Page 43 of Reckless
Summer’s assessment of her sister’s situation didn’t make me feel any better. In fact, it made me a bit sick.
Because I have a feeling. A gut instinct.
And I don’t want to be right. Because if I am?
God. If I am, I’ve really fucked up.
A crash of thunder outside startles me, but Peter carries on snoring, just deaf enough not to notice. Blissfully unaware.
Fuck.
Is that what I’ve been?
I lift the small dog off my lap and squish him into the corner of the couch, covering him in a fuzzy blanket so that only his little head and the dirty glare he’s giving me peek back out. The tip of his tongue is pushed out between the huge gap in his teeth where I had to have the rotten ones removed, and gray hairs dot his muzzle.
“I’ll be right back. Don’t give me that look.”
He makes a small grunting noise and shuts his eyes as his dismissal. And then I’m hefting lead feet across the floor, equal parts dreading going next door and feeling pulled in a way that I can’t fight or resist.
I need to go there. I need to know.
After shoving my feet into a pair of slip-ons, I open the door and step out into the downpour. Thunder rolls in the distance, and a few seconds later, the sky illuminates. In the summer, it stays light until late on the prairies, but the storm clouds have cast a dark eerie glow over the tree-lined street. My T-shirt and jeans are soaked within seconds as I make my way down the short, narrow sidewalk, out the front gate. I turn and do the reverse up to the white house next to my blue one. The row of four houses all have the same build, but Sloane’s attention to detail when she renovated them makes each home unique.
I trudge up the front steps, eyes on my feet, the sense of dread in my chest expanding until it feels like hard labor to even breathe. My hand raises, and a finger extends to press the doorbell, but I hesitate when I think of how exhausted Winter looked today. She seemed irate over the noise earlier, so I consider if ringing the doorbell is my best option.
The truth is, I don’t know what to do.
So, I sit on her top step, drop my head into my hands, and wait.
12
Winter
Winter:Why is Theo Silva moving in next door? Who okayed this? You or Jasper?
Sloane:Is it a problem? I didn’t even think you’d care. You guys got in that spat, what? A year and a half ago?
Winter:Never mind.
Sloane:Oh, shit.
* * *
My phone vibrates when motion at the front door trips the alarm system. I slide the screen open and pull up the video feed.
And there is Theo, sitting on my front porch with his head in his hands. Not wearing the sling that he still should be.
I’m torn. The bitter she-devil on one shoulder wants to leave him out there getting soaked, but the curious caretaker angel on the opposite shoulder wants to make sure he’s okay.
Because I’ve never seen him look beaten down. Even in the hospital, he was cracking jokes and flying to my defense like I needed that from him.
I pad down the hallway toward Vivi’s room and peek in on her. She’s flat on her back, arms splayed, with her tiny fingers curled into loose fists.
I want to sleep like that again. Instead, I feel like I’m in this constant state of alertness where, even when I’m exhausted, I find it difficult to relax enough to truly sleep deeply.
After the soft click of her door shutting, I wait with bated breath to see if I’ve woken the teething monster.
One. Two. Three.
