Page 71 of Endless Love

“And you’ve been getting your revenge this entire time,” Ivan snaps. “Teasing me. Using me for your protection and to get off when you want to, enjoying making me suffer to get back at me for what I did. And I haven’t said shit, because I fucking deserve it. I know I do. But don’t pretend that I haven’t done anything to try to make up for?—”

“It doesn’t matter!” I whirl away from him, bolting back towards the room, and he grabs my elbow, dragging me back. The push and pull yanks me off balance, up against his chest, and for one brief second Ivan’s arms go around me, his warmth and scent surrounding me as I feel his hard chest pressing against mine.

“I’ve tried,” Ivan says quietly, his gaze resting on mine, flicking down to my mouth, and then back up again. “But you’re right. Maybe it doesn’t matter.”

He lets go of me, and I bolt for the room again. I hear him follow behind me, but I don’t turn to look at him as he walks in, gripping the edge of the desk as I try to regain my composure. He stalks past me, into the bathroom, the only way to put any space between us.

Except I have a different solution.

It’s going to piss him off. More than the phone call, probably. But right now, I care even less. I’m angry and exhausted and scared, and I’m past caring what happens. I can’t stay in this room a second longer.

I grab the cash on the desk, shove it into my pocket, and bolt out of the room before Ivan can emerge from the bathroom,closing it as quietly as I can behind me. There are no cabs anywhere to be seen, so I start walking instead, towards the music of the fair in the distance.

The road is dusty, and the night is chilly, but I couldn’t care less. I suck in big lungful’s of the cold, dry air, feeling the open space around me with a relief that makes me almost want to cry. It feels good to be outside, to be walking, to bealonefor the first time in days. My head starts to feel a bit less foggy, and I pick up the pace, heading to the bright lights and jingling music of the carnival.

The fairgrounds are alive with laughter and color as I walk in, an oasis in the quiet desert night surrounding it. It’s as full now as it was empty earlier, crowds of families, teenagers, and couples of all ages milling through the space. I can smell fried food and sugar and the grease and oil from the rides, and I draw in a deep breath, feeling momentarily better.

I shouldn’t be out here. I know that. But the thought of going back to the motel room, to the tension between Ivan and I, feels almost unbearable. I need space, and to clear my head, and this is the best way I can think of to get it right now—doing something that I want to do.

The noise of the carnival envelops me as I wander past games and food stands, the tension draining out of me bit by bit as I surround myself with sights and smells that make me smile. I watch as a couple of kids run past me, their harried mother just behind them, mouths sticky with cotton candy. A couple is laughing by the Ferris wheel, the girl leaning in as the man slides his arm around her waist and presses his lips to hers, and I feel an odd pang in my chest.

Feeling for the cash in my pocket, I lose myself to the fun of the carnival. I buy an Italian sausage and a lemonade, eating it as I browse through the games, finally settling on one that has me throwing darts at a series of balloons. I toss balls into a hoop,try to dunk a clown, and eat a funnel cake. I go to the haunted house, laughing as ‘ghosts’ and ‘killers’ jump out at me, the manufactured scares seeming trivial compared to what I’ve been dealing with for the last several days. It’s kind of nice, actually, in comparison. Fun.

I let myself lose track of time, wandering through the attractions until I realize that the crowds are starting to thin out. I decide to take one last loop through the haunted house before it closes, and by the time I come out, the fairgrounds are all but empty.

I pause, feeling a bit of unease for the first time since I walked in. With the noise and color fading, I’m reminded that this was actually a bad idea. That I’m alone here, and I’m going to have to walk back to the motel in the dark.

It’s fine,I tell myself as I start to walk towards the entrance, careful not to walk too quickly. The fairgrounds are basically deserted now, and some of the overhead lights begin to go out, casting it heavily in shadow.No one would think to look for me here, of all places. It’ll be fine.But my heart beats a little faster, picking up until my pulse is fluttering in my throat, my mouth dry.

And then, out of the corner of my eye, I think I see the figure of a man.

A prickling feeling runs down the back of my neck, and I spin sharply, my breath catching in my chest. I press a hand to my mouth as I take a step back, caught between fear and the memory of a fantasy that left me aching with arousal, fluttering through my veins along with the terror.

A man dressed in black jeans, a black t-shirt, and a hoodie is standing several feet from me, a skeleton mask that I recognize on his face.

I recognize it because it’s the same one that Venom was wearing, when he sent me the photos of himself.

My pulse is racing for an entirely different reason, now. I step back a few more paces, and the man moves forward, closing in on me as I hear a dark chuckle that I swear echoes around me.

I know I’m imagining things. But I’m not imagining Ivan’s voice when I hear it, clear as a bell in the cold night air.

“Run,little dove.”

31

CHARLOTTE

Ido as he says.

I run.

I’m not sure where I’m running to, exactly. I take off across the fairgrounds, my boots slapping against the dirt, but Ivan is keeping pace with me. I quickly realize that he’s not just keeping pace—he’s purposefully staying just behind me. Angling himself to send me in a particular direction, and I realize a moment later that it’s toward the connected houses at the back of the carnival. The haunted house. The maze. The house of mirrors.

Fear beats in my veins out of sheer instinct, but underneath it, there’s something else. Something darker. Ivan won’t hurt me. I know that, deep down—that he never would. Not physically, even if the emotional wounds that he left are still raw. And if he wouldn’t actually hurt me, then this is about something else.

Something we’ve both wanted for a long time.

I remember Venom, telling me he wanted to chase me through an apple orchard. This is a far cry from that, but it’s somehow better, the close, shadowy darkness of the now-abandoned carnival, on the eve of Halloween, adding a layer of fear and ambiance to it that makes my pulse race faster, the heat in my blood singing through me until it’s spread all throughout my body, a different kind of heat that has me panting by the time I duck into the first of the houses.

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