Something changed. Something between the guys took a turn after our visit with the Harper-Smith family. Only a week has passed, but it’s blatantly obvious. They never said specifically anything happened, but I’m not blind. They’re avoiding each other and me. The tension is almost a physical presence in the room whenever more than one of them come together.
I know it’s something I did. They’re different with me also. They won’t touch me, and they’re standoffish whether we’re alone or not. The only thing I can come up with is they realized what I did. They found out about me and Marak, and me and Allistar. They noticed me flirt with the four of them, and they’re disgusted with me.
The Harper-Smith guys probably pointed it out to them. They’re in the kind of relationship I can only wish for. They’d find the signs of my feelings for the four of them. They likely warned the guys to stay clear of me. If they want to keep their distance from me, I’ll do the same. They’re making it a lot easier now for me to stay away. They’ll go back to normal if I take myself out of the picture.
Syn, Allistar, and Marak made plans today. They left me with Maverick, who stuck himself in the home office all day. He only came out to grab coffee a few hours ago. With nothing to do and no one to talk to, I decide to clean the house a bit. It’s the least I can do for them after all the trouble I’ve caused. With some music on, I grab the cleaning supplies and go about scrubbing the place down.
Around noon, a knock on the door interrupts my solo performance of a Kesha song. Out of instinct, I answer the door like I would any other time someone knocks.
A woman in her fifties with dark brown hair and soft blue eyes smiles kindly. Her eyes widen with surprise when they lock on mine. “Oh, hello. I didn’t know they hired a housekeeper. Sorry to interrupt you, dear. I’m here to see Seymour.”
“Uh.” It takes me a second to catch up, and I shake my head slowly. “I think you have the wrong house.”
My heart thumps in my chest. Why in the holy hell did I answer the door alone? This lady probably works for McCreepearson, and he sent her here to drag me to hell.
The woman frowns. “Seymour Synclair, dear. He lives here.”
Again, I shake my head, and she becomes frustrated with me. “I know he lives here. I’ve been here many times before. Did he put you up to this?”
She takes a step into the house, and I panic. I shout for Maverick and scramble away from the crazy woman with the broom extended as my weapon. Maverick’s footsteps pound down the hall. He grabs me by the arms and spins me behind him. His shoulders are tense, and his breath is labored. He freezes in place when he discovers who it is at the door. His whole body deflates, and he steps to the side. “Hey, June. You scared the fuck outta me.”
She snorts. “You? I thought my son up and moved without telling me. What’s going on, Maverick?”
“Taylor, this is Syn’s mom, June Synclair.” He gestures from me to the woman and vice versa. “June, this is Taylor. I think Syn told you about her the last time you two talked.”
“Oh, I’m so embarrassed.” Her small hands cover her pink cheeks. “I called you the housekeeper. Oh, I’m horrible. I’m so sorry, dear. The broom and the apron caught my attention. I just assumed... Oh lord, this is so embarrassing.”
“It’s fine,” I assure her. My focus goes more on calming my racing heart than her mistake in my identity. “Uh, so Syn is your son?”
“Yes, dear. I’m sorry, I forget sometimes he likes to be called Syn. For some reason, he doesn’t like his given name.” She rolls her eyes and grins.
“Seymour?” I recall from moments ago.
She nods. “He uses the first part of our last name as his own. Synclair. Syn. He started that in middle school, I believe. He always says he’ll never forgive me for naming him after my grandfather. He’s a big baby, though. It’s not a terrible name.”
A response eludes me. It is a bad name, but I won’t offer my opinion to her. “Er, Syn isn’t here. He’s... Actually, I’m not sure where he is, but he said he had stuff to do.”
“Oh, that’s okay, dear. I was just going to make him take me to lunch.” She waves off the idea but eyes me. “You can come with me instead.”
My jaw drops. Did Syn’s mother ask me to go to lunch with her? No good can come from this.
I try to protest and explain I can’t go places alone, but Maverick speaks up, “Go for it.” He thinks he hides his grouchiness from Syn’s mom, but by the raise in her brow, she picks up on it anyway.
“I’ll go get changed.” The only way it could be more obvious he wants me to leave him alone would be if Maverick put up a neon sign above his head saying, Fuck off, Taylor. I’d rather eat snails than stick around with people who wish I would vanish. I learned my lesson with my mother. If someone acts like you’re a burden to them, then get lost before shit gets worse. With an ache in my chest from Maverick’s dismissal, I rush up the stairs to throw some real clothes on and let a few tears escape.
Thirty minutes later, June and I sit at a quiet table in a cute diner a few miles from the house.
"So, you're the girl my son has been telling me about?" She doesn't give me any warning and the sip of Diet Coke I'd taken goes down the wrong pipe.
She giggles uncontrollably as I cough, gasp, and try not to die. "Wh-what?"
"Syn and I talk all the time, dear. He's been telling me about a girl he's met. I won't say what he's said to me, but it's all good things." She winks, and my cheeks darken. "What I'd like to know is what you think of my boy."
"Uh." This cannot be happening. How is a girl supposed to respond to such a question?
Luckily, June doesn't appear phased. She smiles and pushes the conversation in a different direction. Unfortunately, the direction isn't one I wish to go in. "It was interesting to see Maverick so flustered."
"What do you mean?" Angry, pissed, and grouchy—all words I would use to describe his mood today. But flustered? Not so much.
"I've known the boys for a long time. Maverick, Marak, and Syn have been friends forever, and Allistar found himself stuck with them when they were barely teens. I think of them as my own."
She takes a drink of water and watches me. "It isn't often they're upset with each other for more than a few hours at a time. I recall once when they had all graduated high school and Maverick joined the marines without telling them. They didn't speak for two weeks. When they finally did, it was to tell each other they all joined so they could go with him. They refused to let their best friend go alone. It brought them closer than ever. They went from the best of friends to brothers after that."
"They've got such a tight bond." I swirl the straw around my drink as a way to avoid eye contact. "It's really amazing to watch them work like one unit all the time."
"It is. They're a team, and they will always be a team. I have no doubt about that." She knows. The way she says it, she knows what's going on with the guys. Either Syn told her or it's a mother thing, and she figured it out. Grammy always knew everything without a word from me. Either way, I can't decide if she's warning me away from them or not. She's incredibly kind and sweet. If she’s trying to hint I should get lost, she's being too subtle about it.
She moves the subject to random, safer topics for the rest of lunch. We spend a few hours at the diner, then she drops me off back at the guys’ house. If I could pick my own mother, I'd pick Grammy, but June comes up as a close second. Even while warning me to watch myself without actually using the words, she's motherly, and I want to hug her.
When she drops me off, I'm sad to watch her go, but she promises we will get lunch again soon. It’s a wonderful gesture, but I doubt I’ll ever get to meet with her again.
The second I open the front door, I wish I stayed with June. The shouts ring through the house, four loud males fighting with each other.
"What the fuck is wrong with you, Maverick?" Syn can be heard above the rest. "You just let her and my mother go out alone while some psycho is willing to kill to get to her. I swear to God, if something happens to my mom because of you, I'll kill you myself."
The others join in again, and it's too much for me to handle. Listening to them upset over something to do with me breaks my heart. I spin on my heel and leave the house, shutting the door quietly. With a quick call, I get an Uber to pick me up and take me to my apartment. Supposedly, the window got patched until it can be replaced. All I need to do is vacuum the glass up, and it should be fine.
If Michelle or Evelyn were here, I'd go to them. They're too far away, and they don't need to be concerned with me even more. Grumpy called and texted a few times since he got to Oklahoma. He’s enjoying his visit though he'd never admit it. He deserves a good vacation, and if I call him now, he'll know I'm upset and come straight back. His safety is more important than my crazy emotional roller coaster.
The drive to my apartment goes quick. I'm thankful I brought money with me to pay for lunch, or I'd be out of luck. June refused to let me pay for myself. She scared the waiter when she snatched the bill from his hand and stuck her card in the folder without letting him leave the table.
After paying the driver, I hop out and drop my head for the stroll to the door. It’s an idiotic attempt at discretion in case anyone’s watching. At the last second, I remember I didn’t grab my keys and curse under my breath. My irritation turns to fear when I notice the door is already cracked open.
In horror movies, the dumb blonde always goes into the abandoned building or dark woods alone, unarmed, and without anyone knowing where she went. Every time I watch those movies, I yell at the girl to stop being stupid. Good thing I'm not blonde, or I'd be exactly like those girls.
With a soft push to open the door, I peek around the frame, and my heart stops. The place is completely trashed. The couch is cut up; the television is smashed to pieces. The coffee table sits in two pieces surrounded by the glass shattered from the last time I was here. Everything in my kitchen was thrown around and broken, the fridge turned onto its front and the glass-top stove shattered.
My feet move me farther into the apartment, and it only gets worse. Holes decorate the walls. The doors were pulled from their hinges. Every piece of artwork I painted for my home is ruined, slashed and burned. When I make it to my room, I find it completely upturned. Red paint on the walls spells out a message for me—Your only home is with me.
My knees hit the ground as I let out a cry, followed by an overflowing of silent sobs. My home is gone. I worked my ass off to make my place nice and make it mine. Everything I worked for, everything I took pride in, is broken beyond repair. The material stuff isn’t why I curl into a ball in the corner of my destroyed room. It's the sense of safety I used to have in my home. It's the realization that this man won’t stop until he gets me. The idea he’ll hurt someone else because of me.
My phone dings with a text and assuming one of the guys wants to know where I went, I pull it out. Instead, it's a text from an unknown number.
Unknown: Don't cry. You'll be where you belong soon.
My hands shake violently as I scroll down to find one of the guys' names. Syn pops up first, and I hit call. My teeth chatter from fear and mixed with the sobs flowing out of me, it makes talking difficult.
Syn answers on the first ring, already yelling before I can say a word. "Where the hell are you, Taylor? I called my mom, and she said she'd dropped you off hours ago! Your GPS is disabled, and you didn't tell anyone where the fuck you were going."
"I need you." My voice is muted.
Syn draws in a sharp breath, and his tone changes completely. "Where are you?"
"My... The apartment." This place will never be mine again. It no longer gives me safety, and it never will.
"Stay on the phone with me, baby. I'm on my way." I'm impressed he understood me. His voice becomes muffled for a second as if he pulls the phone from his ear. When he speaks again, I know he put me on speakerphone. A tap sound comes over the line. “I’m sending the guys a text. They’re all out looking for you, too. We split up.”
My head bobs up and down, but a second later, I remember he can’t see me. He doesn’t like my silence. “Baby, I need you to talk to me. Are you hurt?”
"No." I know he means physically. Otherwise, I’d be lying.
He continues to ask questions of little importance, but they force me to talk to him. It helps he hasn’t asked anything that truly requires an answer because there’s no way for me to give him any right now. I find enough difficulty in yes and no answers. The longer it takes for him to get to me, the harder my body convulses, and the more the tears flow. As he asks another question, a hard tremor runs through my body. My hold on the phone slips, and it drops to the floor.
It takes three attempts for me to pick it back up. The second I place it back to my ear a loud crash comes from the front of the apartment. My phone falls once more, and I draw my knees to my chest, cover my face with my hands, and bury it in my knees. My ears ring, all noise fades into a loud buzz. My mind goes straight to the man who ruined my apartment. The text message he sent made it clear he knew I came here. Now, he came to get me while he can.
Arms wrap around my body and pull me into a chest. The buzz in my ears disappears as my scream echoes off the walls.
“Shh, baby. It’s okay, it’s me. Calm down, take a deep breath.” Syn’s whispers break through the panic.
My mouth snaps shut, and my eyes pop open, desperate to find Syn’s smooth blue eyes. My attention snaps to our surroundings to ensure we’re truly safe. Syn pulls me on his lap, his gun lays on the ground next to us.
He places both hands on either side of my face and pulls my focus to him. “Please, tell me you’re okay. Did you get hurt at all?”
“I-I’m fine.” My voice barely reaches above a whisper, and it takes three attempts to utter the words correctly.
Syn shakes his head back and forth as his eyes roam over my face. “You’re not fine, baby.” He brushes a few tears from my cheek with his thumb, then pulls my head gently toward his. His chin rises, and he plants a soft kiss on my forehead. He trails more kisses down the side of my face, kissing the tears away as fast as they fall. He’s not being sexual with his kisses or attempting to turn the moment into a make-out session. He’s comforting me, and it works enough that I can draw in a few steady breaths. “Let’s get you out of here.”
This will be the last time I come to this apartment. As Syn picks me up and holds me tight to his chest, I fall apart once more. Not only did my home get stolen from me, my sense of safety went with it. The only other place in the world I feel secure is with the guys, and they already learned what a terrible idea it is to keep me around them.
Syn manages to drive to their house with me sideways on his lap, my head buried in his shoulder. No matter how hard I try, the tears won’t quit, and the shudders continue to wrack my body. He doesn’t say anything to me during the drive home. He calls Maverick and tells him to meet us at their place. Other than his call, the only sound in the car is my sobs. When we arrive, he carries me into the house, straight to his room. He sits down with his back against his headboard and holds me close. His fingers run through my hair, his free hand holding mine.
“I’ve got you, baby. It’ll be okay, I promise.” He continues to whisper reassuring words to me with the occasional kiss dropped to my forehead and the hand he holds in his.
Thunderous footsteps echo through the house, then stampede up the stairs. I don’t bother to sit up or open my eyes, I know who it is, and I can’t handle the disgust they’ll show when they find me and Syn in this position. If any fight was left in me, I’d probably kick him out and cry myself to sleep, but I can’t let him go yet. As it is, I only managed to truly get air into my lungs moments ago, and I know the guys will want answers. If I talk to or see them, I’ll break down again.
“Keep it down, you guys. I just managed to get her calmed down.” Syn’s generally happy tone drops low and grows full of authority. “If you wake her up, I’ll kick your asses.”
“What the fuck happened?” Marak demands, though he keeps his volume low. “Is she hurt?”
“She didn’t tell me exactly. She called, and she was crying. She said she needed me, and I was already on my way to her place. I kept her on the phone, kept her talking.”
Syn tightens his hand around mine as he speaks. “When I was pulling in, she stopped answering my questions. I panicked, I thought something had happened. I went in ready to shoot someone, but instead, I found her place fucking destroyed. There’s no way to salvage anything from the apartment. Even those paintings Marak mentioned of hers were destroyed. She was in the corner of her room when I finally cleared the house and got to her. She didn’t even hear me call her name. She freaked when I picked her up, screaming until she realized it was me.”
“You’re sure she’s not physically hurt?” Allistar asks.
He sounds closer than Marak. Syn continues the soothing rhythm of his fingers through my hair, and his free hand keeps ahold of mine. A third hand, presumably Allistar’s, rubs soft circles on my back.
“She’s fine physically. But she’s really upset. She was shivering so hard I thought she might be convulsing at first.” Syn sighs softly, his breath ghosting across my hair. “There’s more. Whoever fucked up her place also wrote your only home is with me on her bedroom wall in blood red paint.”
“Jesus,” Maverick mutters, making his presence known to me for the first time. “God damnit. I fucked up, Syn. I never should have let her go anywhere without us. This is my fault.”
“Mav—” Marak begins but stops when someone stomps out of the room.
“Let’s let her sleep,” Allistar suggests. “Syn, will you stay with her while we go talk with Maverick?”
Syn makes a quiet noise of confirmation, and seconds later, the room descends into silence. The safety of being in Syn’s arms mixed with the exhaustion of my mental breakdown drag me under, and I fall into a deep sleep.