Behind Your Back by Chelsea M. Cameron
He locks it behind us and everyone sits down.
Dad looks a little better, but he’s still rattled.
“I never thought you were going to remember. That it was too much for you,” he says and I want to interrupt him, but I don’t. I need to hear his entire explanation.
“When I found you, your eyes were totally glazed over. I called your name, but you didn’t answer. I got you home and tucked in your bed, and then took a shower so I wouldn’t be covered in blood when you came back around. By the time I went to check on you, you were asleep. The next morning you acted like nothing had happened. As if the event had been erased from your brain. I asked you leading questions and… nothing. You never said anything. Never asked. I thought you had repressed the memory. I was so angry that you had seen that.” He closes his eyes and takes a breath, as if he needs a moment.
“Over the years, I waited for the memory to come back and then when it didn’t, I thought you were out of the woods. That your brain had protected you from something too awful. Too terrible to be real. I thought it was for the best.”
I can understand where he’s coming from, but I still need answers.
“What were you doing there?” I ask.
He leans on his desk, as if he needs the support.
“I had people watching the house. Watching her. I knew that husband of hers was up to something and sooner or later, she was probably going to be collateral damage. I was trying to protect her that day. But I was too late.” His eyes are wet and red with unshed tears. I look at Sylas beside me and he’s rigid in his chair. His face unmoving.
“I… I thought I could save her but I was too late. It was already done.” He’s looking at Sylas as he speaks.
Sylas breathes in a jerky manner, as if it’s not easy. His hands are shaking and I reach out to hold one of them.
“Is there anything you want to say to me, Sylas?” Dad says.
“No,” he says. “No. I don’t want to hear anything from you. I’m sorry, Saige, I need a moment.” I tell him it’s okay, and he gets up and leaves the room. I let him go, giving him time with his grief.
“This is really fucked up,” I say, but Dad doesn’t reprimand me for cursing.
“Yes. It is.”
We’re both silent for a while.
“Is this the last secret?” I ask.
“Yes. This is the last secret. I promise. And I’ll tell you the details about anything else you want to know. No censoring.” I shake my head.
“I don’t need it. I just want to make sure this is the last secret about me that you’re keeping from me.” I need to hear him say it again.
“Yes. It is the last one.”
“Do you feel better now that you’ve killed him?” I ask. I’ve been wanting to know the answer to this question ever since he got back.
“Yes and no. It doesn’t solve anything, but it was still the right thing to do. For her.” Marina. I wonder what she thinks. If she’s looking down on all of us and watching us make mistake after mistake.
“I know what you did and why you did it. I’m not angry at you for hiding it from me. I just… I just wish I hadn’t hopped in the trunk that day,” I say.
“I know. I wish that too. I wish I hadn’t gotten in my car and driven that day. Seeing her like that… it’s an image I will never get out of my head. When I close my eyes at night and when I wake from nightmares, that’s what I see. If I could take that image from your mind, I would.”
He falls silent and we’re both lost in our thoughts for a few minutes.
“I should go find him,” I say.
Dad gets up from his desk.
“Can I give you a hug?” He’s never asked me that before. It seems strange.
“Yes,” I say and he comes around the desk. I put my arms around his waist, lightly at first and then tighter. I don’t remember the last time he hugged me like this. He kisses the top of my head.
“I’ll eat you up, I love you so,” he whispers and I look up at him.
“What was that?” A small smile lifts his lips and his eyes glitter.
“Marina used to say that. It’s from a children’s book, Where the Wild Things Are.”
“I know,” I say.
I find Sylas in the garden, sitting on the bench swing in the gazebo. He gives me a tight smile as I walk up the steps and sit down next to him.
“I want to ask you if you’re okay, but I know you hate it,” I say. My feet don’t touch the floor of the gazebo, so Sylas rocks us back and forth.
“I’m more okay that I was, I suppose. Just more material for therapy, right?” He turns his head and gives me a wry smile. I’m shocked he’s being calm about it.
“I’m sorry.”
“What are you sorry for?” he asks.
“I don’t know,” I admit. “But I still feel like I should say it.” He slides over and puts his arm around me.
“You have nothing to be sorry for. We’re all victims in this circumstance. I’m sorry you had to see that. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone. I’m sorry your father saw it as well.” I rest my hand on his chest, feeling his steady heartbeat.
“Where do we go from here?” I ask. He puts his hand under my chin and tilts my head up.
“I don’t know. But I know I want to go wherever it is with you. I want to marry you, Saige. Maybe not tomorrow, maybe not next year, but someday. I want to marry you and have children with you and call you my wife.” All of my breath leaves my body.
“I don’t know what to say.” Sylas does not seem like the marriage/children/picket fence kind of guy.
“You don’t have to say anything right now. I’m not asking. Just letting you know it’s coming. I want a life with you.” I want to cry again, but this time it’s happy tears.
“I want a life with you, too. I just never thought I would want this. Want normal things.” He laughs.
“Well, it won’t be normal. It will be our kind of normal. You’ll have skulls on your wedding dress and we’ll have weapons in the closet and we’ll spend our nights fucking in alleys and dancing in restaurants.” I like the sound of all of that.
“Are you sure?” I ask.
“Yes,” he says and then seals his mouth over mine.
Twenty-Seven
No longer crippled by my nightmare, but still having problems dealing with its implications, I take Sylas’ advice and go and see his therapist. She’s middle-aged, mild-mannered and I find myself spilling my guts to her. Well, almost all of my guts. I’m able to keep my illegal activities to myself, but everything else is open.
I come away from my first session feeling light and at peace. I enjoyed it much more than I thought I would.
Sylas moves the rest of his stuff into my place and I decide we need some new furniture items, so we go to a store and pick out a new couch and some more art pieces for the wall. He demands that we frame the drawing I made of his naked back and hang it in our bedroom, over my protestations.
As payback, I call Cash and invite the rest of the guys over for dinner and don’t tell Sylas. He’s been spending his days trying to figure out what he wants to do. He’ll spend some time at the library checking out new books, or on the computer researching college classes and he’s also signed up at the local learning annex for a few classes on different things. I’m so proud of him taking control of his life like this and I can tell he’s happy doing it.
But when he walks into the house and his friends are sitting around my dining table as I dish out slabs of lasagna, the smile fades. His eyes narrow.
“You are in so much trouble, Redhead,” he says and I know it’s the kind of trouble that means I’m going to be very satisfied in bed tonight. He can never seem to stay mad at me for very long. Our relationship is far from perfect, and we’re still working on our trust issues, but we’re getting there.
It takes until dessert before I finally win over Row and Hardy, but the chocolate cream pie I make from scratch finally does it.
“If you
“Fair enough,” I say and Sylas jumps into defend me. The evening devolves into a lot of cursing and male posturing. I just sit back and watch. It’s a good thing I have a big (and sturdy) table and enough chairs for them all.
The night turns out well and we plan another one. Somehow, it turns into a weekly event and soon Lo joins us. It’s awkward introducing the guys and they have to be careful what they talk about when she’s around, but I see Cash watching her and she’s definitely giving him the eye.
I get a text from her about five minutes after she walks out the door begging me to tell her anything I can about him.
“It’s obvious when you think about it,” Sylas says, as if he knew they were going to get together all along. He says he did, but I think he’s a liar.
My relationship with my father is still on shaky ground. It’s going to take time to build it back to where it was. He’s kept his word about having the guys legitimately working for him and it’s turned out better than I think he expected. He’s had two more visits with Lizzy and someday we’re going to tell her that he’s her father. She definitely likes him, but then again, she likes everyone.
Now that I’m not working for Dad anymore, I can concentrate more on school. I decide I want to spend a few weeks abroad in Italy studying and Sylas is fully supportive of it and I want him to come with me.
I still have the nightmare, and now it’s in full color, with all the details intact. But Sylas is there when I wake up and I’m getting better at dealing with it. Therapy helps. Talking helps. I’ve accepted that I’ll probably always deal with this memory, but Sylas has to deal with the same thing and there’s comfort in that.
The two of us have been through so much in a few short months. From conning each other, to pretending to be in love, to actually being in love, to becoming a couple. It’s fast and it’s confusing and it’s so, so right.
I never question whether I belong with Sylas. We were meant to find each other, one way or another. Our path was littered with pain and blood, but somehow we got to the good part. The happy.
“Luck,” he’ll say when we talk about how we got together.
“Fate,” I argue back. It’s something we’ll never agree on, but fighting about it is fun and always ends up with the two of us being naked.
I start looking at apartments and I definitely want one with at least two bedrooms. I would love for Lizzy to come and stay with us overnight since Sylas doesn’t have to protect her like he used to. He’s considering moving her to a facility that’s closer, but she’s settled there, so he’s going to wait and see how she feels about it.
I’m clicking on a new listing when Sylas walks through the door. I minimize the window and get up to give him a hello kiss.
“So, I’ve decided.”
“Decided?” I ask, rubbing my palm along his newly growing beard. I’ve begged him to grow one just to see what it looks like and he’s humoring me, at least for now.
“What I’m going to do with my life.”
“And?” He’s been very cagey about what his interests are and I find it amusing that he doesn’t want to tell me.
He holds up a hand.
“Wait here.” He goes back out the door and comes back, something behind his back. I can see what it is before he shows it to me.
“A guitar?” I ask.
“A guitar. My mother played and I always wanted to. So I’ve been taking classes and it just feels… right.” I’m getting emotional and I bite my lip to stop myself from falling over the edge and losing it.
“Like fate,” I say and he rolls his eyes.
“Like I have a talent and I’m lucky to have it and I should be using it.” I sigh and he goes to the couch and takes out the guitar. He strums a few chords with so much ease, I’m suspicious.
“Are you sure you’ve only been learning for a few weeks?” I ask. He starts to play a little tune I don’t recognize.
“Yes, but I used to watch my mother play and maybe some of that just stuck with me. I don’t know. Anyway, I was wondering what you were doing tonight.” I narrow my eyes, but he just gives me a smile that says he’s got something up his sleeve.
“I don’t know, why don’t you tell me what I’m doing?” I ask with a sweet smile.
“You’re coming to see me play at the coffee house. Our coffee house.” I squeal with glee and throw myself at him, but the guitar is in the way. He puts it aside as I kiss him all over his face.
“I’m so proud of you. So proud. And your mother would be. Is.” He holds my face and raises his eyebrows.
“You think? That she’s watching me? Us?” I nod.
“I have no doubt. She wouldn’t have left you alone in this world. You or Lizzy. She loved you too much.” I don’t need to have known her to know that’s true.
“I think so too.”
Sylas is mesmerizing. There are only about three people (including me) who are actually listening when he starts to play, but soon every head in the coffee shop is turned to watch him and before I know it, the place is packed with people who are just as entranced with him as I am. I have to fight to get close to him when he finishes. He gives me an embarrassed smile, as if he has no idea the effect he has on people. The effect his unbelievable voice has. Ten minutes later he’s booked for the next week and at two other venues.
“It’s fate,” I say. “Fate, fate, fate.” He gathers me in his arms after he puts his guitar in the case. He recently had it painted red and the word “Marina” carved into it. It makes me smile whenever I see it.
“Luck,” he counters. “Luck, luck, luck.” He gives me a kiss each time he says it. I pull back and hold his face so he can’t kiss me again.
“Fate.”
He just shakes his head.
“Whatever you say, Redhead.”
Epilogue
Less than a month later, a former rock star who was trying to get his brand new record label off the ground walks into one of Sylas’ shows and offers to sign him.
He’s hesitant at first, but I tell him I will never have sex with him again if he doesn’t at least consider it.
“Well, we can’t have that,” he says.
We’ve found the perfect apartment and moved into it together, along with Leo, the burned coffee table, my terrible drawings and a few other knickknacks from my old place. It’s the perfect combination of the two of us and I’ve never felt more at home.
I wear my septum ring all the time and still enjoy that my mother flinches every time she sees me with it in. I also colored the bottom part of my hair black and that got me a great reaction as well. Sylas loves it and I love it and that’s all that matters.
Cash, Track, Baz, Hardy and Row have become a huge part of my life. I know that if something breaks, or I have an emergency, any one of them would drop everything to come and help me. They’ve adopted me into their group, as well as Lo. I catch her kissing Cash in my bathroom during one of our “family” dinners.
“Hey, I walked in on you with your pants down, so don’t judge me,” she says before slamming the door in my face. I tell Sylas and he just laughs. As long as they’re both happy, then that’s all that matters.
And I’m happy. I never knew I could feel this way. The good days far outweigh the bad and I can see so many more good days stretched out ahead of us.
Whether it was fate or luck, we’re together in spite of everything. We’re Saige and Sylas and I wouldn’t want to be anyone else, or be with anyone else. There’s no one else who could love me like he does.
My Sylas.
Acknowledgements
I have never been under such a tight deadline as I was with this book. I’m still not sure how it happened, but it did. I owe a HUGE debt of gratitude to my editor, formatter and publicist for working crazy hours on my behalf. I’d also like to thank my author friends (especially Jen Arm
Writing is the best thing I’ve ever done, but sometimes it’s the worst as well. Two sides of the same coin. I’d also like to thank Jay Crownover (again) for suggesting that I write this installment in Saige’s point of view. It was interesting to get inside her head and realize that while she might be a con artist, she’s still a twenty-year-old girl.
I’d also like to thank everyone who was so encouraging for this entire series. The people who messaged me and told me they loved the first book and couldn’t wait for the second, the people who had never read any of my books, but bought this one and loved it, the author who messaged me and told me how much she loved the first book. Thank you all. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
About The Author
Chelsea M. Cameron is a YA/NA and Adult New York Times/USA Today Best Selling author from Maine. Lover of things random and ridiculous, Jane Austen/Charlotte and Emily Bronte Fangirl, red velvet cake enthusiast, obsessive tea drinker, vegetarian, former cheerleader and world's worst video gamer.
When not writing, she enjoys watching infomercials, singing in the car and tweeting. She has a degree in journalism from the University of Maine, Orono that she promptly abandoned to write about the people in her own head. More often than not, these people turn out to be just as weird as she is.
Find Chelsea Online
chelseamcameron.com
Twitter: @chel_c_cam
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P.O. Box 241
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Other Books by Chelsea M. Cameron
Nocturnal (The Noctalis Chronicles, Book One)
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