40. Chapter Thirty Nine

Chapter Thirty Nine

T he week slips by at an alarming rate. Whenever I check the time, hours have passed and the larger the knot of dread in my stomach becomes. Life is simple here. Days are spent in the pool or lounging around indoors. One day, Meg and I had a reading marathon and the next, we had a spree of watching corny drama series' back to back. I was a good girl and made sure all my assignments were completed and I'm up to date on the reading syllabus, but aside from that, I've been happy to forget Waversea even exists.

Today, Meg and I are venturing out for the second time only since arriving, deciding we can't face another stroll around Huxley's estate. It's beautiful, but I don't want to run the risk of finding Wyatt reading in a random corner or jogging through the gardens. Everywhere I go, he seems to be there. I swear he's doing it on purpose. At least there haven't been any more awkward silences or insufferable dinners, but the vacation is coming close to an end and I don't want to jinx it.

Meg links her arm through mine as we saunter down the driveway, a picnic basket hanging from her other hand. We're both wearing jeans and light raincoats, undeterred by the gray clouds. Tomorrow, Meg and I have to part ways. She's heading home to Brookhaven to spend the weekend with her mom and I'll sulk here, pretending Thanksgiving isn't happening.

"So, what's the plan for tonight?" Meg asks once we're on the main road.

I shrug. "There was mention of a movie marathon in Huxley's home theater."

"Ooh, which movies?" Her face lights up. "Horror ones I hope."

"Nope," I grin back at her, "Axel has a list of rom coms he wants to binge." Meg groans dramatically but doesn't protest as we traipse down a gravel path off to the side, diverting around the back of the iron gates. Despite being overcast, the air is humid, a gentle breeze rustling the leaves and bringing the promise of rain this afternoon. I love the rain, particularly the sound of it beating against a window or rooftop. That's the one memory I have gladly brought with me from my childhood; being inside when it rained was the only time I felt protected and safe from external dangers.

We follow the heightened wall surrounding Huxley's property, sticking to the directions he gave us. There isn't another house for miles, only the sound of crickets chittering in the undergrowth cutting through the silence. We walk for a while without talking, content to be in each other's company. It's not easy to tell the time of day with the sun being hidden and we made the conscious choice to leave our phones behind today. No tech, no distractions. There's something wholly freeing about being uncontactable. Just where Huxley said it would be, we find a small clearing beside a gently babbling stream.

"This is it," Meg says with a flourish, setting down the picnic basket and spreading out the checkered blanket. I grin, dropping down next to her and eagerly digging into the food. Although, food may be a very loose term, as we only packed desserts.

"It's perfect," I mumble around a forkful of chocolate cake. The stream is crystal clear, allowing me to see all the way to the bottom where small fish swim between rocks and plants. The water ripples gently as it flows over pebbles and creates small whirlpools where leaves and twigs get caught. The air around us is fresh and crisp, with hints of damp earth and wildflowers .

"Are you going to be okay when I leave?" Meg says just as my mind was drifting to a thousand other places.

"Of course. Why wouldn't I be?" I twist towards her, a frown creasing my brows. Meg fumbles with her small, paper plate.

"Oh, no I didn't mean anything by it," she rushes to say. I raise a brow, knowing her better than that.

"But?"

"But…I just worry." She exhales loudly and puts her cake aside. Damn, she must be serious. "I know the guys are good to you, for now." Meg avoids my gaze but I instantly understand her concerns. I had the same ones myself a week ago. "I just don't want you to get hurt. It's not quite…normal for them all to be so focused on you. What if you wake up one day and it doesn't seem quite as endearing anymore? It could easily become suffocating."

I ponder on that for a moment. I've been so worried about me being enough to keep them interested, but Meg's mind sees the opposite. Although, the real question isn't whether I'll become suffocated by the guys always being around, but if they will back off should I ask. And the answer is unequivocally yes, and that's what's important.

"I love you for worrying about me," I smile, leaning into Meg's shoulder. Her head leans on mine .

"Just try not to get swept up okay. Don't let them push you into anything you don't want to do." My eyes widen but I remain in place. Meg doesn't know the Shadowed Souls like I do. Aside for asswipe Wyatt, they wouldn't hurt me. Even then, his taunts are verging on childish now.

"They're a group of basketball players, Meg. Not a cult." I try to laugh off her concern. She nudges me upright and whips around, pinning me with a serious stare. I hold my hands up. "Okay, okay. I promise I'll stay in control and keep you in the know."

"That's all I ask." She finally smiles. Relaxing back into our surroundings, we lay back and the chat falls to other things. Like a boy she's been flirting with at her college, how she's taking a break from the swim team to focus on being Captain of her lacrosse team now they have passed qualifiers.

The stream's constant babbling is soothing, a repetitive sound that blends harmoniously with the rustling of leaves in the trees overhead. Occasionally, I can hear the splash of a fish jumping out of the water. I could sit here all day and night, if it wasn't for the first raindrop that touches my cheek. Beyond the trees, the clouds have grown darker, and a thick black sheet now covers the sky.

"Time to go," I sigh. Meg helps me to lift and fold the blanket, stuffing it back into the basket. A sudden breeze skates down my spine and I shiver, goosebumps erupting over my skin. Lifting the picnic basket and looping the strap over my arm, we start the ascent back.

As if conjured by us leaving the safety of the trees, a sheet of rain falls from the heavens. We squeal and laugh, running along the gravel path which instantly becomes muddy. Holding onto each other, we make it to the top, back on the road that has water droplets pummeling off the tarmac like bullets. I picture the steaming hot shower I'm going to have when I get back, the fluffy warm towel and silk pajamas. It's what keeps me moving.

I don't slow as we approach the iron gates, barely thinking twice about the van pulled up on the opposite side of the road. Pressing the buzzer repeatedly, we wave at the camera watching overhead for someone to let us in. Meg's arm grabs mine, roughly yanking me. I frown at her, then follow her eyeline to the person approaching. It's just a UPS delivery man who hands me a cardboard box and retreats. I stuff the box in our picnic basket as the gates open and we run up the driveway. Two butlers are waiting with towels, swapping them for our soaking wet sneakers and coats.

"Still love the rain?" Meg asks, roughing up her hair with the hand towel.

"Yep," I beam. The guys are in the kitchen playing a card game across the island. I plant the picnic basket down on the counter, turning to leave. "You had a parcel delivered, Huxley. It's in the basket." Then I head upstairs and help myself to his shower. I've finally started to find my way around the mansion, unable to resist sneaking into his bed just once this week. There are few things a cuddle from Huxley's strong arms can't heal.

Once washed and smelling like his apple shower gel, I pad back to my room in a towel to dig out those pajamas I've been dreaming of. Lilac satin with fluffy bootie-style slippers. Meg braids my hair down my back, leaving her own in a messy bun and we head back down to join the boys' card game. Only once we reappear in the kitchen, Garrett, Axel, Dax and Wyatt are standing and staring at me gravely.

"What's wrong?" I ask, dread forming in my chest. On the island, the parcel is torn open.

"That box had your name on it, Peach." Garrett gives the cardboard a quick side glance. "I thought you might have ordered some sexy underwear for us, so I opened it." The frown lines framing Garrett's mouth don't sit right with me. Meg moves first, peering into the box. The stiffness to her shoulders is enough to tell me this isn't some kind of joke, and she turns to hand me a note.

I thought your mother would have taught you some self-respect, but it appears you're as much of a whore as she was. I'm watching you, Avery. Make better choices .

"What the fuck is this?!" I toss the letter as if it's burned my fingertips. Approaching the box on swift feet, I forget how to breathe. Stacks of photographs are spread across the base, all featuring me. All with one of the Shadowed Souls. All from inside Huxley's boundary wall. I can't track the images through the tears blurring my vision.

Me kissing Huxley in the pool, walking hand-in-hand with Dax through the gardens. And they aren't limited to outside. Through a window, I'm bent over the snooker table with Garrett's crotch pushing against my ass. In the living area, I'm reading while Axel massages my feet. Fuck, I really do look like a whore.

"Mr. XO?" Meg questions. I scrunch up my nose. The note was different, the tone not seeming right and the typical signature missing, but I can't be sure. I'm not sure of anything anymore. My hands start to shake as I sift through the photos.

"He's never sent photos before. He's…pretty harmless." My voice grows small. He is harmless, right? A superfan who has sent me gifts, poems and little check ins across the years. On some dark days, his letters were a saving grace. A reason to remember that someone else might care about me. I've had more communication from him than my supposed brother. But now…it's all so sudden, it's all too much. " This just seems too creepy."

"That's what stalkers do, Aves." Meg holds up a photo, her cheeks turning red. "They escalate. You weren't at the manor or Waversea, where he expected you to be. He's found you, followed you and now he's acting out." My ears switch off. I can't hear through the buzzing as I really look at the photo she's holding up. This one is different to the rest, framed by a white border.

"Holy fuck," I gasp. Garrett is there to support me when my legs are preparing to give out.

"I know right. Who the hell uses polaroid's anymore?"

"No," I shake my head, fighting the urge to elbow him in the ribs. "This was last week. Here, in the gardens. I thought…I was so sure…" My eyes float up to Wyatt. He's yet to show any emotion, but now his eyes narrow and he snatches the photo from me. Captured in time, the image shows me sprawled across the floor of the rose garden, mud caked over my pink blazer. I absentmindedly lick my lip where the split was, remembering the flash of light when I fell. I thought I'd just hit my head too hard, but now…Now nothing makes sense. "I thought you attacked me," I whisper at Wyatt. His green eyes bulge in his head.

"You were attacked?! Right here under our noses, and you didn't think to tell anyone?" Squaring my jaw, I grab the photo back.

"No I didn't, because I thought you were being the asshole you always are and trying to scare me. Telling people would warn them that I was planning to stab you in the eye with a pen while you sleep." Wyatt scowls, trying to step up to me but Dax puts himself in the way.

"This isn't the time for this," he grits out, turning a warning look on Wyatt to back up. Huxley enters then, his phone clenched in a tight fist.

"Police are on the way, the surveillance team are scanning the camera footage for the last week and searching for the UPS van's plates. Chances are, they're fake. I've called in extra security to surround the property."

"It's not the delivery guy's fault," I shake my head, feeling woozy. "He was just doing his job." Huxley's expression is filled with pity as he approaches, reaching over me to flip the lid of the box.

"There's no postage stamp or address, baby girl. This was hand delivered, most likely by the man responsible."

My world tilts on its axis. Strong arms catch me as I fall, scooping me up against a firm chest. I can't see for crying, the weight of the truth crashing down on me. He was right there. Within reaching distance, showing me how easy I am to access. If Meg hadn't been there, would he have attacked me again, stuffed me in the van and driven away? It's all too much, too many what if's and I can't stop the tears from falling. Gripping Huxley's t-shirt in my fists, he sits on the sofa and cradles me until I have nothing left to give .

I don't realize I've drifted off to sleep until the police are being shown into the living area. I blink up to find the curtains are all closed, secluding us from the outside world. Wyatt escorts Meg to the dining area with a detective to give a separate statement, leaving me with the rest of the guys while I try to help the sketch artist conjure up a face I barely saw. He shows me a few versions and I feel completely useless that none of them feel right. It was pouring with rain and I didn't pay enough attention.

It's late into the night by the time we venture back upstairs, exhausted and stressed. I curl up beside Meg, apologizing for ruining our last night together.

"Shhh, Aves. None of this is your fault." She soothes. I snuggle my face into her neck, holding her hand in both of mine beneath the covers.

"I want to go home," I whisper. Nothing like this ever happened at the fortress that is Hughes Manor. An idea strikes me, the wording of that letter still bothering me. "I want to see the other letters. Maybe I overlooked something, or maybe there's a clue to whoever this guy is that I didn't notice before." Sitting upright, I stare into the darkness. Meg joins me, her arms rounding my shoulders.

"You know what, Aves. I think that's a fantastic idea."