I might have sighed.
“But your mother knows all about my cold and empty home life, and she’s taken pity on the motherless urchin you see before you.”
“Well, you are quite pitiful,” I said, unable to help my smile.
“I told her that my enormous mansion will be terribly lonely this week in particular, so I expect I’ll be here quite a lot. Unless you object?”
“I don’t.”
“Then I’ll see you tomorrow,” Noah said, and moved to the door. “And I shall formulate a plan to work on your father as well.”
“My dad?”
Noah cracked a smile. “We bonded in the hospital a bit, but I think he enjoys playing the benighted father; ‘I was a teenage boy once too, I remember what it was like,’ et cetera.” But Noah spoke with affection.
“You like them,” I realized.
Noah’s eyebrows lifted in question.
“Like, as people.”
“As opposed to . . . furniture?”
“They’re my parents.”
“That is my understanding, yes.”
I made a face. “It’s weird.”
“What is, exactly?”
“I don’t know,” I said, trying to find the right words. “Knowing that you’ve, like, talked to them without me there?”
“Well, if you’re worried about your mother showing me your most embarrassing childhood pictures, don’t be.”
Thank God.
“I’ve already seen them.”
Damn it.
“I’m a particular fan of your fifth-grade haircut,” he deadpanned.
“Shut up.”
“Make me.”
“Grow up.”
“Never.” Noah’s grin turned devious, and I matched it despite myself. “They’ll relax, you know,” he said then. “They’ll get complacent. As long as you keep improving.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Is that your way of telling me to keep my shit together?”
At this, Noah closed the distance between us. He leaned down until his lips grazed my ear. My pulse raced at the contact and my eyes closed at the feel of his five o’clock shadow on my cheek.
“It’s my way of telling you that I can’t bear to look at my bed without seeing you in it,” he said, and his words made me shiver. “So do try to avoid a lockdown.”
I felt him withdraw, and I opened my eyes. “I’ll get right on that,” I breathed.
One final wicked smile. “You’d better.”
10
AFTER NOAH WENT HOME, MY FATHER CRACKED bad jokes at dinner, Joseph talked at fifty thousand miles a minute, my mother watched me too closely, and Daniel seemed like his lovably pretentious self. It almost felt like I’d never left.
Almost.
When we finished, my mom watched me take the multiple antipsychotics I was now on but didn’t need, and then everyone went to their respective rooms before bed. I passed by the first set of French doors in the hallway but stopped short when I thought I saw a shadow move outside.
The air left my lungs.
The street lamps cast an unusually bright glow on the backyard, which was covered in a thin fog. It didn’t look like there was anything there, but it was hard to see.
My heart was pounding so loudly I could hear it. Just last week, I would have dismissed it as nothing; just my misbehaving mind ruled by fear. I would have hurried into my bedroom and burrowed under the covers and whispered to the dark that it wasn’t real. I was afraid of only myself then; what I might see, what I might do. But now, now there was something real to be frightened of.
Now there was Jude.
But if he wanted to hurt me, why show up at Croyden once and then leave me alone? Why appear at the Cuban restaurant and disappear seconds later? If he did take Joseph, my brother was still unharmed when we found him. And why would he walk into the police station, close enough for me to see, close enough for me to touch, just before walking out?
What was the point? What did he want?
I stood still in the safety of my house, my breath quick as my eyes searched for Jude behind the glass. The darkness revealed nothing, but I was still afraid.
I clenched my jaw as I realized that I would always be afraid. Now that I knew Jude was alive, that he was here, I wouldn’t be able to walk into the bathroom without wanting to throw back the shower curtain to make sure he wasn’t behind it. I wouldn’t be able to walk down a dark hallway without picturing him at the end. Every snap of a twig would turn into his footstep. I would imagine him everywhere, whether he was there or not.
That was what he wanted. That was the point.
So I unlocked the door and stepped outside.
I was enveloped by the dull roar of crickets the moment my foot touched the patio. It was a rare cool night in Miami; the earlier rain became mist and the night sky was completely obscured by clouds. If it weren’t March in Florida, I would have thought it was about to snow.