Total pages in book: 144
Estimated words: 136296 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 681(@200wpm)___ 545(@250wpm)___ 454(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136296 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 681(@200wpm)___ 545(@250wpm)___ 454(@300wpm)
“Screamed into her skin?” Clover’s fingers flutter around her throat.
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “I overheard my mom and dad talking about it after. I guess the guy who took her told her if she screamed, she would never see her parents again. So she dug her nails into her palms until she broke the skin.”
“You told me about that before, when you helped me with my hands.”
“That’s right.” I nod. “She dug her nails in so hard, it broke the skin. It happened once in a while after that, when she was really upset or scared.”
Thankfully she grew out of that. And Mom kept her nails short to prevent it from happening after the first couple of times, but man, it sucked when she came to my room in tears, asking me to help fix it so Mom wouldn’t see and get upset.
“You see now, though, what I mean when I say I’m not a good person. I forced Kody to come with me, and we left Lavender behind. If I’d waited, she wouldn’t have gone missing. I’ll never know what happened to her. I’ll never know how bad it was.”
Twelve
Pieces of the Puzzle
Clover
This was such a bad call. Going to the self-defense class seemed like a good idea—until I ended up here. I don’t know what to do. I want to offer comfort. I want to offer him the same hug he gave me last week.
But that’s . . . not appropriate. I probably shouldn’t have accepted his affection last time. But I was shaken and emotional, and the connection we seem to share made it hard to say no—and is likely a big part of the reason I’m sitting here.
And I’m so torn.
These are the missing parts of his creative writing piece. The darkness that permeated his writing made me question whether it was really his story at all until I read the news articles. The weight of it still cloaks Maverick in sadness and other emotions I’m trying to understand, even though what I should be doing is getting the hell out of here.
Now I understand better his reaction to what happened in the sauna, his focus on my feeling unsafe, coming to my rescue when those men were heckling me, taking care of me, wanting me to attend his self-defense classes. Maverick blames himself for what happened to his sister. He wears the guilt like a crown of thorns.
“Do you really believe you’re the reason she went missing?” I ask.
“I believe it because it’s true.” His voice is sharp and gritty. “We didn’t wait, and she went missing.”
“What about your older brother? Wasn’t he supposed to wait too?”
“Robbie was ahead of us.”
“But you don’t blame him for not waiting, so why are you blaming yourself? It seems like you’re taking responsibility for something you didn’t have control over.”
“I wanted to prove that Kody was my friend first.”
“You say that now, but then you were just a child. Maybe you were frustrated and annoyed with the situation, but that doesn’t make you responsible for what happened. Just like Lavender was a victim, so were you and the rest of your family. The only person who deserves blame for this is the man who took her.” I wish I could press pause on this conversation and call Sophia for advice. I think about what she would say. How would she approach this?
He shakes his head and slides out of his seat. “This was a bad idea. I shouldn’t be talking about this, especially not with you.”
“Maverick, wait!” I want to reach out and stop him, but I realize that’s a problem, and that I don’t have the background to really help him with this. “I have a friend who might be able to help. She works in the counseling department—”
He sneers. “I don’t need therapy. I need to bury the fucking past and leave it there.” He rushes out of the café, and I don’t try to follow. He’s too agitated, and I’m too confused to make good decisions where he’s concerned.
After a minute, I shrug into my coat and bring my mostly full tea and his slice of uneaten cake to the counter. I don’t know how I could have made that go differently, but I feel horrible that he ran out, and that I couldn’t offer the comfort I wanted to.
Before I leave the café, I grab one of his napkin cranes from the table. Then I head home. And if today hasn’t been overwhelming enough, there’s another new basket waiting for me on my front porch. I don’t even need to look at the card to know it’s from Gabriel; the contents tell me that. I set it in the corner in the front hallway, unprepared to deal with it now.
Despite it being almost eleven, and both of us needing to be up early, less than two minutes later, Sophia is at my door, wearing her pajamas, tea mug in hand. “You’re home exceptionally late. How was self-defense class?”