Page 103 of Property of Chaos

“Gage?” She frowns.

Fuck.I’m losing track of who knows what. This is why it was easier to say nothing at all. “My brother.”

“Sweetheart…”

“It’ll be okay, Theresa. It’s one day. Twenty-four hours, and I’m back on a plane out of there.”

Will I be, though?Silence hangs between us, the question thick in the stifling air of her cab.

“Thanks.” I jerk on the handle and scramble from the high vehicle, avoiding looking directly at her when I turn to shut the door. “I’ll give you a call when I get back.”

“Call me when you getthere,” she demands. “I want to know you’re safe, Ness.”

“As safe as I can ever be.” Especially when he’s proved his spindly fingers can reach me, even here in Temperance. “Have a good night. I appreciate you letting me sit it out this afternoon.”

“Any time, sugar.”

I close the door and take two steps back, waving her off when she slowly turns on the narrow road and leaves.

My gaze drifts to the dark farmhouse standing sentient in the distance.

How long until bikes tear up and down this road? How long until the peace is broken?

Until Chaos is nothing but a few hundred yards of overgrown field away?

He’s been nothing more than a distraction.A complication I can’t allow when I prepare to step back into the fire.

Eighteen years, I’ve escaped my stepfather. For eighteen years, I’ve avoided his face, name, and as much to do with him as humanly possible.

Eighteen years, she aged without speaking a single word to me.

I draw a staggered breath and turn toward the cottage.Wait—I swear I put him out this morning.Murphy watches frommy bedroom window, tail swishing against the glass, his body smooshed against the pane.

My limbs ache as I take the porch steps, fingers fumbling my keychain for the one to unlock the front door. I let myself in and immediately drop to the hall floor as Murphy approaches, legs folded beneath me.

“Hey, buddy.”

He rubs against my knee, a couple of yips his hello.

I sink my hand into his fur, focusing on the silky lengths as they move between my fingers. Nostrils flaring, I fight the urge to let go—to melt to the hard floorboards and never get up—to wait until my body rots and turns to dust, blown away on a summer breeze.

One more nightmare.I only have to face him this one last time.You’ve done it before. You can do it again.I didn’t get this far in life to quit.

I can’t control what he did to me or undo the lost years with my mother and brother. What I can control is what happens now. Focusing on the loss only brings more sadness. Despair. A pervasive sense of hopelessness that weighs an anchor in my chest.

But the future? That’s mine.

What would you tell your ten-year-old self?A question I snorted at the first time a therapist brought it up. But the more I thought about the proposition, the more I realized the reason I avoided it was because I didn’t want to process the deep grief and sadness that came with the answer.

That little girl deserved the world.

That little girl still lives inside of me.

Istill deserve the world.

I can’t change the past, but I can sure as fuck do everything in my ability to give that little girl the future she dreamed of. Love. Safety. Peace.

Who doesn’t want a happily ever after?

---