Page 28 of Room Twenty-Seven: Theirs to Punish

“I haven't spoken to my daughter in four years. She took off on me and gave me no hint as to where she could be.”

I look at my brother, who only shakes his head. “If she does reach out to you, could you please have her call this number back?”

“Sure, though I seriously doubt she will. She... she doesn't want to have anything to do with me. I can't say I blame her.”

“This isn't why we called, Miranda—”

She cuts Nik off. “Please. I have to say this. I don't know why you're looking for Lilly, but you deserve to know she never wanted to hurt anybody. She didn't want us to run away; she didn't want us to take the money. I should never have forced her into that. I understand now, and I wish I could go back and change things, but I can't. I can only say I'm sorry. And if you speak to her before I do, can you tell her that? Please?”

She sounds sincere, almost like she's on the verge of tears. “Sure,” I tell her, but I'm not in this to soothe her guilt. I need to find Lilly. We both do. The idea of her suffering even a second sends searing pain to my chest. Like my heart is on fire. And if I feel that way, how must she feel?

I end the call, and we take off, riding up and down the streets in search of the girl I now know I can't live without. I don't think any of us can.

13

Lilly

My feet have gonefrom pained to numb after so much walking. Wandering up and down the streets, I’m ignoring the curious looks from other pedestrians and even people passing in their cars. Here I am, crying my eyes out, probably looking like discarded garbage. That’s certainly how I feel, even if I discarded myself. I’m garbage.

I was so stupid. What was I even thinking? Oliver is their father, and I helped Mom betray him. There’s no hope of a future with them since I can only imagine he despises me. He should. They all should. I didn’t want to help Mom. I should’ve stopped her.

The look on his face—horror, shock, despair—is burned into my memory. I’ll never forget it. All the pain and betrayal must have come rushing back with no warning. He’s probably done his best over the years to forget I even exist. Surprise, Oliver, I’m fucking your sons.

It must have felt like I was rubbing salt in his wounds. Like I needed more reason to feel ashamed and dirty about the past.

One thing I know for sure: I can't go home, at least not yet. They'll expect me to go there, and I can't face them. First, I wander around aimlessly the way I am now, taking random turns, the lights and noise of a typical evening blending into one big tapestry. I'm in the center of it, lost and broken. Floating in a churning sea of people, locals and tourists alike. I’m nothing more than a small piece of it. I almost wish it would swallow me up so I no longer have to hurt.

Once it gets dark, though, my spidey sense starts tingling. Reality starts creeping back in, and along with it my good sense. I should probably go home soon. By now, they've probably given up on trying to find me, or else they've been to the apartment and are now looking elsewhere. It's probably safe to go back.

And even if it's not, and they come looking for me, I don't have to answer the door. I hate the idea of ignoring them, but it's better for all of us that I do. Oliver would never be okay with me being in a relationship with those guys—not that any of them asked me for anything more than what we've already experienced together, but I hoped. I know now that I hoped with my whole heart that we could find some way to be together. If Niklas could forgive me, anything is possible.

Instead, I’m going back to my lonely existence. Now it will seem so much lonelier since I know how it feels to be a part of something better. Somewhere I felt whole.

There's one problem: I'm lost. I walked for so long without paying attention that I have no idea where I am. I pull my phone from my purse to look at the GPS, but it's dead. My heart lodges itself in my throat, and a cold sweat covers the back of my neck. My stomach churns. I’m totally screwed.

I don't even know what time it is as I continue walking, slower this time, searching for a solution. How do I manage to get myself into these situations? No matter how much I try to do the right thing, I end up lost and alone, fighting to keep my head above water as wave after wave threatens to drown me.

The sight of a bar on the next corner gives me hope. The door is open, and I don't see anybody inside. It's early enough, I guess, that the crowds haven't had time to gather. I step inside, noting how quiet and empty the place seems except for the bartender stacking glasses in preparation for a busy night.

“Excuse me.” I can't pass up the chance to sit down, so I park myself on a stool and sigh in relief. “I need your help.”

The guy looks me up and down before quirking an eyebrow. He's young, but a jaded energy surrounds him like he's already seen everything. I can’t be the first distraught girl to ever stumble in here with a sob story. “What do you need?”

“My phone is dead. Could you call a cab for me?”

His skepticism evaporates, and a friendly smile takes its place. “Sure, no problem. Always ready to help the lady in distress.” Now is not the time to be charming since I am not in the mood, but I manage a weak smile. At least he's being helpful. He turns his back to me and picks up the phone while I consider asking for a glass of water while I wait. I’ve pretty much cried out all the moisture in my body—a glimpse of my bloodshot, swollen eyes in my reflection in the mirror behind the bar is a testament to how much emotion I’ve released.

An old saying of Mom’s pops into my head. “You look like you got ridden hard and put away wet.” Well, I definitely got ridden hard tonight. My chest aches, and if I’m not careful, I’ll end up crying again.

A moment later, he hangs up. “All set. They should be here soon.”

“Thank you so much.” Finally, it seems like the night is turning around.

“So what’s the story?” he asks, his voice softening like he’s concerned. “Who hurt you?”

Not a conversation I’m in the mood to have. “There isn’t enough time to get into it,” I tell him. “I’m sure you’re busy.”

“You look like you could use somebody to talk to.”

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