Saint Sloan (Saint Sloan #1)(44)

“I’m not going to hurt you, Sloan. I promise. I couldn’t if I wanted. Here, take this.” He held out the paper again, and she quickly grabbed it.

Sloan opened it and read it. “It’s my physical therapist’s number. His name is Eric. Call him if you don’t think I’m telling the truth about not being able to walk. He’ll confirm it. It’ll make you feel better… well, about that at least. I swear on my mother that I’m not the one harassing you. I’ve moved on,” he said with a slight smile on his face.

For some reason, nostalgia or how light she felt now, she believed him. “Thank you. Thanks for being honest.”

“Anytime,” he answered as she left. “I do have a question though.”

She turned when she got to the bottom step.

“Are you okay?”

She didn’t suppose she was, was she? “Fine. Why?”

“You don’t look good. I mean… Not like that. You look great. Just tired. And your eyes are all red and bloodshot. You haven’t been doing something you aren’t supposed to, right? Because of me.”

Why did everyone assume that? “No, I haven’t. But thanks for caring.” She snipped that last part, but didn’t care. She was away from the house and close to the car, home free. She got inside and slammed the door shut. Without hesitation, she started the car and put on her seatbelt. As she drove away, she saw Boyd following her with his eyes. It creeped her out a bit so she went faster.

When she got to the bottom of the driveway, she stopped. He hadn’t been very helpful except for two pieces of information. She now had his physical therapist’s number so they could call and confirm that he was indeed paralyzed. And she learned Ray hadn’t been to his house. If that was true, where had he gone for so long yesterday?

And why had he lied about it?





CHAPTER SEVEN


SLOAN DROVE BACK HOME IN A DAZE. It was so strange to see Boyd in that wheelchair and know she’d been the one who’d put him there. Sure, he’d attacked her and she’d been defending herself. And she could have killed him, but it didn’t take away the fact that his life had been changed forever because of something she’d done. She wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

He still looked like the same Boyd. Same good looks. Same beautiful blue eyes. Same glare that made her very nervous now. Chills ran up her legs as she thought about the horrible things he’d done to her and how he could have killed her. It could very easily have been her in that wheelchair and not him… or worse. Her face was forever changed because of him, her life… and her head, apparently, because she had the worst headaches now. Hopefully, it was stress. If it wasn’t, she was going to the doctor next week. She couldn’t keep living like this and popping pills, even if they were just the over-the-counter variety, except the two she’d gotten from Darcy on Monday.

Darcy.

She hadn’t seen her much today. It wasn’t a horrible thing actually. Even though they had made up — supposedly — she still didn’t like talking to her much. Sloan assumed the feeling was mutual since she’d accused her of being a stalker because she’d known her locker combination.

Still… it bothered her that she’d known it. Darcy had known her junior year combination. That was plausible since they had been inseparable last year. Not this year. So could she have known?

Strange. Very strange.

Sloan stopped at the four-way stop at the end of Brown Hollow Road. One way led to Harrisburg, where Aaron worked at the aluminum factory. One way led to Nashville, where her mother worked as the manager at a retail store in a mall. And the right led to Chapel Hill, exactly where Sloan wanted to go. The road wasn’t a very popular intersection so she had time to send a text to Mackenzie.

Can you meet me at my house after school?

The reply came quickly. Sloan checked the time on her phone. A little after two. She’d be in paper staff right now. Mr. Wallace didn’t care if they texted. Well, he might care, but he didn’t pay much attention to it.

Sure what’s up? Did you leave?

Something I had to do. Look, we r meeting to talk about the weird stuff going on. 3:30 at my house. Can you be there?

Ok. Talked to Sarah. Have some info myself.

Perfect.

A car beeped behind her, and she threw the phone down in the seat next to her. She hadn’t even noticed it pull up behind her.

Sloan made it home at about two-thirty. She hadn’t driven exceptionally fast, dreading how this meeting would go down. They’d either believe her or they wouldn’t. Not much she could do about it.

When she got home, her mom’s car wasn’t in the driveway. Her mom was never home that early, but she’d been at school for lunch. Sloan figured she’d be home already. She grabbed her phone and sent her mom a text, just to be sure.

So many strange things had gone on, plus the note yesterday said if she told anyone, her mother would pay. Others might not believe her, but she sure did. And she took it very seriously.

Sloan got out and cautiously walked to the front door. The sound of her name made her jump, and a scream caught in her throat.

“Oh goodness, sweetie. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you,” Donna Livingston yelled from her front porch. She had on a teal-and-pink nightgown and matching housecoat. Her salt-and-pepper hair framed her face and she looked tired. “Aren’t you home from school early?”