Chapter Twenty-Eight

Cha pter Twenty-Eight

F ollowing the route home, I adjust my rearview as flashes of the day I fled come back in torturous waves.

The gunfire, the smell of my fallen love's blood, and the feel of it on my hands on the drive home.

The adrenaline disappeared after the first hour or so, leaving my limbs aching before giving way to utter devastation. They were the most agonizing hours of my life.

"You leave. And you never come back."

I left a war zone not knowing if the men I loved were alive, if they were hurt, if they blamed me, or if they'd forever hate me if they survived. But those damning orders made me feel as if I were the poison, the cause of all that had gone wrong.

The details of that drive are still murky from one hour to the next. Once I got to Atlanta city limits, I stopped at a bustling gas station and turned down my visor to see Dominic's blood smeared on the corner of my mouth. I found an old—inch full—water bottle left in my car, using my fingers to clean what I could from my face. I peered back at my reflection and saw bloodshot eyes and dark circles, my skin pale and clammy. When the bottle was empty, I raced inside the station, my hands tucked beneath my armpits as I kept my head down. I locked myself in the bathroom. Inside, I relieved my bladder before facing myself at the dirty sink, fully expecting to see what I felt. The only thing out of order was the stain on my hands, the blood of a man who pledged his love for me only minutes before he took his last breath. I turned my hands over and over, wanting to keep the stains, to keep the only part of him I had left, as sick and irrational as the thought was.

Unrelenting tears dripped from my chin as I scrubbed the caked blood from beneath my fingernails, watching the tinged pink water go down the drain.

When a gentle knock sounded a foot away, I quieted my cries and splashed cold water on my face. When I opened the door, I was greeted by a woman in a collared shirt and tennis skirt holding a little girl in a matching outfit. They'd smiled at me in greeting, and the shock of seeing them so neatly polished, so unassuming, their eyes alight with so much life, easy smiles on their faces let me know just how far down the rabbit hole I'd traveled. Instinctively I returned that smile, knowing it was a new mask. I remembered hating the feel of it, it didn't fit, and from that day forward, I was stuck with it. That smile was the first lie I told after leaving Triple Falls.

Cecelia Horner died that night, the totality of her na?ve innocence eradicated along with all her silly and foolish dreams in a reality where she was made painfully aware that evil exists, lurking in the shadows just waiting to prey on innocents just like that little girl in the Polo. The girl I used to be.

A reality where the wrong side often wins, where bullets are real, and the people you love can take their last breaths, and you could be the one to bear witness while their light goes out right in front of you.

And I asked for it, to be a part of it all because I was too greedy loving men who continually warned me away, and I refused.

Dominic died.

For all the questions I asked, for all the begging I did, I got few answers. I got secrets and a story, both I would never be able to share. The punishment behind the knowledge was unbearable. I knew I'd have to use the mask every single day for the rest of my life because I could never let anyone see what's behind it.

I had to forget that girl existed.

For endless hours I sat in my car on top of a parking garage overlooking the Atlanta skyline, a world away from the small town that changed everything I thought I knew about life and love. My phone clutched in my hand, all I could do was pray to a God I cursed just hours earlier for taking my dark angel. Prayed that Tyler would keep his word, prayed that the people who had become a part of me made it through the day, hearts beating, still breathing.

The wait was unbearable and riddled with anxiety. Struck by nausea, I opened my door, spilling the contents of my stomach onto the cement next to where I parked. Once the wave passed, I wiped my mouth and resumed staring at my cell phone, willing it to ring when I got a notification of an email from my father.

Cecelia,

I was delighted to have gotten your email yesterday that you've left early to prepare for the coming school year. I'm pleased to find you have enjoyed your time working at the plant. I'll consider our agreement satisfied due to the good news and your dedication to further your education. Attached is the address and contact information for management concerning your new apartment in Athens. I do hope you see this gesture as intended with my congratulations. I will see to it that all your expenses are covered for the duration of your stay.

Please keep me updated on your performance at school.

Roman Horner

CEO Horner Technologies

Gesture as intended?

I read the email over and over in disbelief. After, I searched my sent items to find it was a reply to an email sent from my account hours before I confronted Sean and Dominic about my tattoo. A response to an email I never sent.

An email that gave me an alibi, placing me in Atlanta before a gunfight broke out in his home.

Roman knew. He had to have known what was happening.

Just like Tobias and Dominic knew Miami was coming.

The clues started trickling in the more I X-rayed that night and started piecing them together.

The first was Dominic's sudden appearance moments after I got home, that along with the fact that his car was parked outside the clearing and mine had been moved to sit next to it, probably minutes after I pulled up and resumed packing.

And I was always the last to know.

That's where some of my residual anger lies. If Dominic had only told me what was happening, if he had trusted me...but it was my reaction to him that had him handling me with kid gloves. But keeping me in the dark is what caused Dominic to make his fatal mistake—tossing his gun on the stairs, leaving him defenseless while Tobias quietly searched the house for the threat.

Tobias must've been the one to send that email. I assumed that was one of the reasons why he never came to me as he promised. He was planning my exit strategy, giving me an alibi for my whereabouts in case things went south, in case the authorities got involved.

It was Tyler's strict instructions that hammered that point home. He'd given me cash so there would be no trail as to when I traveled. "You were never here."

Tobias was always a step ahead of me while keeping me in the dark.

But other pieces perplexed me. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't make them fit, no matter how many times I flipped them and tried to push them together.

Even if Tobias had unlimited resources to right the damage to Roman's house from the wreckage, there's no way Roman wouldn't notice. Clearly, he'd played his part in covering it up, which enraged me to no end. Was he that intent on keeping his nose deceptively clean? He had to have known something. Had to. Matteo said Roman's car was parked in the garage.

But how?

Or was a similar car used to lure Miami in?

Either way, Roman must have known.

The day I left was the day I knew they hadn't lied about Roman Horner and his filthy business dealings. It was all the proof I needed to believe the man was as corrupt as they had portrayed him to be. His hands were just as bloody as far as I was concerned, but I was done with him before that night. I'd already written him off.

But that day, sitting on top of that garage, fatigued and sick with worry, I pushed the mystery aside, eaten alive with grief and indecision all the while fighting the urge to drive back to North Carolina.

Time was cruel, and I spent it absently watching the gridlock on I-285 move at a snail's pace. People were leaving their jobs and going home to eat dinner and watch TV. Normal people doing normal everyday things, and I couldn't imagine going back to any semblance of normal with the taste of my ex-lover's blood still lingering on my tongue.

When my phone finally rang, and I saw a familiar area code from a number I didn't recognize, I couldn't answer fast enough.

"Hello."

I listened intently for several seconds as they passed, my chest filling with unimaginable dread at what news waited on the other end of the line.

"Hello, please, hello?"

Several seconds later, I heard the distinct open and close of a Zippo. That sound had a sob bursting from my lips. Sean.

It was the sound of ice rattling in a tumbler, one, two, three times, that had me sobbing hysterically behind the wheel. Two distinct sounds they knew I would easily recognize.

They're okay.

They're okay.

"Please. Please...talk to me." When silence rang clear on the other end of the line, somehow, I just knew the damning quiet was because of Tobias. And words would never come.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. Please, somebody, talk to me. I'm sorry." The silence lingered as I tried to search for words until a familiar voice finally spoke.

"Hey, Cecelia, sorry about that."

"Layla, I, I, I . . ." I sobbed so hard I gagged, rolling down my window and inhaling deeply to try and calm myself.

"Oh, babe," she sighed, "it's just a move. You'll be fine. We're all fine here."

We all were anything but.

"All of you?" I asked breathlessly.

"Yes, I swear to you, we're good. And you will be too." She continued a clearly rehearsed speech. "And we're all going to miss you, but we're glad you're moving on. It's a shame we'll be so far away."

"Layla—"

"Don't get upset, honey. I'm sure you'll make new friends wherever you land. You're a tough girl. You'll be on your feet in no time."

"I can't do this," I cried into the line. "I c-c-can't."

"No choice, sweetie, you're growing up, and you have school to finish and this great big life to live. We'll all be on the sidelines, cheering you on. I'm so glad you left this shit town and are never coming back."

"I can visit." The question lingered as harsh whispers were exchanged in the background, but I couldn't decipher them.

"No reason to, baby...My boys are leaving me today, and I don't know how long they'll be gone."

They're leaving, and they'll be untraceable wherever they land. A thousand-pound weight sinks in my stomach.

"And I hope you know, you're better off there." It was a warning, and she'd delivered it with the gentleness of a mother's love. "There's nothing good going to come out of you coming back here. You don't want to end up a dried-up old lady working at the plant, anyway. And we only want the best for you."

"Layla—"

"I gotta run, but I just wanted you to know that I'll miss you."

When the line disconnected, I screamed at the loss. Neither Sean nor Tobias wanted to speak to me.

It was all over.

My future had been decided, my ties cut; they didn't want me to come back. I had no choice in the matter, no say. And I'd lived that reality before.

Thoroughly unhinged, I shattered over and over again at the finality of it all. It was never going to end well, but that parting had ripped some of my humanity away from me.

I moved to Triple Falls a teenager, wanting nothing more than to challenge myself, to give in to my wild side, and create some stories to tell.

By the time I stood in my new apartment in Athens that night, I was a woman who'd been unearthed by deception, lies, lust, and love, whose essence was shrouded by life-changing secrets, full of stories I could never share and never, ever tell. In keeping me safe, in architecting my future, they'd left me to wither and rot with those secrets.

Between the painstaking lengths my boys went to and the first-class ticket my father bought out of hell, all I wanted to do was go back and let the flames consume me. But in protecting me, in all the trouble my presence caused, all they asked in return was for my absence and to keep their secrets.

And I did.

Baptized by fire, I wore my mask until I grew into it, I kept our secrets, following their orders to the letter while trying to resume some semblance of a life.

And eventually, I did that too.

I far exceeded my own expectations, but time has been nothing but a noose, giving me the rope an inch at a time. And now that I'm here, I refuse to continue the charade. It's far too much to ask. And so, I'll demand answers and seek them in full from the man who owes me the explanation.

And I'm not leaving without one.

It's my last promise to myself as I drive down the lone road leading to the forgotten house.