Helena Hunting: Inked Armour

“Damnit!”

I hurled my phone across the room in frustration. The second it left my fingertips, I dove after it, but it was too late. It hit the wall and clattered to the floor. I snatched it up, praying I hadn’t damaged it in my moment of stupidity. The screen had spider-webbed on impact.

“Shit! No!” I punched the button violently, keying in my password, but it was no use. I couldn’t get past the first screen. I threw open the door and ran down the hall to the office. I fumbled with the landline, punching in Hayden’s number.

“Please, please, please, please . . . ” I begged, crossing my fingers he would pick up. He didn’t.

Tears blurred my vision as I tried to call my own phone. It let out a weak ring, then died.

I needed to get to Hayden. I should have tried to explain long before now, even if it didn’t make any sense. He could be mad at me for having a poor excuse. Anything was better than this. His refusal to talk to me made me hyperaware of what my silence had done to him. I’d been so caught up in what I thought I needed to resolve here, I hadn’t realized the impact it would have on him.

I ran from him because I was in love with him. That, and I feared I’d never be enough. Right now, I wasn’t—but staying here wasn’t going to fix that. I had to get home to Hayden so I could make things right.

I ran back to my room. This house was just a holding cell of loss now; I couldn’t stay here anymore. I’d have to force myself to accept that I suffered enough.

I needed to accomplish so much before I went back to Chicago, but my departure would be nothing like my arrival. I would leave on my own terms.

I jumped into the shower before the water had a chance to warm. I shivered my way through washing my hair and was in such a rush to get on with things that I almost forgot to rinse it. Once dressed, I pulled my hair into a wet ponytail and crammed my belongings into my suitcase. I had to sit on it to get it to close. Then I lugged it down the stairs and out to the garage.

Connor’s car was full. The backseat and trunk were packed with the boxes of his belongings I intended to donate to various charities. The few things I couldn’t bear to part with were in a tote box on the front passenger seat. I’d planned to drop it off at my parents’ place last night, but I’d been exhausted after my visit to the cemetery.

I took a deep breath, willing myself not to break down, and took my suitcase back inside. I left it in the kitchen and grabbed my purse.

On my way out of the garage, I almost took off the passengerside mirror. At least I’d managed to leave before Trey showed up. If I was lucky, I’d be able to avoid another confrontation.

I made it to my parents’ house in record time and carted the tote inside. My plan was to dump it in my old bedroom closet and deal with it later, whenever I felt capable of returning. The house was as cool inside as it was outside, so I dropped the tote in the hall and went down to the basement. The pilot light in the furnace had gone out. That wasn’t the real problem, though; it was the burst pipe and the slick of ice pooled on the floor. I’d have to call in a plumber. It was barely seven in the morning, though, and I didn’t have a phone. Nothing would be open until nine and I didn’t have that kind of time.

I pressed my palms against my eyes, weighing my options. Arden Hills was a small town. I knew lots of people whose doors I could knock on, even at this early hour. I left the house and drove to Lake Johanna. One of my dad’s old friends lived out there; he’d be able to help me. The farmhouse was as I remembered it, except the paint was faded by the sun and the porch worn down by time. The inhabitants were the same.

They invited me in, made me breakfast, and talked about the farm and their eight grandchildren as we ate. I sat there, smiling and nodding, because he’d agreed to drive out to my parents’ house and fix the pipes.

My next stop was the Apple store at the Rosedale Center just outside town. Everything was going fine until I tried to pay. My Visa was declined. So was my MasterCard. I had to use the phone in the store to call the bank. My accounts had been frozen first thing this morning. Trey had to be involved; it was the only explanation.

I called my lawyer, Frank, then spent the next two hours at the bank, sorting things out. Trey had given himself signing authority over my account after he’d illegally forced me into signing the power-of-attorney papers. I was fortunate he hadn’t drained the account, and that this wasn’t the one with the bulk of my money. Eventually Frank worked things out, but no one could find Trey, which meant he had to know about the house sale by now.

I lost it when I got back in the car. It took me another twenty minutes to get myself under control before I could return to the Apple store to get my new phone.

Once I had it, the first thing I did was call Hayden. He still wasn’t answering. I retried at every stoplight.

It was four in the afternoon by the time I finished dropping off Connor’s effects at the Salvation Army. Snow had started falling earlier, and the daylight had faded to dark gray by the time I returned to what would soon become Weston’s house. My tires squeaked over the blanket of white as I pulled up to the front door.

Before I went inside, I called Frank to make sure the keys were ready to be passed over. He assured me everything was in order and promised to let me know when the key drop was official. They still hadn’t found Trey, which was worrisome, but at least his car wasn’t in the driveway. He’d left several messages on my phone but I hadn’t checked them, knowing it wouldn’t be anything I’d want to hear. I kept the car idling in the driveway since I only needed to leave my key on the kitchen table and grab my suitcase. I couldn’t wait to go home.

I turned the key in the lock and pushed the door open. The waning sun left the main floor in gray, looming shadows. I flicked on the light and stopped short. Trey sat at the kitchen table, hands clasped on top of a stack of papers, as still as a lake at dawn.

“I didn’t see your car.”

His face was like stone, betraying no emotion. He didn’t look at me when he replied, “I parked in the garage.”

He wore a suit, but he was utterly disheveled, his tie loose, the top buttons of his shirt undone, the collar askew. Stubble covered his chin and cheeks; his hair stuck straight up at the front; and the circles under his eyes were rimmed in red.

My suitcase sat where I had left it, halfway between him and me. He swept a hand toward the bag. “Going somewhere?”

“I’m heading home,” I said, my voice amazingly steady.

“To your parents’ house?” His hand returned to the tabletop, smoothing over the glass surface.

“No.”

“No?” He cocked his head to the side. “You’ve decided to stay at the main house, then?” Trey had moved there after the death of his family and had tried to make me stay there with him when I first returned. It lasted three days before I got out from under his thumb and the constant stream of antianxiety medication he snuck into my food.

“No, Trey. I’m going home. To Chicago.”

“Back to the degenerate. How lovely.” He smiled with malice.

I took a step closer to my bag. The fifteen feet of tile floor between me and it seemed like miles. I didn’t want to get any closer to Trey than I already was. A seething undercurrent of fury lurked beneath his veneer of calm.

“I should give you some credit—you’re smarter than I thought.” With a sweep of his hand, he spread the stack of papers out like a card dealer. “I see you managed to have the power of attorney reversed.”

My heart kicked in my chest. I’d hoped to be gone long before the papers for the house reached him. “I did what I had to do.”