Chapter Seventeen
I didn’t thinkI would be able to fall asleep last night, but I was out as soon as my head hit the pillow. That’s what staying up for almost two days will do—and still recovering from getting attacked by delusional high school girls with no backbones.
After we arrived, everything was a blur. Nate showed me around the mansion—there was no way to call this place a house. The bottom floor alone could fit Heather and Tristen's entire square footage twice, if not more. And did I mention that it had three stories with a full finished basement? Talk about ostentatious. This was worse than the vineyard.
The kitchen was fully stocked, and when I raised my eyebrows to my brother, he explained he had the house readied for me. No one had lived here since Brooks, so it had to be cleaned top to bottom and the pantry filled.
Still staring at the packets of instant oats and pasta in front of me, reality crashed in. This was where my father took his life, where Nate found the letters—the reason his mother and sister were dead. I shouldn’t have been here. A simple motel would do just fine. As I expressed my concern, Nate pretended like I hadn’t spoken at all and continued the tour. Acting oblivious was his way of coping, but it didn’t stop the voices in my head.
The first floor consisted of several living spaces. Why would one need two dining and four living rooms? There wasn't even a TV—apparently, that was what the theater room was for. The second floor had several guest rooms, Brooks's home office, a library, an art studio—Payton loved to paint, as Nate informed me with a sad smile on his face—and Audrey's playroom. Nothing had been touched since the last resident of the home...left. The more I saw, the more I felt like an intruder.
We stood in the library, overlooking the back of the property, when thoughts of Rhys crept into my mind. I’d refused to go there since we spoke about the messages and Turner on the plane. Allowing my brain to even think his name brought me too close to my breaking point. I instinctively wrapped my arms around myself as if the gesture would make the ache disappear.
My brother glanced down at me. "Do you want to call him?" His tone was careful.
A pit opened up in my stomach. I wanted to talk to him more than anything, but at the same time, I was terrified of him not wanting to speak to me.
My inner conflict must've been apparent because he answered his own question for me. "I'll let him know that you are safe and that you'll call him tomorrow. I'll bring a computer over from my place in the morning and teach you how to initiate encrypted video chats. The burner is still just set up to call George’s and my numbers." After a pause, he added, "If that is okay with you?"
All I could do was nod, my voice not working as I tried to keep the sob steadily building in my throat locked in.
"’Kay." He gave my shoulder a squeeze. "Let’s find you a place to sleep."
Nate turned and led the way toward the staircase leading to the third floor where the family's bedrooms were. As we ascended, he informed me that there were two more guest rooms upstairs, besides his parents', Audrey's, and his old bedroom. He'd be staying in the other one, whichever one I didn't pick, and George would be on the second floor. I could choose between any of the spare rooms, but he'd prefer me to be on the top floor. I dipped my head in confirmation and then picked the first room he showed me. Funny enough, it was very similar to my room at the vineyard and in Westbridge. The nightstand and dresser were white with black hardware, the king-size bed had a gray, upholstered wingback headboard, though way fancier than the one I had gotten from our local furniture store in Virginia, and a matching bench sat at the foot of it. The bedding was a white pin-tuck duvet; however, the accents were cream and gold instead of lavender. If that also would've been the same, I would've walked right back out.
George was busy for the rest of the day, setting up a security perimeter since nothing besides an alarm system had ever been installed. Nate admitted that—in the past—he didn't give two shits if someone broke in, so he never bothered putting in one of his designs. By the end of the day, wireless cameras were set up outside on the property and at the entrances to the house. That would have to do for now.
Around 6:30, the three of us ate in silence, but I excused myself immediately after. Before we sat down, Nate had disappeared for about an hour and later assured me Rhys knew I was safe. He wouldn't elaborate on how he had communicated with him, and I was too scared to ask. What if he had spoken to him personally? What if Rhys had told him he wouldn't forgive me for leaving? I forced the dinner down simply because I hadn't eaten all day, but I didn't remember what we had.
I emergefrom my room sometime after eight in the morning. I had slept for almost thirteen hours, and despite the multitude of conflicting emotions that have been wreaking havoc in my body and mind, I am semi-rested—at least physically.
George sits in the breakfast nook—nook being used loosely, as it could easily fit an entire football team—and is reading one of his weathered books. Nate is nowhere in sight. Pulling out the chair closest to him, I lower myself down, careful not to let my healing skin make contact with anything.
"Where’s Nate?"
Without taking his eyes off his reading material, he replies, "He went to his house to pick up some items."
I stare at him for a long moment. "George?"
"Yes, Miss Lilly?" He won't look at me, and my chest constricts.
"Are you still mad at me?" My question is a barely audible whisper. "For leaving," I add.
This makes him pause, and his fingers tighten around the paperback. He slowly closes his book and places it down before turning toward me. "I am not angry with you, Miss Lilly. Never was. I am..." George lets his gaze wander to the opposite wall, where it lingers for several moments before returning to me. "Concerned."
My eyebrows pull together.
Concerned?
He draws in a deep breath. "For you. I have only been concerned for one person for over a decade, and that was your brother." There is a beat of silence before the corners of his mouth pull up, and the sudden boyish smirk shocks me almost as much as when he had reprimanded Nate yesterday. "Your brother was never in physical danger. He could take care of himself—for the most part. I’m not used to being worried like this about someone anymore. Not since—" He cuts himself off, and I want to ask who he's talking about. "If something happened to you—something else"—he is referring to the attack—"it would destroy Nate. He wouldn’t come back from that. And he would not be the only one. You have the ability to wrap people around your finger."
My face heats, and I'm speechless. Emotion clogs my throat, but before I can go all mushy on the Altman Head of Security, he gets up and makes his way over to the stove, turning on the kettle.
"Earl Grey, Miss Lilly?"
I smile. It looks like our moment is over.
"Yes, please."