Chapter 67 067
RYAN
I was already halfway through the familiar route to Emily’s place when my phone rang.
Mom’s name flashed across the dashboard screen, glowing brighter than it had any right to. I hesitated for a split second before answering, my foot easing off the accelerator but not enough to slow me down.
“Ryan?” Her voice came through, rushed and high-pitched, just enough to set my nerves on edge.
“Yeah, Mom.” I merged into the next lane, eyes flicking between the road and the clock on the dashboard. “Everything okay?”
“No.” She didn’t even pretend. “Miranda has fainted. She collapsed right in the living room.”
I frowned. “What?”
“I can’t reach 911,” she continued, breathless now. “The network is terrible at your place. I’ve been trying for five minutes. You need to come home. Now.”
I scoffed, a sharp, disbelieving sound. “You’re kidding, right?”
“I’m not,” she snapped. “Ryan, don’t argue with me. Hurry.”
The call ended before I could respond.
I stared at the screen for a second longer than necessary, my grip tightening on the steering wheel. My pulse kicked up, equal parts irritation and unease twisting in my chest.
Miranda. Fainted.
That didn’t sound like her.
Emily’s apartment was fifteen minutes away. I’d promised her tonight. Promised we’d eat together, talk, actually try. I could already picture her—soft light in her kitchen, Zara probably tucked into bed, that cautious hope in Emily’s eyes she tried so hard to hide.
Home was ten minutes in the opposite direction.
I swore under my breath and swerved toward the next exit.
Every red light felt personal. Every slow-moving car felt like a deliberate obstacle. I kept glancing at the clock, counting down minutes like they were slipping through my fingers.
If Miranda was really hurt—
If this was another one of my mother’s—
No. I shut that thought down immediately. This wasn’t the time.
I pulled into my driveway so fast the tires squealed, the car jolting to a stop under the porch light. My heart was already hammering by the time I shoved the door open.
Mom was outside, pacing in tight circles, her coat already on despite the mild evening air.
“Hey,” I said quickly, jogging toward her. “Is everything alright? Where’s Miranda?”
She turned to me too fast, nodding immediately. Too immediately. “Inside. On the couch.”
“Did she hit her head?”
“No, no,” she waved a hand. “She just—she went down suddenly. Where’s your house key?”
I didn’t think. I never did with her. I reached into my pocket and handed it over without hesitation, the same reflex I’d had since I was sixteen.
She took it, turned toward the door, and said, “Come on, let’s go in.”
I rushed past her, adrenaline pushing me forward, already reaching for my phone to call Emily and explain—
Then I heard it.
A loud, deliberate thud.
The door slammed shut behind me.
Before I could even process the sound, the lock clicked.
Once.
Then twice.
I spun around, heart dropping straight into my stomach. I rushed back to the door and yanked the handle.
Locked.
“Mom!” I banged on the wood, hard enough that it rattled in its frame. “What the hell is going on?”
Her voice came through from the other side, muffled but unmistakably pleased.
“Have fun, love!”
“What?” I slammed my palm against the door again. “Open this door right now!”
Then I heard it.
Her laugh.
Bright. Wicked. Triumphant.
It floated back to me as her footsteps faded down the walkway, heels clicking against concrete like punctuation marks.
“What the hell…” I whispered.
I stood there for a moment, chest rising and falling too fast, staring at the door like it might explain itself if I looked long enough.
Then I turned.
Miranda was sitting on the couch.
Not slumped. Not pale. Not unconscious.
She was upright, legs crossed neatly at the ankles, hands folded in her lap.
Completely fine.
She looked up at me with wide eyes—guilty, uncertain, already bracing for impact.
I let out a sharp laugh, disbelief curling into anger. “I really hope it’s your ghost I’m looking at, Miranda. Because if you’re alive, you’re fired.”
Her face crumpled instantly.
She slid off the couch and went straight to her knees, the movement frantic and ungraceful. “I’m so sorry, Ryan. I swear, I didn’t know. I didn’t know your mom was going to pull this stunt.”
I stared at her, stunned into stillness.
“She got my number before I left this morning and…and this evening, she called me crying,” Miranda continued quickly, words tumbling over each other. “Said you were in trouble. Said you were spiraling. She begged me to come over and wait for you. I thought it was an emergency. I swear.”
I dragged a hand down my face, exhaustion slamming into me all at once. “You’re telling me my mother tricked both of us?”
She nodded rapidly. “She said Emily was hurting you again. Said you needed someone here. I—” Her voice cracked. “I just wanted to help.”
I closed my eyes for a moment, breathing through the surge of anger threatening to boil over.
Of course she did.
I pulled my phone out immediately, fingers moving on instinct as I dialed Emily.
Straight to voicemail.
A recorded voice followed—network error.
“No,” I muttered, trying again.
Same thing.
I typed quickly instead, thumbs stiff with frustration.
Em, I’m so sorry. Crazy shit happening at home. I’ll explain soon. Please don’t hate me.
I stared at the screen.
Delivered.
Not read.
I dropped my hand to my side and exhaled heavily, the weight of the day finally settling into my bones.
Miranda hovered nearby, wringing her hands. “Ryan…”
I looked up at her, my patience worn thin. “Just… go to the guest room. I need a minute.”
She nodded immediately. “Okay. Of course.” She hesitated, then added softly, “I really am sorry.”
She disappeared down the hallway, footsteps quiet, door closing gently behind her.
I sank onto the couch, elbows on my knees, head dropping into my hands.
The house was silent now. Too quiet.
My phone buzzed once in my palm, and my heart leapt before sinking again.
Still not read.
I leaned back against the cushions, staring at the ceiling, replaying everything in my head—Mom’s voice, Emily’s smile from earlier, the promise I’d made and broken in the same damn night.
I’d tried to do the right thing.
I really had.
But somehow, I was still here. Trapped in my own house. Caught between a past that refused to stay buried and a future that kept slipping just out of reach.