Quiet Ones (Hellbent Book 3), page 7
I don’t know why. Something about them being doorways or some other such supernatural nonsense. Hawke knows. He studies all the urban legends. There’s another one Weston and Shelburne Falls share, as well. Pay to pass. Throwing a coin—an offering—over the bridge between our two towns. I don’t know where that tradition came from, either.
There are others, none of them ever concerning me. I’ve leaned into mirrors and crossed bridges without paying, and maybe been followed by a car with its headlights off here or there… It’s just fun to think it’s real.
Well, not fun, maybe.
Comforting. We need our traditions. It adds hope that the world still has mystery.
But it doesn’t. That’s why we have books. And movies and theater and video games to escape into. Many people between our two towns love distractions like that.
Like racing. Around and around and they’re never going anywhere. What’s the point? I just want to go forward.
The scent of pizza fills the shop, and I prop open the front door to let fresh air in. Grabbing two more empty platters from the case, I throw a glance at the mirror again, smiling at the idea of tempting fate some night and seeing how long I can lean before I scare myself and run. Maybe I believe a little.
Pushing through the kitchen door, I hear dishes clank and look over, seeing my mom at the sink with one of my aprons on.
“Mom, what are you doing?” I drop the empty trays on the worktable.
My mother stands with her hands in dishwater because she thinks it’s faster than using the machine and wastes less water. Which it doesn’t. I know what I’m doing.
“How else am I going to see you?” She looks over at me, taking the faucet hose and spraying one plate after another clean. “You get home after dinner—sometimes not even until I’m in bed—and then you’re gone before I wake up.”
I come to her side and shut off the faucet. I tuck a piece of her dark brown hair back up into the clip she used to pin up the rest.
“I’ll get into a groove.” I hand her a dry towel for her hands. “Things will slow down.”
“When?” she fires back. “January?”
I pause, instantly seeing the flinch on her face. She knows the last thing that would be helpful is making it sound like I’m disappointing her. I’ll just think I need to work harder.
Finally, she smiles, blinking a slow apology, and I’m almost irritated by how fast she can switch gears. By the time she became Katherine Caruthers, though, she knew how to handle my father, three teenage boys, and addiction. I kind of wish I’d gotten more inexperienced parents, but they knew all the tricks by the time I arrived. They were home for dinner every night and pancakes on Sundays. And while they took my phone at night to force a good night’s sleep on me, they pretended they didn’t know that I had a tablet and a laptop.
She takes a plate, using the towel to dry dishes, instead.
“Are you complaining that people like my bakery?” I ask, but don’t wait for a reply. “I’m busy. This is a good thing.”
Yes, I’m busier than I would like, and I’d love to manage time for maybe a social life—and sleep—but I’m handling it. We knew this would take time to figure out.
“It is a good thing,” she says. “I’m so proud of you.”
“I can do this on my own.” I gently take her towel and dry the dishes myself. “I have a staff.”
She lowers her gaze, her warm eyes filled with worry and things unspoken. Things she still feels guilt over with my brother.
“I know you’re there if I need you,” I tell her.
It’s the best I can do to ease her mind. I know she’s there, even though she wasn’t for Jared.
We’re quiet, and I dry some more plates and put them away as I feel her attention on me.
I glance at her, seeing her mouth slightly open like she wants to say more. “What?” I ask.
She doesn’t seem to breathe for a moment, finally shaking her head. “Can you be free Saturday after two? For the rest of the day?”
“Why?”
“Madoc and Fallon are having everyone over.” She takes more plates from me, stacking them on the shelf. “Lucas’s flight is late. They’ll have a cookout, some fireworks…”
I unplug the sink, not hearing the water drain over the sound of my heart in my ears.
He barely stayed.
Once he sells the house, there’ll be no reason for him to return. Ever.
I swallow the lump in my throat. “I’ll try.”
If he’s leaving, then I don’t think I want to see him. What’s the point? Giving him a whole evening when he’ll never spare five minutes for us again?
My mother moves behind me, starting to leave, but she stops and turns.
“I’m not trying to overcompensate,” she clarifies, as if she’d read my mind.
I look over at her, the solemn look on her face telling me she’s aware of the baggage her boys still carry.
Her brow pinches together in sadness. “I just want to see you having fun.”
I shake out the towel, flexing my jaw. “I am.” I offer her a grin. “I love this. Promise.”
She’s quiet but doesn’t move, and I finish stacking dishes onto shelves.
“You’re just always so busy,” she tells me. “The studying and extracurriculars in high school. Finishing your college degree a year early, culinary classes in your spare time, this shop in the summers… Like you were always rushing to be thirty or something.”
The world in front of me blurs.
She’s not wrong. I’d just been hoping no one would notice. Or if they did, they would say I was “motivated” or “a hard worker.” But the truth is, I was never excited to be in college. I was excited to be done. I never wanted to go on Spring Break with friends. There were better ways to spend that time.
I was always racing to a finish line.
To be grown up.
I turn my face back to the sink, rinsing the suds out before she can see my chin tremble.
I think I’m having fun. I’m finally done. I finished school and started my business. Now, I’m ready for…
I don’t know. What do I want now?
My own life. Not a life away from my family, but one where I’m in the lead. Where I make my own decisions, have privacy, and don’t feel like I’m always following someone.
She doesn’t press further, just touches her hand to my cheek. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
But I don’t look at her because I don’t want her to see my face. In a moment, she’s gone.
I accepted a long time ago that my mother is the smartest person I’ll ever meet. In terms of street smarts. More than my dad, Madoc, Jared, or even Jax, because my mom has made nearly every mistake imaginable. When she speaks, it’s from experience. Not anger or power or trauma.
After boxing Mace’s brownies, I set them on the table and take the extras to the front. I load them into the case, but a customer stops me.
“Can I buy those, actually?” he asks. “They look great.”
“Sure.”
Boxing the rest of the brownies and setting them on the counter, I glance up, seeing Aro and Dylan through the windows. They stand right outside, next to one of the patio tables on the sidewalk.
They wave through the glass, Dylan using two hands.
What the hell are they doing? I toss a quick wave back as I direct my attention to the customer and the guy he’s with.
“Anything for you?” I ask the second gentleman as he browses the options.
Aro passes a stack of large white posterboards to Dylan. She holds them up for me to see through the window.
I’m mad at you, it says.
Mad? I glance around to the customers in the shop to see if they notice her.
“I would love something,” the young man replies with a sigh. “Anything for diabetics?”
Huh?
I turn back to my customers. Oh, right. I smile at the guy, noticing Dylan throwing the board over her shoulder, letting it fly onto the sidewalk.
Guess who we saw at Camp Blackhawk today? the next board reads.
My heart thuds. Aro grabs the stack, flipping to the next poster.
Oh my God… it says.
Then, she fans herself.
My stomach somersaults. Lucas.
The customers stand there, and I let out a single, nervous laugh, dropping my eyes. “Uh…how about…chocolate chip blondies?” I ask.
Moving down the case, I take a square of parchment paper and reach into the shelf. I raise my eyes as Dylan snatches the cards back.
Jax says you saw him last night. She lets that card fly. And you didn’t text me?
She and Aro both throw out their hands, little snarls on their faces.
Great.
I hand the blondie over the counter to the man. “One hundred percent free of refined sugars.”
The dude takes it. “Are you serious?”
I nod like a caricature, more because I’m trying to hide how distracted I am with what the girls are doing outside. “They’re sweetened with dates,” I explain.
I’ll meet you at the gym tonight, Dylan announces.
“Try it,” I tell the guy.
She reveals another sign. Eight o’clock.
The pulse in my neck knocks against my skin.
The man chews a bite, freezes, then lets out a moan of satisfaction. “I’ll be damned.”
Aro is covering for me.
I glance to Aro, seeing her grin. And wiggle her eyebrows. She doesn’t ever do that. Oh, God. What are they planning?
“Can you make anything else naturally sweetened?” the customer asks.
I glance at him, swallow, then look at Dylan and Aro.
Dylan gives me her biggest, brightest smile. He’s not leaving Saturday because you’re going to make him want to stay!
I lick my lips.
You know how?
And then, right there, on High Street, on the sidewalk in front of my damn shop, she and Aro start dancing, thrusting, and moaning in ecstasy as they flip their hair all around like strippers.
Snorts go off in the shop, and I let my eyes fall closed, holding in something between a growl and a laugh. I’m going to kill them.
I’m…
I’m…
I’m really going to kill them.
“I’m…um…” I clear my throat and look at the customer again. “I’m willing to…try.” I grab a business card from the slot on the counter and hand it to him. “Feel free to email me a request, and I’ll see what I can do.”
He smiles, taking the card. “Thanks.” And then gesturing to the case of blondies, “I’ll take all of them, actually.”
His friend laughs, and I get busy packaging up the rest, glaring at Dylan and Aro through the glass case.
Try it! Dylan holds up one more sign. Sex is soooooo super fun!
Then they both give me all their thumbs up.
My forehead dampens with sweat, but then I realize my hair and shirt are sticking to my neck and back too.
Are they really allowed to just leave the kids at the camp during the day like this? I’m texting Jax.
Unfortunately, work doesn’t keep me at the shop as long as I would like. I stayed open a little later than usual in hopes of some stragglers, but by five, the door is closed. By six, leftovers are dropped off at the fire department this time and the deposit is made at the bank. By seven, the dough is prepped for the morning and the place is clean. Emails are answered. Inventory done. Shipment of coffee stocked.
I check the lock on Frosted’s door, then glance at the clock on the wall.
7:58.
Blood warms as it flows down my arms.
I didn’t tell Dylan I would go to the gym.
But she is expecting me.
I walk to the floor-length mirror, trying to ignore the little way it feels like my lungs aren’t taking in enough air, or how I can’t think of anything else other than how I’m expected somewhere right about now.
I brush a few strands of hair out of my face.
Staring at my reflection in the mirror, I take in the pizza sauce staining the canvas-colored apron wrapped around my waist, and the flour on my forearms that I missed when I washed up. Everything went well today.
Almost.
I always worry if customers can tell when I’m frazzled. While I’m turning a profit, even with all of the menu additions, the higher utility bills from staying open longer, and the new equipment I ordered for the ice cream stand, I still haven’t figured out the part I promised my mother I would. My time.
I need to start delegating responsibilities and training Noel or Hailey to run the shop so I can have a day off. I’m not sure what I would do with one, though. I abandoned most of my hobbies years ago, and I don’t have friends. I mean, ones not named Trent or Caruthers, at least.
I love Dylan, of course. I feel good around Aro. Hawke is one of my safe places. And Kade and Hunter would never fail me. Other than that, I think I should want friends, but I really don’t. Maybe I just find family easier because they have to accept me. With anyone else, I don’t like half the shit that comes out of my mouth, and I go home feeling like I spent hours trying to make a relationship happen that I didn’t want anyway. I could’ve spent that time cleaning something. Or researching flavor combinations. Or exercising or sleeping or reading or peacefully walking and getting lost in the breeze while listening to music in my earbuds. Every single one of those things more enjoyable than dying slowly at some lunch or movie outing that just ends up feeling like something else I had to fit into my schedule.
Maybe I’ll just go jogging tonight, instead. Ride my bike to Eagle Point Park and run through there. It’s closed to everything but foot traffic at night. Jared won’t find me. He still hasn’t learned that he can track everyone he loves on an app on his phone. God help us when he does.
Pain strikes in my stomach, and I exhale. I haven’t eaten since before noon. I pull my ponytail out, fluff my hair, and tie it back up again before removing my apron.
Lucas probably isn’t even at the gym. Or maybe he was and now he’s gone. Or perhaps he won’t work out till later. Who knows…
Several dark spots spread across the mirror, some in clusters and others splattered out like stars in a sky, and I use the apron to brush at them. They don’t come off. I tsk. The mirror is deteriorating. I wish we could get the damn thing off the wall.
I check the clock again. 8:02.
I sigh, turning back to my reflection. Hawke was certain that removing the mirror would damage the brick, not to mention the nightmare we might find in the walls, like rats or mold. I can only hope he was teasing me. I want to be aboveboard and have a clean place, but a discovery like that could destroy my business.
And…I also feared finding something I couldn’t afford to fix three years ago when I opened the place, either. Like a structural problem.
I don’t really want to potentially damage a wall now that I’m open full time. Construction would hurt the traffic trying to come in here when I’m just getting going.
Fingerprints dot the edge of the mirror on the top right. I lean in, narrowing my eyes. It’s four fingers, minus the thumb. As if someone clutched it from behind. I frown, the images of various horror movies making me shudder.
I wipe the prints off too.
Moving into the kitchen, I toss the apron into the laundry and grab my backpack. Stepping into the bathroom, I change, slip my earbuds into a pocket, and push any long bangs back over the top of my head. But as I reach for the cap, I stop, realizing it’s not with me. He took it this morning.
I frown. I have others at home, but…that one was nice and broken in.
He still hasn’t given me my compass back, either. Does that mean the hat is still technically mine? I smile to myself and dash back into the shop. Maybe it would be warranted to go to the gym after all and take it back.
I charge through the door of the kitchen to grab my phone, but as I pick it up, I see the empty Lost and Found box again. I forgot to ask Hailey or Noel who came in for it. I thought I would’ve noticed—it’s a small shop.
Just then, ringing pierces my brain, and I gasp. Dylan appears on the screen, and I exhale, swiping. “Hello?”
“Are you coming?”
I switch off the kitchen light. “Maybe.”
“Well, I’m waiting.” Chatter and music play in the background. “And I have to be back by ten.”
“I didn’t ask you to work out with me tonight.”
This was her idea.
But she just goes on, not hearing me. “Can you bring some leftovers?” she asks. “Hunter snuck me away behind the archery range, and I missed dinner.”
I hang up on her. Unbelievable.
Then, it occurs to me I could’ve asked her if Lucas was there.
I’m glad I didn’t. I don’t want her thinking that would have made my decision for me.
A text rolls in. Hurry! she writes. I’m so hungry!
I growl. “This is stupid.” I slide my phone into my pants. “Go exercise so you can go to sleep.”
I start to leave, mumbling to myself, “Your brother paid for a membership. You’re allowed to use it.”
But then I circle back and throw some leftover croissants into a paper bag and stuff them into my backpack.
In three minutes, I walk through the doors of Astrophysics a block away.
Heading up to the counter, I tap the device with my membership card.
“Welcome.” The same young woman from last night greets me. “Towel?”
“Please.” She pulls one from under the counter, and I take it. “Thank you.”
After I secure my backpack and jacket in the locker room, I fit in my earbuds and climb the stairs to the track with the bag of croissants. I glance around for Dylan, but try to keep my shoulders relaxed so it doesn’t look like I’m looking for someone else.
