Page 85 of Gray Area

“I heard you,” I snap back, “but I don’t understand why or where.”

He comes out of the closet and he has my backpack in his hand. My eyes are immediately drawn to it. My stomach clenches and all I can do is gape at him, but he won’t meet my eyes. “I have to get you out of here,” he says, brushing past me again and opening my drawers and shoving my clothes in the bag.

“What are you talking about?” I ask him, at a complete loss at his behavior.

“It’s for the best,” he says, his tone trance-like as he grabs my toothbrush and my things from the shower. Suddenly I’m a little girl again, and I’m being rushed from my home, things thrown in my bag, an adult I’ve never met before telling me it’s all for the best. Declan goes to brush past me again and it breaks me from my trance, and I stand my ground.

“Declan!” I shout, shattering his crazed focus, his eyes finally connecting with mine. “What the fuck is going on?” I shout at him, unable to lower my tone now that I have gotten the words out.

He swallows and he takes in breaths quickly, and I study his face trying to get some answers from his behavior. He doesn’t speak, and finally I recognize the look on his face. Declan is afraid.

“What happened?” I ask him, my heart starting to race. I’ve been afraid—it’s an unfortunately comfortable feeling for me. But not Declan. He is never afraid. But maybe… “Is it your dad?”

He shakes his head. “No, my dad and Roman, they’re safe. Slade and Axel too.”

“Then what is all this?” I say, gesturing to his behavior.

He’s silent for a bit, and we have a stare down. I refuse to break; it’s time for him to tell me something, anything.“Someone wants to hurt me,” he finally says slowly, seeming to choose his words carefully.

“Who?” I ask, baffled. I honestly don’t know what to say.

He shakes his head. “I can’t tell you,” Declan replies. “All I can tell you is that they know who you are and how important you are to me. And I think they will try to hurt me by hurting you.”

“Declan, who is this person? Like a criminal, or—”

“It doesn’t matter who they are!” he roars, cutting me off in his frustration. He shakes his head, righting himself when he sees me lean back from him. “The less you know the better,” he tells me.

I’ve heard this before. I have been told shit like this my entire life. From my mother when I’d ask her what the needle was for, from social workers when I asked them why I couldn’t stay with my mom, or why I had to go back to my mom. People were always keeping things from me my entire life, thinking they were protecting me. Never giving me a choice, never taking my feelings into consideration. Hell, they never even had a discussion with me.

“No, Declan, that isn’t true,” I say as I choke up and force the words out.

He looks desperate, his mask of stone falling. “Vivian, I’m sorry, Baby, but please,” he begs me, his voice quivering. He sets my bag on the bed and comes over to me, dropping in front of me to his knees as he grasps my upper arms. “Please let me get you out of here. I can’t have anything happen to you,” he says.

I want answers, but I know he isn’t in the right headspace for that. And I’m also terrified. Someone has made Declan scared, and he is scared for me. He can’t take care of himself or be reasonable if he is stressed about me. “You need to talk to me, Declan,” I warn him, my voice still cracking and hoarse from the tears I am trying to keep back. “I’ll go, but I want answers.”

He nods hastily, and I grab my backpack from the bed, shoving the mail I’d left on the counter inside of it and following him out the door. The car outside is not his, and I shoot him a questioning look. “Rental,” he answers quickly.

I get in the car, and Declan starts driving in what feels like circles, but soon we are on the highway. I try to get something out of him. “Can we talk now?” I ask softly after about ten minutes, but he just grabs my hand and tells me he needs to drive.

I fall asleep at some point and wake when his car pulls to a stop in front of a cabin. I look around at the heavily wooded lot surrounding it.

“Where are we?” I ask, my voice thick with sleep, but Declan is already outside the car with a flashlight, looking all around the outside of the cabin. I look at the clock on my phone and see we’ve driven just over an hour.

I grab my backpack and get out of the car. When Declan finishes looking around outside, he motions for me to follow him and we enter the small structure. Declan flicks the light on as we head inside. The entire place is pinewood boards, shiny with a fresh lemon Pledge smell telling me it has just been cleaned.

Declan walks from the front room to the kitchen, and then pokes his head into a bathroom. He nods and then disappears into a back room where he checks it out. I hear him opening a door and I watch him look under the bed. He’s obviously making sure the place is safe, but it’s not what I want.

I was promised answers. I want answers.

I cross my arms across my chest, and wait for Declan to reappear.

He looks a thousand times calmer when he comes out of the bedroom, but he stiffens as soon as he sees my posture. He lifts his hands up to the top of the doorframe of the bedroom, hislarge frame filling the entire doorway. He leans forward. “What do you want to know?” he asks.

His form, and the way his muscles strain against his shirt, makes me temporarily stupid. “Uh,”—I shake my head— “where are we?”

“Not far,” he says, and then he watches as my eyes widen at the not answer he gave me. He sighs. “We are on Cape Cod,” he says. “Truro.”

I’d heard the name of that town before. “Okay, why are we here?”

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