First, he speeds away with his brother, ditching me in a deserted street, and then he turns up out of nowhere to rescue me, but leaves me with no clue about what happened. Even in his absence, he was still playing games with my head, and one way or another, it had to stop.

I sat with my elbows on the table, watching my phone. It vibrated against the wood and made the peas on my plate quiver. The number on-screen was Jack’s.

“He’s not going to stop calling.” My mother’s words squeezed themselves out through a mouthful of dried pork chop.

“I’ll deal with it tomorrow.” I wanted to talk to my uncle, but it was late and I could barely keep my eyes open, save for the hunger. I swallowed the mountain of mashed potatoes in my mouth and scowled. “Why did you have to tell him so soon anyway?”

“I didn’t tell him. I told Ursula because I don’t want you going into work tomorrow, and when he called the diner, she told him about it.” My mother shrugged and popped a forkful of peas in her mouth.

My phone started buzzing again, exacerbating the headache that still lingered at the base of my skull. I picked it up and swiped my finger across the screen. “Hi, Jack.”

“I’m outside, let me in.”

“What?”

“Open the back door.”

He hung up. I crossed to the kitchen window. He was just a shadow lingering by the bushes, carefully out of range of the motion detector so I could barely make him out at all. Where did he come from?

“Is he here again?” My mother’s voice was teeming with bewildered disapproval. She stood up. “What is he doing?”

I unlocked the door and he slid inside, shutting and locking it behind him.

“Sophie,” he panted, his cheeks blotted with circles of pink.

“Where did you just come from?”

He waved my question away and crushed me into his shoulder so hard I thought I would lose my breath. I hadn’t hugged Jack since I was a child. I was used to him showing his affection in other ways — expensive presents, a shift off at the last minute, or random phone calls. But there was something about the hug that made it better than all that — I felt protected. “I’m so glad you’re safe,” he huffed into my hair.

He released me and I stumbled backward, my hand clutching my chest. I was getting a tight feeling in the base of my throat. I swallowed it, hoping it would go away, but the way Jack was looking at me with my father’s eyes, so full of worry and relief, made me want to cry.

“If I had let anything happen to you, Mickey would have broken out of prison just to kill me,” he said, trying and failing to lighten the mood.

“What are you doing here?” I mushed the words together to distract myself from the lump rising in my throat. Behind me, my mother was hovering. I could almost feel the suspicion seeping through her skin.

Jack rubbed the buzzed hair on his head. He was unusually disheveled, his typical suave suit replaced by loose-fitting jeans and a nondescript black sweatshirt. He didn’t look half as important, or affluent, as he usually did. “I’ve been calling you all day, Persephone.”

I grimaced. He must have meant business. “I was in the hospital.”

“I heard. I was going out of my mind with worry.”

“You and me both,” said my mother. She drifted over to the sink and started to fill the kettle for tea.

“How are you feeling?”

“Where have you been?” I asked at the same time.

Jack rubbed his eyes. “All around the state,” he replied wearily.

“Doing what?”

“Business things.”

He was being curt. He never talked to me about his other business ventures. I knew it had something to do with investments and interest rates, which was why I never bothered to press him about it. The boredom would have overwhelmed me.

“Are you back now? In Cedar Hill?” I was surprised at how childlike the hopefulness in my voice sounded, and felt embarrassed because of it. I had obviously missed him more than I’d realized. He was the only real male presence in my life, and without him, it felt emptier than it should have been.

He shook his head grimly. “Not yet. Not completely.”

My mother had been busying herself at the stove. She passed a mug of peppermint tea to Jack. He took it with an arched eyebrow for good measure.

“Thank you, Celine.”

“Before you ask, there’s no booze in it.”

I winced. It had been going so well. He took a sip without breaking eye contact with her, leveling whatever his response would have been for my benefit.

“Couldn’t this visit have waited until a more reasonable hour, Jack?” My mother’s voice was edged with disapproval. “Do you always have to do things in the dead of night?”

He ignored her this time, setting his mug down on the table. “What happened last night was really serious,” he said to me. “And on your birthday, no less!”

“I know,” I said, biting my lip to stop it from wobbling.

“Do they know who spiked your drink?”

“No,” I responded, feeling tired of the same question already. The police had already interviewed me at the hospital, and that hadn’t exactly been helpful. It’s not like there were any leads, and I was pretty convinced I would never regain full memory of the night. I knew, too, that Robbie Stenson, whenever he resurfaced, was going to avoid me forever. He had finally texted Alex back to say he was out of town for “family reasons,” and that he didn’t realize how out of it I had been. He actually thought I liked him and wanted to kiss him, and he was sorry my “boyfriend” got so angry about it and interrupted us. If he was so apologetic, he could have texted me, but he didn’t even bother. And the only other person who had any knowledge of the forgotten parts of my night was my “angry boyfriend,” Nic, who was already doing a trophy-worthy job of avoiding me.