Page 95 of Dream House
Shit. Did I lock the door after she came back in?
Footsteps creak in the entryway. If it’s Tyler, he’ll come through the dining room. Then the kitchen. It’s the shortest way to his bedroom.
No need to follow the entryway to the back. Where a right turn would go to the living room and a left turn would come down our hall.
Passing Maisy’s room first.
I launch out of bed because the footstepsaren’tvanishing into the dining room. They are headed this way.
I scan the shadows in my room for anything resembling a weapon. Thoughts fire at the speed of light. Why don’t I sleep with a baseball bat? Wait. Do we even own a baseball bat? I grab a wooden coat hanger that dangles from the closet knob. It’s one of Nanna’s. The old school kind for coats, and it’s heavy and bulky in my hand. A blow to the nose with this would buy me time.
Stepping soundlessly, I poke my head out into the hall, and my heart plunges to my knees.
The silhouette of a man stands motionless at the rear of the foyer, tucked in the shadow of the stairs. He’s closer to Maisy’s door than I am.
Nothing else penetrates. I take off at a run, getting to Maisy my only goal.
I’m two paces from her door when he wheels around.
“Stella?” he whispers.
I freeze, my coat hanger bludgeon raised over my head.
The silhouette steps forward into the beam of streetlight from the front door’s transom, revealing Lark. Shirtless. In pajama pants.
“Oh, God,” I gasp, bracing against my knees, my heart racing. “I thought I’d have to fight you.”
I’m hiss-whispering, now right outside of Maisy’s door, and Lark moves close enough for me to read the confusion on his face.
“What?”
My mouth is dry, my limbs are jelly. But I shake my head, straighten up, and lead him away from her room.
“You scared the hell out of me,” I rasp as we move toward the living room. “What are you doing?”
“I’m sorry.” I hear genuine regret in his voice. “My window unit died. It’s broiling in my room. I was coming to crash in here.” He gestures a thumb toward the living room.
I stare at him for a second, the light from the transom illuminating his look of discomfort.
“But…” I frown, remembering what I saw. “Why were you just standing there?”
Lark raises a hand and drags it down his face.
I wait.
His brows are knit.
“Do I have to answer that?”
My pulse spikes again, and I grip the coat hanger tighter. “You were standing six feet from my daughter’s room in the middle of the night,” I hiss hotly. “Yeah, you need to answer.”
His eyes bulge like they could launch out of his head, and he staggers back.“What?!Shit, no.” Both hands go to his scalp this time, his spine bowing like he’s been punched in the stomach.
Guilt tugs at my sleeve but I brush it off. I won’t feel guilty for being protective—even paranoid—about Maisy’s safety.
“Stella, no fucking way.” He sounds sickened.
I believe him. Even with panic still careening through my blood, I believe him. I still need an explanation.
