Page 31 of The Whisper Place
“Does Blake know?”
He shook his head. “I don’t want her to worry.” Then he cupped my face in his big hands. “I don’t want you to, either. But if you’re heading out on the roads by yourself, you need to know about him. It’s not just the money. He said some things about you the last time I saw him. He’s kind of an all-purpose asshole. ”
“I know all about those.” It was out before I could help it. Charlie looked at me, the anger melting into something closer to concern, but before he could ask any follow-up questions, I redirected the conversation back to Silas and how much he’d taken from Charlie so far.
“It doesn’t matter. I’ll find a way to handle it. I just want you to watch out for him. You remember where he lives?”
I did. And I promised Charlie I’d steer well clear of Silas. He seemed relieved, but there were still traces of anxiety around his eyes. His hands bunched like they did when he got nervous or distracted. We watched a few reels on his phone, neither of us paying much attention, until I finally crawled out of bed and started putting on clothes I could run in. Charlie’s focus suddenly improved.He hummed in approval of the lacy green underwear and glared at the full-coverage sports bra as soon as I fastened it.
“Running’s a terrible sport.”
“Oh yeah?” I grinned into the tank top as I pulled it over my head.
“It’s bad for your knees. And your skin.”
“How?”
He pulled me back onto the bed until I was straddling him. “You could get skin cancer. Here.” He ran a finger over my collarbone. “Or here.” The finger dipped along the edge of the bra, tracing the route above my breasts and over my heart.
My head tipped back, giving him room to explore. “I’ll put on sunscreen.”
“I should help you.” His hands bracketed my ribcage before sliding further back and unclasping the bra. “So you don’t miss any spots.”
I let him find a bottle of sunscreen in the bathroom and apply it thoroughly, until my interest in running went from aspirational to nonexistent. Grabbing a condom from the nightstand, I pushed him onto his back.
And that was the most surprising part of this relationship. I’d never been crazy about sex. It had always seemed awkward and messy. I hated how vulnerable it made me feel, exposing myself to someone who might do something unexpected, who could hold me down or hurt me if their mood changed. But Charlie was different. Charlie was careful and eager to please. He acted like I was a gift, like my body was something to unlock and worship every time. If I told him to stop, he did immediately. If I told him to go harder, he leapt to perform. I never thought I could feel comfortable withsomeone as big as he was and it was honestly strange how my claustrophobia didn’t kick in when his hands squeezed my hips, when he closed the space between us. I was safe with Charlie inside me.
He sat up and pulled me against him, our bodies locked, arms winding around each other and holding tight.
“I’m not getting my cardio in like this,” I murmured, rocking my hips to make us both groan.
Charlie kissed me, pulled back to look me in the eye, then stopped my heart when he said, “I love you, Darcy.”
My shoes hit the pavement in a steady rhythm as each syllable of Charlie’s declaration seeped through me. Even out here, with the brilliant blue bowl of sky for company, with oxygen pounding in and out of my lungs, it was impossible not to hear the echo of the last time I’d heard that. My mother’s words, wet and fierce, as she hugged me. “I’ll love you forever, sweetheart.” The press of her cheek to my jaw. The way she’d looked at me as if memorizing every detail of my face. She saidforever, knowing it was the moment our forevers would part ways and never find each other again. I hadn’t believed it. My brain was in survival mode. I couldn’t process anything beyond the next moment, let alone the rest of our lives.
Did I say it back? Did I tell her how much I loved her? I couldn’t remember. So much of those last few days were a blur, punctuated by sharp flashes painful in their clarity. But every day I spent as Darcy, each tick of the clock that expanded our separate forevers, I thought of more things I hadn’t said. How I saw every good thing my mother had done for me, how strong she’d been, how brave. I didn’t blame her for what happened. Had I told her that? I’d talkedto her every day of my life until two months ago, and I don’t know if I said the things that mattered.
I loved my life in Iowa City. I adored Blake and Charlie. But I couldn’t ignore the part of my mom I carried inside me. When Charlie said what he did this morning it felt like waking up, like I was an amnesia patient with sudden, awful memories. Because I knew what love meant. I knew what it could make you do.
The road rose and fell like the swell and fade of music set to the sunrise. Birds called to each other and a distant irrigator rained water on a far field. Sweat dripped off my forehead and down my chest as I reached the bottom of a hill and the place where Charlie and I had met Silas Hepworth.
I stopped at the end of his driveway, wiping my forehead with my shirt, my heart pounding. The house at the top of the hill was dark. Without pausing to think, I walked up to it.
Silas answered the door on the third knock. He had bed hair and pillow creases down his face.
“What?” he demanded, pulling himself taller as soon as he saw me.
I smiled, showing my teeth. “Do you remember me?”
He made a noise that I took as a yes.
“I don’t think we were properly introduced before.” I took a step forward without offering my hand. “I’m with Charlie Ashlock. He’s sweet and caring and generous, and he doesn’t have any idea how to handle someone like you.”
“What’s that supposed to—”
I stepped in again, close enough that I could look down at the bristling old man. I could smell his outrage.
“You’re the kind of person who destroys people like Charlie. And you enjoy doing it. You think it gives you some kind of power, that it makes you important. But the thing is, deep down, you know,” I tilted my head, scanning the quivering folds of his face that were flooding bright red, “even while you’re doing it, you know you’re not special. You know you don’t matter, to anyone or anything. If you fell over dead, your bloating corpse would stink up this house for weeks before anyone cared enough to even check on you. Charlie would probably be the one to call 911. He’d come to your funeral, even after you blackmailed him, and feel bad for you while standing over your sad-ass grave.”
