I ignore that. “Where did he go?”
“I don’t know,” my father answers firmly, walking back to the doorway. He walks out and I stare at the wall, fighting the red hot tears that well up in my eyes.
“I sent him away and he was the only one outside of you and dad who has ever loved me,” I tell Finn without looking at him. He looks flustered and scared and sad.
“There was mom,” he offers hesitantly.
“She’s dead,” I say icily.
He can’t argue with that.
“I want to be alone,” I tell him finally. Alone with my thoughts, alone with my pain. Because I gave myself to him and he left me. I sent him away and he accepted that and he’s gone.
Finn startles, staring at me in surprise. Because I’ve never wanted to be alone before.
“Are you sure?”
I nod.
“Ok,” he finally agrees. “But if you need me, I’m right down the hall.”
He slips out after looking over his shoulder reluctantly, but I don’t call him back. Instead, I pull the blankets up and stare at the oceans, at the boats on the horizon. I wish one of them could take me, and sail me to wherever Dare is.
He might be hiding things from me, but the pain on his face was real.
He loves me.
No matter what, I have to believe that.
It’s what anchors me.
I close my eyes and sleep.
When I wake, I find Finn’s St. Michael’s medallion on my night stand. He left it with me because apparently, I am the one who needs it. Also, it’s evening. I slept all day.
Hesitantly, I swing my legs out of bed and sit at my desk instead, opening my laptop.
I punch Adair DuBray into a search engine.
I’m half-surprised that 1. A ton of results are returned. And 2. I’m only just now doing this.
I scroll through the results hesitantly.
Apparently, his family, or his step-family, rather, are very affluent in England. They’re old money, and every Savage (that’s their last name) goes to Cambridge University. Dare went there himself, and graduated a year early.
There are tons of pictures of him posted … pictures of him at various parties, with various women on his arms. The articles mention how he’s a disappointment to the Savage matriarch, because of his wild ways, his inability to settle down, his refusal to conform. His partying ways are compared to that of Prince Harry.
You’ve got to be kidding me.
What kind of family is he from that gossip sites are so interested?
He lives on some huge estate called Whitley, with his grandmother.
Eleanor Savage.
A widow, she had two children, Laura Savage and Richard Savage II, both deceased.
She has three grandchildren, but only one is named. A step-grandson, Adair DuBray.
I stare at the picture of Eleanor. Even in the picture, her mouth is drawn tightly into a frown, like she’s perpetually displeased, like she’s unable to be satisfied. No wonder Dare doesn’t like her. No wonder he’s a self-proclaimed rogue.
I read an article interviewing him after he graduated Cambridge early and with honors. He told them that he was off to America for a while. That was earlier this year, back in the Fall.
So he’s been here since the Fall, and he was only just hunting for an apartment when he met me?
How strange.
I look again at the pictures of him. He’s surrounded by drunk women, beautiful women. All long golden legs and blond hair. In one photo, he’s got his arms wrapped around one girl, with a drink in his hand as he flippantly toasts the camera. His eyes stare into the lens… black, black, black as night.
Black as anything I’ve ever seen.
Blacker than my sadness.
I gulp back tears because I already miss him. Because I gave my body to him. Because I don’t want him to ever take a picture with another blond girl because he’s mine. Because he’s hiding something from me and because I want him anyway. Does that mean I’m weak?
I choke back a cry and pick up my phone.
I text him quickly, although I’ve never texted him before. I didn’t have to before… he lived a hundred feet from my house. But now he’s gone.
I miss you. Even though you have your secrets.
I slide the phone across my desk and climb back into bed.
I don’t know how long I sleep, I only know that it’s daylight once again when I open my eyes. Finn is sitting in my desk chair, watching me, concerned. He’s pale, his skinny hands clasped in his lap.
“You’ve got to eat something,” he tells me.
I turn my face away. “I don’t feel like it.”
“You’ve been sleeping for two days,” he points out. That surprises me, but I don’t show it. “At least take a drink.”
He pushes a glass of water at me. I lean up, take two sips, then lie back down.
“Go away, Finn.”
He studies me, his blue eyes appraising me, searching me. “You know, if you’re trying to show dad that he was right, this is the way to do it,” he points out. “You’re acting crazy… clinically depressed. Is that what you’re trying to do?”
“It takes crazy to know crazy,” I mutter and then I feel guilty when Finn flinches. Pain gushes through me, remorse. “I’m sorry,” I say quickly. “I didn’t mean that.”
He shrugs, pretending it didn’t hurt. “That’s all right. It’s just the truth. You’re acting crazy right now. If dad’s wrong and you’re really in a place where you should be dating someone, get out of bed and act like it. Show them, Calla.”
He stares at me plaintively with that challenge and I hate him right now for being so logical.
For being so right.
“I’m still tired,” I tell him miserably. I want to stay in here where it doesn’t matter that I’m alone. I want to stay here where nothing to get to me. Not mom’s death, not Finn’s crazy, and most of all, not Dare’s absence.
Finn shakes his head. “I’ll check on you later.”
I watch him leave, then grab my phone.
No new messages.
Dare didn’t answer.
I close my eyes.
“Get up.”
I open my eyes, and it is dark once again.