many would see that message and think it was somehow okay to consider ending their lives when things became too difficult to deal with?
Bile crept up the back of my throat as I considered the ramifications of what I’d done. Obviously, I hadn't planned for the information to get out, but what if I’d been successful in ending my life? What if Gideon hadn't found me? The news would've gotten out anyway.
"Get in the truck!" I heard Gideon yell. I had no clue if he was talking to me or Brewer, but I supposed it didn't really matter. I had no choice but to try and feel my way across the kitchen toward Gideon. The task was made more difficult when he went silent. I wanted to laugh and cry at the same time because the whole thing was just so ridiculous. Gideon was angry and I was eager to escape, but when it came right down to it, I was as helpless as an infant and neither of us was getting what we wanted.
I had no clue if I was on the right track or not and had just assumed that Gideon had left me there in the kitchen, so when firm fingers closed around my upper arm after about a dozen steps, I let out a little gasp. I expected Gideon, in his anger, to yank me forward, but he surprised me when he put my hand in the crook of his arm and gently guided me forward. I actually preferred it when he held my hand, but beggars couldn't be choosers and I figured I was just lucky he'd even waited for me at all.
"Take this part slow, it's icy," Gideon said when we were outside and on what I assumed was the front porch. The more patient he was as he pointed out the hazards of getting to his truck, the more I began to regret the way I'd jumped all over him. I felt like I at least owed him some kind of explanation.
"Gideon, I know you don't understand why I'm upset—"
"Get in the truck, Lex," Gideon bit out. He didn't sound as angry as he’d been in the house, but he did sound… something. Disappointed, maybe? Which made no sense because I was the injured party.
Wasn't I?
The next thing I knew, I was sitting in the front seat of the truck and it was moving. Self-doubt began to creep along my nerve endings. I thought back to the conversation in the kitchen. He’d seemed genuinely upset by my accusation. What if I had gotten it wrong? I’d taken steps to make sure no one would know who I was, so how had Gideon figured it out?
What if he hadn’t figured it out?
My skin felt hot and cold at the same time and I suddenly found it hard to breathe.
"Gideon," I began as regret burned my insides like acid. But Gideon didn't respond and when I said his name again, he just turned the music up in the cab of the truck so there was no possible way we could have a conversation.
It took just a few minutes to reach Birch Cabin. Gideon once again helped me navigate the path into the cabin, but once we were inside the kitchen, he released my arm. I opened my mouth to try and explain my behavior, but Gideon beat me to the punch.
"Here's your bag," Gideon said coolly as he dropped my testing kit into my hand. "If the power goes out, I'll take care of the generator. There’s a landline on the kitchen counter as well as one upstairs in the master bedroom. I went through your fridge and freezer and got rid of anything that didn't survive the outage. Oh, and just a reminder that the fireplace doesn't work with a fucking switch."
As soon as he said that last part, the truth hit me like a ton of bricks. I suddenly remembered the conversation we’d had in his bedroom after I'd woken up. We’d talked about why I hadn't been able to start the fire in the fireplace. I’d told him that I hadn't been able to find the switch for it because fireplaces in LA high-rises…
Fuck.
I felt like I'd been sucker punched… by my own hand. How in the hell had I forgotten that I had told him I was from LA?
"Gideon," I began, but then the side door slammed shut and there was nothing but silence. A moment later, I heard his truck