Page 113 of Savage Promises

I stand outside my bedroom alone. I have everything. Money. Power. A beautiful, strong wife.

Yet, I’ve never felt emptier.

In my bedroom, I fall onto the bed and stare at the ceiling. Lennox was getting to a place where she was starting to tell me everything. Now she won’t even look me in the eye.

It can’t get much worse than this.

But deep down, I know it will.

CHAPTER FORTY

Lennox

Ipull up outside the old Donnelly house, steeling my resolve to go inside and get the hell out quickly.

Unscathed.

It’s been a week since Neve’s surgery, and I hate that I’ve not heard from her. Haven’t heard from anyone. Not even my loser father, who also never thanked me for dropping everything to be there forhis daughter.

The daughter he put on a pedestal as his shining diamond, a precious and sacrificial offering to the Quinlans in order to get Garrett out of trouble.

When I step inside the house, the place feels colder than ever. The smell of stale whiskey and spoiled food has my stomach turning. Dust coats every surface, something I never noticed before. Neve must have been doing the cleaning and now, with her casted arm in a sling, she can’t.

I make a mental note to get a cleaning lady over here. Two able-bodied men relying on a kid with a busted arm to clean infuriates me.

Garrett’s voice booms from my father’s office. I pause at the staircase, considering if I should speak to him first. My hand tightens on the bag holding the homemade chicken soup Liz made, reminding myself, Dad and Garrett act like I don’t exist.

So I act like that yelling doesn’t exist.

I keep climbing. Dad and Garrett don’t need my help to get out of whatever mess they’re in.

“Knock, knock.” I push open Neve’s bedroom door.

She is lying in bed, on her back, her casted arm thrown across her forehead. The sling is nowhere in sight, which won’t help her heal.

“How are you feeling?” I ask softly, setting the bag with the soup and some bread on her nightstand.

“Like crap,” she mutters, barely looking at me.

But I’m shocked at her pale face, even against the white pillowcase.

I motion to the bag. “I have soup for you.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Are you taking your meds?” I glance at the pill bottles on her desk.

Pills I paid for with the prepaid debit card I filled up for these extra expenses. I took a hit on lost interest for pulling money out of my new bank account early, but at least I paid off Shane’s credit card. Then I talked to the school and demanded they pick up the rest of her hospital charges, threatening to sue them for gross negligence on top of it all.

In the end, the nameQuinlanat Astoria Prep got them to comply.

I sit on the edge of the bed, smoothing Neve’s unshaven legs. “The surgeon’s assistant told you that you’ll need to start physical therapy this week. I can arrange—”

“Don’t bother,” she snaps, turning her head away. “What’s the point? My volleyball career is over. Mylifeis over.”

Her words alarm me and make me worry about her mental health. Teens seem more fragile these days. With constant pressure to be extraordinary, to get noticed, they strive to be perfect in an imperfect world.

“You’re young. You’ll heal.” I soften my tone on her. “Go to therapy. I’ll pay for it.”

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