“I need to see if she’s still alive. And anyway, it’s not as stupid as going to her. What the hell is Toby thinking?”
“I’ll talk to him.”
“And tell him what? You heard the boss. This is our job. Does he even know who she is?”
Theo shrugs.
My fists curl and my need to trail him, to find out the truth about why he’s in her house, almost gets the better of me.
“Go home and see your mum. You know where I am if you need me.”
I let out a long breath before swiping my shirt from the floor and dragging it over my head.
“Thanks, man.”
Theo doesn’t speak again until I’m at the doors.
“We’ll make sure he pays, Seb. We’ll make sure they both do.”
With a nod that I’m sure he can’t see, I blow out of the building and head toward my car.
My Aston purrs to life the second I press the start button, and I floor it out of the driveway, hoping that the journey will relax me somewhat.
It doesn’t.
By the time I pull up at home, I can’t recall any of the turnings I took or if I even stopped at any red lights. The only images in my head were of the night in the graveyard, only it wasn’t me with Stella, but Toby.
“Fucking arsehole,” I bark, slamming my palm down on the wheel.
My phone once again burns a hole in my pocket to find out where they both are.
Going to her house this early on is a risk. Bumping into her dad before I’ve figured out a plan would be really fucking stupid.
I sit there for the longest time, just staring at our silent house.
Unlike the one I just left, there is no movement inside, no sign of any kind of life. No happiness.
It’s the place I grew up, but I struggle to find any attachment to it seeing as life inside is even more miserable than it looks from out here.
This isn’t a family home. It’s not even a home. It’s a pile of bricks where a couple of people barely exist.
With a sigh, I push the door open and move toward the front door, the stones crunching loudly under my feet. It should alert anyone to my presence, but I highly doubt that the woman inside will be in any state to be expecting me.
A shudder rips through me the second I open the front door.
The house stinks. It’s stale, musty and unloved.
Once upon a time, it used to be entirely different. But I’ve only seen evidence of that in photographs or heard my sisters talk about it. A time I don’t remember. A time I barely even experienced. A time that died right alongside the heart of this home.
We might all meet here every two weeks and pretend to be a normal family, but we’re far from it.
“Mum,” I call, my deep voice echoing in the silence of the house.
Not getting a response, I take a step toward her favourite place and come to a stop in the doorway to prepare myself for what I might find.
Three. Two. One.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” I mutter, taking in the state of the place before my eyes land on the heap of a woman who’s on the old carpet between the sofa and the coffee table, surrounded by bottles and needles.