bowen’s secret engagement that fell through. But I don’t care.
If all my secrets can be laid bare for all to see, so can one of Hildy’s.
●●●
I can’t bring myself to go home yet.
Whether it’s highway hypnosis or muscle memory, I take a sharp right turn when I see the familiar green sign marking the entrance to Black Ridge Metro Park, where I usually take bike rides. Except, this time, I don’t have my bike.
I wish I did because I still would jump on, in flip flops and sans helmet, and take off down the trail to find some shred of relief. Instead, I drag myself out of the SUV, slam the door, and start walking down the nearest paved trail. The sun is still above the trees, so it’ll be light for a while.
The midsummer breeze feels like heaven in my lungs and it begins to calm me the further I trudge down the deserted path. After a few minutes, I pat my shorts and realize my phone isn’t in the back pocket. I must’ve left it in the car.
I don’t even care. I normally would, always the bastion of safety, but I don’t right now. Maybe some cryptid monster will emerge from the woods and devour me in one gulp so I won’t have to wait and see what fresh hell awaits when I leave here. The oaks and the birches and the prairie grass don’t have problems like these.
It’ll be dusk soon, maybe I’ll meet another coyote along the path. Maybe they’ll whisk me away with them instead of ripping me apart. It doesn’t seem like such a terrifying thought, now. But, with my luck, a serial killer is more likely. That happens more often around this city than young women being spirited away by woodland creatures.
Whatever, same result. Just make it quick.
I’m not suicidal, just exhausted and strung out. So much so that I can crack jokes on myself about being hacked to pieces, stuffed in a duffel bag, and thrown into the Scioto.
“Sorensen.”
I give a start as a deep voice cuts through the balmy air and breaks my concentration. I spin around to see a tall figure standing in the middle of the path and immediately exhale with relief.
“What are you doing here?” I call in a weary voice.
Clearly, I no longer qualify as a bastion of safety. I’m so out of it that I don’t even notice my six-foot-four stalker walking up the path behind me. He’s standing about 50 feet away in the middle of the pavement wearing grey joggers, a black compression t-shirt, and a pair of black and red Nikes. I almost don’t recognize him when he’s not dressed all in black and loaded down with body armor.
He nods back down the path, “I saw your car in the lot.”
“Following me again?” I inquire.
“Not this time,” he strolls toward me, “you just missed Dallas. She and Alex come here to run, but he went out with his brothers tonight, so here I am.”
Clearly, Dallas has more sense than I do to never run alone.
I shoot him an unimpressed look, “So you saw my car and thought you’d follow me through the woods?”
He comes to a halt a few feet from me and nods over my shoulder, “My car’s on that end of the trail.”
I let out a sigh and turn back around to continue walking, giving Colson a once-over once he reaches my side, “You don’t look like you’ve been running.”
“Dallas really likes talking, so there wasn’t much running. It’s 80◦ and I haven’t broken a sweat.”
“Too bad Dallas left, I like her more than you.”
“She likes you a lot, too,” he glances down at me, “right after she left, I texted her and told her you were here.”
“I’m surprised she didn’t come back,” I say with a chuckle.
“I know. She told me not to creep you out.”
I let out a bitter laugh, “She better get used to disappointment.”
“I told her you like the attention,” Colson replies with a glint in his eye.
“Jesus, Colson.”
That’s exactly what Dallas needs to be chatting about to everyone at work. Between the three of them, who knows what he’s told them or what they talk about…
“So, what are you doing here?” he looks me up and down, “Don’t you usually bike instead of walk?”
“Yes,” I don’t even bother to recall whether that’s something I told him or if he found out on his own, using more insidious methods, “I wasn’t planning on coming here. I just had to—” I pause, realizing that explaining why I decided on an impromptu hike will only elicit more questions, “I just needed a walk, to sort out some things.”
“What kind of things?”
“Like…” I trail off, feeling absolutely drained, like there’s a cinderblock sitting on top of my chest.
Am I really going to tell Colson that I’ve shunned my best friend, my book is gone, I feel like I’m going insane, Bowen’s getting tired of my bullshit, he told his family all about it, and now they also think I’m insane?
I can’t believe Bowen told Hildy and Leona everything and made me sound like I’m the one going crazy. How could he do that?
At first, I don’t tell Colson anything. I continue walking in silence, staring straight ahead, and he does the same, not expecting anything more. I don’t know how much time passes in silence but eventually the pressure is too much and everything comes spilling out.
“I—I can’t do this,” my chest feels heavy and I feel like I’m walking through quicksand, “I can’t get married right now, everything’s going wrong, I feel like I’m going insane,” I say in defeat, “and I don’t even know why I’m telling you this. You’re biased anyway and you’re the last person I should be talking to.” Now I sound like I’m talking to myself, muttering regrets under my breath, “And I don’t even have Barrett anymore…” I finally manage to say her name out loud and I still have to choke back the lump creeping up my throat.
“What?” Colson furrows his brow, “Why not?”
How do I even tell Colson what happened since the last time I saw him? It doesn’t even sound real. These things happen to other people, but not Barrett and I. It seems too wild, too ridiculous, and even though I saw the texts, I’m still second-guessing myself. Did I really see what I saw?
“She sent a topless picture to Bowen.”
Colson’s silent for a few moments, letting my words sink in, “Does that sound like something she would do?”
“What do you mean?”
“Does that sound like something she would do?” he repeats, but slower.
“Of course not, but that doesn’t matter, does it? I saw the picture and the texts,” I shake my head, feeling worse by the second, so I change the subject, “Tell me about your tattoos. You didn’t have them back in college.”
Colson looks down at the web of stars and lines that wrap around his left wrist and stretch up his arm until they disappear beneath the sleeve of his shirt, “You might not know this, but it’s easier to find your direction by the stars than a compass. These are all the constellations you can see in the northern sky.” He stops and motions for me to come closer. When I do, he turns me so the sun is on my left and I’m facing north, “You won’t be able to see all of them here because of the light pollution, but when it gets dark,” he stretches his arm over my shoulder and raises his hand, “these are the stars that you’ll see.”
“Wouldn’t the sky be different here than it is in Alaska?” I point out.
“Yes, but it’s not the sky in Alaska,” he lets his arm sink back to his side, “it’s the sky here, so I could find you again.”
I draw in a sharp breath, staring at his tattooed arm in astonishment. How can someone be that consumed by another person, someone they haven’t seen for years because the last time they did ended so horribly? How could he dwell on something—on me—for that long?
As if I can talk…
After a few moments, a smile creeps across my face, “What if I wasn’t here?” I turn to Colson, “What if I moved away and never came back?”
“Brett,” he cracks a smile, “I’ve tracked animals that evolved to survive where people can’t, I’ve found people who are lost deep in the wilderness where humans have never been—on mountaintops, in crevasses, hidden beneath dense forests a hundred miles from civilization. You think it would be hard for me to find you?”
