Page 8 of Liars

Donovan’s expression didn’t waver. “I thought it would be easier for you to avoid going home. You’ve been through something traumatic, and I can’t imagine how you’re feeling, losing your parents at such a young age. It’s going to take time to heal.”

I desperately wanted to go home, not avoid it. I fumed silently as he continued.

“I also handled the arrangements for your parents. In their will, they requested to be cremated. I’ll let you decide what you would like to do with their ashes.”

The cold, matter-of-fact tone twisted my stomach. I hadn’t even thought about the details and decisions surrounding death. He was right about one thing. I didn’t want to deal with it. Iwasn’t ready. I wasn’t even close to ready. Denial was a stage I wasn’t prepared to move past just yet.

Glancing at the open door, I chewed on my lower lip, contemplating my chance of escape. If I ran through that door and kept running, would he come after me? Would someone at the hospital try and stop me?

“I know that look,” Donovan said, interrupting the image of my escape. “I’ve had it myself, but running won’t bring them back. And…I would hate to get the police involved when they have better things to do than look for a runaway teen…like tracking down the men who shot your parents.” He lifted a dark brow. “Wouldn’t you agree, Kaylor?”

The way he said my name gave me chills. Not in a creepy, sexual predator way but more in a way that warned me I needed to be cautious about what I said and did around my godfather not to upset him. He struck me as someone who wasn’t afraid of using his fists. God knew he exuded brute strength.

I met his stare. If he wanted to intimidate me, I refused to let it show despite what might be happening inside me. I wouldn’t cower in front of him. Perhaps he was right. Perhaps running now would be stupid or reckless, but there would come a time when he couldn’t stop me. I just had to make it a few months until my eighteenth birthday.

I could do this.

Taking a breath, I straightened my spine and lifted my chin. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Donovan stepped back and gestured toward the door with his coffee. “Then I guess it’s time to go. The car is waiting.”

I swore I could hear the bells of impending doom ringing in my head.

Dun. Dun. Dunnnn.

The drive to Donovan’s home was silent. The car, sleek and expensive, glided through the snow-slicked streets. It had started spitting fat white flakes last night and hadn’t stopped. Muscles tense, I stared out the window, my pale reflection blending with the passing city lights. My unease, anger, and sorrow mimicked the storm outside.

I was a fucking mess of emotions.

It was like my body couldn’t decide what to feel. Or I was feeling too much.

Either way, I didn’t like it. I didn’t know how to deal with them…or my situation.

I caught Donovan’s driver peeking at me occasionally in the rearview mirror, but it was difficult to judge the man’s stony expression. What had Donovan told his staff about me? His family, for that matter? He’d mention he had sons. How old?

Cradling my arm, Donovan sat relaxed in the back seat beside me, his phone pressed to his ear. Almost immediately after entering the car, his phone had gone off. I listened for a minute, but my thoughts strayed to what sounded like boring business.

A distinct scent clung to the interior—cigar smoke. Hints of leather, spice, and tobacco lingered, but I couldn’t pinpoint whether it came from the driver or Donovan himself. Not that it mattered. The who wouldn’t change the pressure squeezing my chest. The familiar smell brought too many memories I didn’t want to have in front of Donovan.

My dad had often indulged in cigars. One of his guilty pleasures and one my mom had often gotten after him about.

I closed my eyes, and the image of my dad in his office, sitting in his favorite recliner at night, the glow of the fireplace hitting his scruffy face, conjured easily. I used to curl up in the adjacent chair, content to sit there or read a book. The memory was one I treasured. It was fucking impossible to believe I would never see his face again. I would never hear my mom laugh. I would never see them together—see the love they shared.

When we arrived at the Willows, the house loomed large and foreboding. I’d seen it online, but the photos hadn’t done it justice. It had more windows than I was used to, the light from inside giving off a warm glow to the dreary, gray winter sky. It had a masculinity about it and an aura of ruggedness. A man’s home, and it made me curious. Had Donovan remarried? I hadn’t seen anything online about a new wife, but then again, he had children. Were they his late wife’s children? Or perhaps another woman’s? Was there a new Mrs. Corvo living inside behind those walls?

Would she be more welcoming and friendly than her husband?

Somehow, the idea of him having a wife gave me a fragment of comfort. Knowing I wouldn’t be the only girl in a house full of boys seemed more appealing than the alternative.

A uniformed staff member waited at the front door, offering a polite nod as I stepped reluctantly from the car, which the driver had opened. I glanced around the grounds at the tunnel of willows and the towering, dense evergreens surrounding the property, making it feel more secluded than it was. The woods cut off the house from the rest of the neighborhood, and I would bet it was precisely what Donovan intended when he bought the home. The guy looked like someone who valued privacy.

Taking off in the middle of the night could be challenging. Trekking back to the main road would take me to civilization, but it was also quite the hike on foot, and the trees at the rear ofthe house could go on for miles. I had no way of knowing, and I was kicking myself for not coming up with an escape plan last night with my friends.

It was always good to have a backup strategy. I wasn’t thrilled about my life being upended, and I wasn’t sure about Donovan, but I figured I should give it a shot before I went AWOL.

I pulled my gaze back to the house, sliding a sidelong gaze to the driver who was watching me like he expected me to bolt at any second. Either I was giving off frightened little girl vibes, or he’d been warned.

Lifting my chin, I focused on the house and putting one foot in front of the other. My father hadn’t raised a weak little girl regardless of my small, five-foot-two frame.

---