Page 66 of Cruel Abandon (Fallen Royals 5)
Sky
My doorbell rings, and automatically my suspicion escalates. Whitney would have a key. Liam would pick the lock. And Jake probably would’ve told me he was coming.
I step up to the door and lift the little metal plate that hides the peep hole. My hand is trembling, and I press it against the door for a moment. I have to concentrate on stilling it.
When I finally look through the hole, I blink. “Mom?”
“Open the door, honey. Please?”
I can’t get over how put together she seems. Her hair is immaculate. White coat, a burgundy scarf. Makeup, even.
Was it only months ago that she struggled to brush her hair?
She went through a bout of depression after her divorce was finalized, but then she began therapy. She saw the doctor two times a week, and the difference in her confidence is crazy. Inspiring, too.
I sigh. “Okay, um, one second.”
I check my hair and the fresh bandage on my forehead. I’ve been in my pajamas all day: gray sweatpants and an oversized hoodie. Liam’s, actually, but I try not to think about that. I contemplate changing for half a second but dismiss the idea. My head still hurts, and dealing with the bruises of my fall… Mom will understand if I’m not dressed to impress.
Besides, she’s been rebelling against my style for the last year and a half. Once I realized I wasn’t going to fit in, I decided to dive headfirst into that mindset. Liam made me an outcast, but I completed the look.
I glance around the apartment and sigh. It’s not nearly as much of a mess as it could be, and that’ll have to suffice.
Except, when I open the door, Mom isn’t there. Her voice drifts from down the hall, so I step out of my apartment. She’s walking away from me, her phone pressed to her ear.
But apparently, Mom didn’t travel alone. Liam leans on the wall next to my door, arms crossed. His muscles bulge in his white t-shirt, and my gaze wanders against my will. He’s pure, lean muscle.
All the times he ignored me in high school comes to the forefront of my mind, and I wish more than anything that we could go back to that.
It would beat the glare he’s giving me.
I square my shoulders. “What are you doing here? Again?”
This is my safe space.
Except… he’s made a habit of violating that over the years.
He pushes off the wall and gestures for me to go back into the apartment.
Not wanting to cause a scene—because he will, whether it’s in the hall or out of reach of my prying neighbors—I do it. He follows me, moving like a predator. All sleek and silent, not taking his focus off me.
It’s been twenty-four hours, and I haven’t left the apartment. Whitney hasn’t returned, either, and I know she’s avoiding me. Her parents, too. Her door was left open, and in a fit of desperation this morning, I went in.
Everything about Whitney is black and white. She keeps a very organized personal life, social life, and she’s involved in a hundred things at school. But her room? It always resembles the aftermath of a bomb going off. Clothes on the floor, makeup and water bottles scattered across her desk. Her backpack hung from the back of her chair, and her comforter was in a ball in the middle of her bed.
I had the news playing on my phone as I laid in bed this afternoon, heard that the body was discovered by another Ashburn student. There hasn’t been an identity released of the body—investigators were waiting to confirm, apparently, and weren’t inclined to share with the media. The news outlets also didn’t name me, but a few people had to know where Taryn and I were going yesterday. Liam, mainly. That’s why he’s here.
I search for something else in his eyes, but all I see is anger.
“What did you feel when you found her?” He presses his forearm to the wall next to my head.
He’s boxed me in, and I didn’t even realize it.
I narrow my eyes. “You want to know how I felt?”
He smirks and tugs on a lock of my hair that’s come loose from the tie. He winds it through his fingers.
I hold perfectly still.