Page 33 of Cook

With his broad shoulders and muscular body, yes, he could shoulder my pain. He could hold me too. I remembered how he had wrapped me in his arms. I had been like a feather against his stone. He’d been my rock, and his voice had been like a rumble of thunder that pulled me from my delusion.

But there was more than that. I felt better around him. Stronger. And at my best, most peaceful self when I was in his arms.

He squeezed my knee, and I closed my eyes. Perhaps his hand was a little too tight, cutting straight to the bone, but I leaned into the touch. And the small bit of pain. Was it mine? Yes, but it now belonged to him. He took it away from me. It seeped out of my body, shooting up his skin where we were connected.

“I’m guessing Mom gave you these,” said Cook, pointing to the notebooks.

“I found the photo album in your closet,” I said. “I was looking through it. Is that okay?”

His face was twisted, as if I had overstepped. I braced for a blow, but he only said, “Yeah. I just haven’t seen it in a long time.”

He leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees, and he looked over the photos and then the sketches. A frown pulled at his lips, like he was displeased with himself. I couldn’t understand why, because these were some of the best black and white drawings I had ever seen. Not that I could be called an expert by any means. But in that club, there had been quite a few black and whites lining the walls.

I traced my finger over Cook’s teenage face in a photo and then one of doodles in his notebook. “I’m trying to figure out when you drew these. Like, what was going on that day and what you were thinking?”

Cook let out a small, wheezing laugh. “I don’t remember.”

“How about the photos?” I asked, pushing the album forward. “Do you remember how you spent those days with this guy that’s in most of the photos with you?”

“We were probably just shooting shit,” muttered Cook with a small shrug. “There wasn’t much for Celt and I to do in Park Ridge. We used to ride our bikes around and try to get into stupid trouble, but teenage pranks were small in the way of damage. Hell, we only hadtwo TV channels, and all they played was news and shitty shows likeDallasand fuckingFalcon Crest. Didn’t matter though, ’cause neither of us liked staying inside.”

I pointed to the house behind Cook and Celt in a picture. “Is this your old house?”

He frowned, but something sad shadowed his eyes. “No. That’s Celt’s house. Or was... I spent a lot of time at his place or in his dad’s shop with him and Bou.”

“Was?” I asked.

A small huff escaped through his nose as he clapped a hand on my knee. “It’s not standing anymore. But that’s nothing for you to worry about.”

“Bou? Is that your friend’s brother or sister?”

“Sister. She runs the body shop in the tiny town now.”

My gaze twitched to the bedroom door. I didn’t hear Vivi anymore. “Is your mom still here?”

“Oh, I’m sure.” He glanced over his shoulder at the door. “She gets off into her own little world every now and then.”

Pursing my lips, I returned my attention to the notebook and paged to a sketch I’d seen earlier. A body lay on the floor with another body hovering over them, both faceless.

Now that I looked again, I thought how the image was too gruesome for a child.

My eyes flitted between him and the page. Neither Cook nor I were children any longer, so I pointed at the artwork and opened my mouth to ask about it. But Cook snatched my hand before I could say anything, slammed the book closed, and threw it across the room.

I jumped.

His eyes had that glossy distant look again. His throat bobbed, and his heartbeat had quickened. But he inhaled, closing his eyes, then blew out a slow stream of air. “Sorry.”

I clamped my teeth shut. He grabbed another notebook and flipped it open. While the artwork no longer showed what appeared to be a cowering woman and a man looming over her, it wasn’t any less dark or gruesome.

Cook stared at it with a distant look on his face, as if he were staring straight into the past. I recognized that look. I’d worn it many times, and I’d seen the other captives lost in time as well.

I touched Cook’s hand, and he jumped back, pulling away from me and his memories. I close the notebook.

With his shoulders slumped, Cook scrubbed his face with his hands. “Maddie, you can’t stay here.”

My heart plummeted into my stomach. I tried not to make any moves. “What do you mean?” I had nowhere to go. I couldn’t go back to Signora’s. And I didn’t mind Vivi. Something about her was like me.

“Please don’t make me go back to the hospital,” I pleaded. “And I’m not ready to see... my sister.”

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