Page 113 of Twisted Control

There’s something else I can do, too.

Something that proves I’m all in, forever.

36

GRACE

It’s been five days.

I’m lying awake in Mom’s spare bedroom, staring at the ceiling while the house stays perfectly quiet around me. We spent the evening watching old comedies on the couch, and for a few hours it almost felt normal. I haven’t heard Mom laugh like that in years. I laughed too, but it never quite reached me.

My mind keeps circling back to Drew.

Love is such a strange, stupid thing. Every day I understand Heidi and Max a little more. Love makes you do irrational, unforgivable things—like missing a man who kills people for money and never told you.

I miss Drew so much it hurts.

I keep trying to push the feeling down, to shove it somewhere deep where it can’t touch me anymore. But that reflex is gone. I spent too many years forcing myself to feel the “right” things, to be the perfect girl. I don’t know how to bury anything anymore.

And I can’t unfeel him.

Mom has been so gentle with me. When I finally admitted how much I miss him, she didn’t lecture me. She didn’t tell me I was naïve or that I was disgracing the family. She just pulled me into her arms and whispered, “Of course you do.”

I pull the blanket tighter around my shoulders and stare at the ceiling, heart aching with a want I don’t know how to quiet.

My life is never going to be the same again.

I actually have to think about getting a job. With a salary and everything. The idea is both terrifying and strangely exciting.

I have no idea what I’m qualified for. All I have is a very expensive degree in Art History and a résumé that basically says “former influencer and professional shopper.”

I don’t think I’m particularly hireable.

Still…I’ll figure it out. I have to.

Drew comes back into my mind, and for the first time I just let him be there. I don’t try to fight it. I don’t shove the memory away or tell myself I’m being stupid.

I miss him.

I miss him so much it feels like a physical ache in my chest.

I whisper into the quiet room, half embarrassed, half desperate.

“Please come back for me. Please. I don’t care about the rest of it right now. I’ll pretend I don’t know. I’ll figure out how to live with it later. Just…come back. I can’t stand being without you.”

The words hang in the quiet room, sounding both ridiculous and painfully honest. I squeeze my eyes shut to stop myself from crying, again.

And then—a loud, insistent bang on the front door.

I jolt upright, heart leaping into my throat. I glance at the clock. It’s ten thirty.

I rush to the window and peer out. There’s a beat-up car parked at the curb, but I can’t see who’s standing at the door. I head to the hall as Mom comes out of her room, wrapping a robe around herself.

“Who is that?” I ask, my voice higher than usual.

“I don’t know.” She goes to the peephole and glances out as the knocking comes again, heavier this time. She looks back at me and shrugs, a little puzzled.

“Can I help you?” she asks through the door.