44
Carmine stared at the darkened house, clutching his phone to his ear. He’d assumed Haven would go straight home, but he had clearly been wrong. “She’s not here.”
Dia sighed on the line. “She’s probably scared.”
“You think I don’t know that? She’s afraid of me, Dia. Of me.”
He couldn’t get the image out of his mind, the fear in her eyes as she ran from him.
“Doesn’t she know I understand how she feels?” he asked. “I lost my mom, too.”
“Yes, but you’re irrational when it comes to talking about your mother’s death.”
Her words made his temper flare. “Vaffanculo.”
“You’re proving my point,” Dia said. “Look, I’ll call you back. I want to check something.”
She hung up without awaiting his response.
Carmine just stood there until Dia called him back. “Any luck?”
“She’s safe.”
Relief washed through him so fast he nearly collapsed. “Where did you find her?”
“She’s down at the lake.”
He froze, grabbing the hood of his car as his legs went weak. Yeah, he was going to fucking collapse. “What do you mean she’s at the lake?” Dia didn’t respond, her silence all he needed for the truth to register. “Nicholas.”
“Calm down,” she said before he had a chance to get worked up. She knew him well, which meant she also knew her words wouldn’t work.
Carmine’s anger spiraled out of control. “Calm down? I’m tired of this bullshit. If this is how she wants to be, they can have each other.”
“Carmine . . .”
“This is why I never wanted to fall in love.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“Don’t fucking tell me what I mean!” Betrayal fueled his rage, and he threw his phone at the car, cursing as a lump formed in his throat. His vision clouded over as his hand clenched into a fist. He slammed it against the windshield, the glass on the passenger side cracking from the force of the blow. Desolation coursed through him as he did it again, the windshield caving as his fist broke through. Pain stung his knuckles, the jagged glass ripping the skin.
He took a deep breath as he went inside, his father greeting him in the foyer. The smile on Vincent’s face fell when he took in Carmine’s expression, his eyes drifting to his bloody hand. “What happened?”
“Nicholas happened.”
Vincent groaned. “How many times do we have to go through this?”
“Whatever. The Mazda took a worse beating than Nicholas did.”
“Your car? What happened tonight? Where’s the girl?”
“I already told you—Nicholas happened,” he spat. “And her fucking name is Haven. Haven. Use it sometime.”
Vincent stared at him, taken aback.
“And if you wanna know where Haven is, find Nicholas. They’re down at the lake somewhere.” An idea hit him the moment he said that. “You’re gonna go get her, aren’t you?”
Vincent pinched the bridge of his nose. “Her life is her own, Carmine. She can have friends, and you should respect that.”
“After what he did to me, you expect me to respect him? I’m supposed to like this?”
“I didn’t say you had to like it, nor did I say you should respect him, but you ought to respect her right to make her own choices, whether you like them or not.”
“I do,” he said. “I’m not that big of an asshole. I tell her all the time to make her own decisions.”
“Well, you should see this as her doing that.”
Groaning, Carmine pushed past his father and headed for the stairs. “How come no one’s taking my side on this?”
Vincent laughed, the sound hitting a nerve. “This isn’t about choosing sides. I told you someday the real world would creep up on you.”
“Oh, I know it,” he said. “I knew it the moment she slapped me.”
Vincent grinned. “She hit you?”
“What’s so fucking amusing?”
“I’m pleasantly surprised,” he said. “Not saying she should’ve hit you, but I’m shocked she’d let go like that. She may make it out there in the world, after all.”
* * *
“Ever heard of Stockholm syndrome?”
Haven eyed Nicholas warily at those words. His legs dangled over the end of the dock, his pants rolled up and feet skimming the surface of the water. She sat cross-legged beside him, their discarded shoes scattered on the deck. “No, what is it?”
“It’s when someone gets mushy feelings for their kidnapper.”
She sighed when she realized where he was going with it. “I wasn’t kidnapped.”
“So the good doctor didn’t cut out letters from a magazine and glue them together to make a colorful ransom note for you?”
“No.”
“Interesting,” he said. “It doesn’t have to be a kidnapping, though. It’s when someone being held hostage gets feelings for their captor.”
“That’s the same thing you said the first time. Besides, Carmine isn’t holding me hostage.”
“But you are being held, right?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t not say it, either,” he said. “And sometimes people in that situation end up brainwashed.”
“I’m not brainwashed.”
“How do you know? Because ‘I’m not brainwashed’ sounds suspiciously like something a brainwashed person would say.”
She shook her head. “You just don’t want to believe Carmine’s different now, do you?”
“Nope,” he said, “but stop changing the subject. We’re talking about you being kidnapped.”
“I told you—I wasn’t kidnapped.”
“I know. I thought for sure you were, though. I was banking on you having parents out there searching for you.”
Her chest tightened at his words. “My parents are dead.”
She could feel his eyes on her, his stare intense, but she didn’t dare look at him. After a moment he turned away and kicked the water again. “My mom’s dead, too. She died when I was young. I still have my dad, but we don’t get along. He always expects the worst from me, so I figure, why try to do right when he’ll never see it? But I’m eighteen now, so I may as well move out. Start over somewhere new, where people don’t hear the name Nicholas Barlow and automatically think ‘degenerate asshole.’”
“You think people look at you that way?”
“I know they do,” he said. “It’s worse now that Carmine’s . . .”
“Now that Carmine’s what?” she asked when he didn’t finish. “Now that he’s different?”
He didn’t respond, and that was answer enough for her. A smile tugged her lips. Maybe there was hope for a friendship, after all.
It was quiet, the only sounds being water splashing and crickets chirping in the night. Nicholas cleared his throat after a few minutes. “Did I tell you the joke about the butter?”
“The butterfly one?”
“No, the butter one.”
“What butter one?”
He groaned. “You’re screwing up my punch line. Let’s try it again—did I tell you the joke about the butter?”
“Uh, no. I don’t think so.”
“Then I butter not tell you,” he said. “You might spread it.”
He cut his eyes at her, grinning, but she just stared at him. “Spread what?”
Shaking his head, he looked away. “If it’s the last thing I do, I’ll get you to laugh at one of my jokes someday.”
* * *
Carmine stood in the library by the window and stared out into the backyard. He wondered what Haven thought about as she sat there at night, or if her mind was as vacant as the blackness. He could faintly recall those months after his mom’s death, so in the grips of heartbreak that attempting to hold a conversation took too much effort. It was like the life had been sucked out of him, his insides a bottomless pit of grief.
He spotted the book lying on the small table and grabbed it, surveying the blank cover before flipping it open. Sloppy handwriting covered the withered paper; confusion hit him when he realized it was a diary. Sickness brewed in his stomach when he opened it to the front, seeing Maura DeMarco written inside the cover. Closing the book again, he lost his breath. After everything he had done to shield Haven from the truth, she had stumbled upon it anyway.
He sprinted out of the library, pulling his keys from his pocket as he flew down the steps two at a time. Once he hit the second floor, his father stepped out of his office, the sound of frantic footsteps drawing his attention.
“Carmine, wait!” Vincent took a step toward him, but Carmine didn’t stop. He went out the front door to his car, unlocking it as his father stepped onto the porch. “Don’t go there!”
Carmine hesitated before starting the car. Haven had been gone for more than an hour, and there was no way he could let it go another minute.
Speeding down the highway in the darkness, he held his breath as he flew past the Aurora Lake sign, knowing he had reached the point of no return. He swung around a curve and slammed the brakes when he caught a glimpse of the Audi. The Mazda skidded to a stop beside it, and he jumped out, heading down toward the water. He jogged along the shore, searching for some sign of her, before spotting them sitting on the dock.
Nicholas’s eyes fell on Carmine as he approached. Haven must have sensed him too, because her head snapped in his direction. She jumped up and recklessly took a step away, nearing the edge of the dock. Her foot skidded, but Nicholas grabbed her before she fell. “Whoa, what did I tell you? I’m not going in the water after you.”
Carmine held up his hands. “I’m not here for a fight.”
Nicholas looked at him suspiciously. “What are you doing here? You know you aren’t allowed.”
“I know,” he said. “You can press charges if you want. I just need to talk to her.”
“If she wanted to talk to you, she would’ve gone to you. Can’t you give her some space?”
Carmine ran his hands down his face in frustration. “It’s important. I’ll leave, I will, but I need to talk to her first.” He focused his attention on Haven. “Please, hummingbird?”
She nodded. “Okay.”
“You don’t have to,” Nicholas said. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”
Carmine glared at him but kept his mouth shut as Haven replied. “I know.”
Nicholas glanced between them before gently rubbing Haven’s arm. “Take care. You know how to reach me if you need me.”
Her eyes nervously flitted to Carmine as she said good-bye. He started toward Haven after Nicholas walked away. “I know what you found.”
A horrified expression flashed across her face. “Oh God.”
