Ensnared (Splintered, #3)(42)

Exhaustion threatens to overtake. I fight the urge to fall into a heap on the floor, determined to keep up with him on every level. “Bits and pieces of us?”

Jeb glances over his shoulder. His expression changes for an instant, as if he’s pleased with the answer. Then his emotionless fa?ade returns, and he looks away. “Bits and pieces of everything we’ve ever imagined or experienced—good or bad. So if a painting were to somehow become real . . . instead of intestines, organs, blood . . . what would be at its core?”

“Our dreams and nightmares.”

“Nailed it,” he answers.

I cringe and watch another door go by. Is that what waits inside these rooms? Nightmares?

A spectrum of resentment and anguish colors Jeb’s past. And he’s chosen to delve into that palette to build his ideal world. Where are all the happy memories? The hopes? The love?

After what feels like ten minutes, we stop at a door that’s made of diamonds. I’m instantly reminded of the tree on the black sandy beaches of Wonderland. The jewels sparkle even in this low light.

Jeb stalls, his hand on the ruby doorknob. “I didn’t know you were out there today. I wouldn’t have left you and your dad alone . . . defenseless.”

I’m not sure I believe him. I want to, but after the way his creations attacked me?

No. Jeb deserves the benefit of the doubt. This is the first real glimpse of the boy I’ve grown up with, and I’m going to fight for him.

“Nothing could’ve stopped us from finding you. We missed you. We love you.” I place my hand over his on the doorknob. “I love you.”

He tenses. My chest touches his side and his body reaches out to me involuntarily as his ribs expand with every breath.

“Remember what you said the last time we were together?” I whisper, my mouth at his shoulder, aching at the proximity and heat radiating there. I want to lift to my tiptoes and press my lips where his hair curls against his nape, want to feel him tremble at my touch like he used to. “You said you don’t give up without a fight. That was a promise.” I wind my fingers into the spaces between his on the doorknob.

His hand tightens. “I never promised.”

“You said it. And your word is as good as a promise. I refuse to believe that’s changed.”

He relaxes, as if I’ve gotten through. He turns his head and his scruffy jaw brushes my temple. His breath rustles the top of my hair.

The Barbie diary grows hot at my chest, lit up again under my tunic.

“You’re wrong, Al,” Jeb mumbles against me, as if the red glow brought him to his senses. “Everything has changed.”

The bitterness in his voice shatters me.

“Open,” he commands the doorknob. With a flash of purple light, it turns. Jeb drags me inside and shuts the door behind us. Disoriented, I spin around to take it all in.

It’s not a room with my dad asleep on a couch or bed. We’ve stepped into a facsimile of a beach at night. A warm, salty breeze rushes through my hair. The sound of an ocean laps at the edge of a white, sandy bank, and the ceiling is an endless sky. Moonlight shimmers off the waves and stars twinkle, casting soft light on the flower garden at our feet.

“The ocean of tears,” I whisper, overwhelmed by thoughts of the first night we spent in Wonderland on a rowboat. Even though we were in a mystical place with death and lunacy at every turn, it was the safest I’ve ever felt because I fell asleep in Jeb’s arms.

Now, following him to the shoreline in silence, all I can think of is how gentle he was then, how he rolled me to face him in the hull of the boat while I slept, how he stroked my hair and promised to watch over me.

He’s reconstructed one of the most romantic moments we’ve ever shared. Maybe that means he’s been trying to forgive me all this time.

Unless he considers this a bad memory.

“Jeb, why are we—”

“You’ll be going to the island to sleep,” he interrupts. A surge of white light sweeps by. In the distance, a plateau looms high in the middle of the ocean. A working lighthouse sits atop the rocky slope. Jeb kneels and digs out a rope hidden in the sand. He tugs, straining the shimmery fabric of his shirt. A rowboat comes into view, closer with each pull. “You’ll be out of reach of the others across the water.”

Others. His cryptic explanation reminds me of the fairy sketch’s threat: You should be in pieces like the others.

“What others, Jeb? What else have you made?”

He hesitates, his body stiff.

“Butterfly!” Dad’s eager shout startles me. His form takes shape in the dim light, sitting in the hull.

Jeb heaves the boat ashore.

Dad leans forward and shakes his hand. “Thank you for bringing her.”

Jeb dips his head in acknowledgment. He steps back, giving me room to climb in.

Dad holds out a palm. I reach for him, but only when my fingers meet his warm and callused skin do I relax and step over the bow. He helps me onto a seat.

“Dad, I thought you were—”

“I’m okay, sweetie,” he answers, hugging me. “I’ll tell you everything later.”

I turn back to Jeb. “You’re going to stay with us tonight, aren’t you? We have to plan how to get everyone home. Please . . .”

“I’ll take the sea horse out to search for your duffel bag,” he says, avoiding my gaze. “There are clothes in the lighthouse for tonight. I’ll see that you have your own to wear tomorrow. Then we’ll discuss getting you both to the Wonderland gate.”