by E. M. Snow
Gideon walks away from the situation chuckling. The other boy is on the ground, doubled over and cursing his name.
“You didn’t have to hit him,” I say as Gideon motions for me to get inside his car.
He pins me with an annoyed look. “Fine, next time I’ll offer to record the video for him.” After he says that, I thank him for coming to my defense and climb inside the shiny metallic blue BMW that still smells like new car.
But my curiosity burns through me, and all the way to my temporary home, I wonder why he’s doing it. While he doesn’t seem to be as cruel hearted as his brother, I wouldn’t call him nice. Apart from Reina, who’s rarely home, he might be the only potential ally I could gain in the Townsend household. I don’t know what Phoenix has in store for me yet, so I really could use all the help I can get.
I decide to just question him and see what happens when I venture down from my room to the dining room a few hours later.
It hadn’t taken me long to discover that when Phoenix mentioned having a staff, he wasn’t just bragging. Not only do they have maids and groundkeepers, but they also have a professional chef. Because that’s totally normal. She’s a runner-up from a recent season of some popular cooking show, and she makes beautiful dinners—the kind of meals from those swanky restaurants on Rodeo Drive.
Another thing I’ve discovered is that Gideon is pretty much the only member of the household that shows up for said dinners. He told me as much when I asked him where everyone else was last night.
“Reina’s out, Aric’s at football practice, and Phoenix is…”
When he gave a pitiful shrug, I’d grumbled, “Out somewhere channeling his inner Patrick Bateman?”
There was practically no conversation between us after I said that, but tonight, I’m prepared to break through the invisible wall.
“Gideon, can I ask you something?” I have to raise my voice just a bit so that he can hear it at the far end of the table opposite me. He peers up from his plate and gives me an unblinking look.
“What?”
Drumming my fingertips on the table, I contemplate the best way to bring up the topic. Should I go for subtlety, or just ask him point blank?
I settle for being upfront.
“Why are you being nice?”
His brow furrows. “What? What are you talking about?”
“To me,” I clarify. “Why are you being so nice to me?”
He stares at me a moment longer before huffing out a heavy sigh and shaking his head. “Look, the truth is ... I hate this entire situation. I think it’s way too much. Phoenix has gone off the deep end, especially when it comes to you. Keeping you here as collateral is extreme, even for him.”
“I thought it was your father’s idea.” Whom I still haven’t seen. Today is my third day in this house, and I’ve yet to meet either of their parents. “When are your parents supposed to be back from their business trip?”
Somehow, I resist the urge to add air quotes to that last part.
“It was my father’s idea. Phoenix is just executing it.”
Phoenix. Not we, but Phoenix. He also didn’t answer my question about his parents whereabouts, but I’m not at all surprised. For now, I focus on the fact he’s pinning this entire scheme on his dad and older brother. While Reina might not be fully aware of everything that’s going on, Gideon is an entirely different story. The boy on the other end of this table holds every answer to every question I have rolling around in my head.
“But why is he doing this?” I press my advantage, hoping I can get him to spill more. “What did my brother take that has your dad and Phoenix acting this way? Why wouldn’t they just go to the cops?”
“I … I don’t know,” he replies, but I’m certain he’s lying. He’s not all that good at it since his face gives his dishonesty away—his sea blue eyes crinkle at the corners and he zeroes in on the bridge of my nose.
“I mean, you have to know at least something about what’s happening, right?” Maybe if I push him a little more, he’ll crack. He recognized the earrings after all, so he has to know what else Jasper stole. If it’s something so significant to Royce that he’d go to such lengths to get it back, it has to hold meaning to Gideon, too.
He holds firm in his lie, though. Shaking his head, he insists, “Not a clue. It’s hard to know what motivates Dad and Phoenix from one second to the next.”
I regard him for several long moments and try to decide whether to force the issue or let it drop. Gideon may not be a good liar, but I can tell by the stubborn set of his jaw that he’s not budging. Reluctantly, I figure it will be better for me long term to have him on my side. I don’t want to be combative with him now and strengthen his allegiance to his family.
I change the subject, focusing on my own truths. “I hate this situation, too. School is miserable, and I have one best friend who won’t talk to me, and the other’s last day is Friday.” Because of Phoenix, I want to add, but I swallow that part down and keep going. “And then there’s my grandma. That’s … that’s been hard.”
Gideon’s features sink into a deep scowl. “What about your grandma?”
“She’s in a transitional care center. She … she had several seizures this summer and things aren’t looking so good. I was able to visit her whenever I wanted when I was home, but here…” I drag in a deep breath and give a faint shrug. “It takes so long by bus, and the route is just really weird. I won’t be able to see her as much.”
Concern tenses his features. “I’m sorry, Josslyn.”
Hell, that actually sounds genuine.
“It’s fine,” I mumble, instantly uncomfortable with his sympathy. It’s even stranger than when he’s protective. “I mean, she’s getting good care and seems comfortable. I just miss her, you know?”
He stares at me and looks as if he’s thinking hard about something. At last, he pushes to his feet and nods toward the doorway. “Come with me.”
He doesn’t say a word to me as he leads me out of the dining room and down the hall toward the back of the house. We reach a door that I think must lead outside, but when he opens it, we step into a massive garage. I gape in disbelief at the literal fleet of vehicles parked inside. There are all different kinds, ranging from SUVs to sports cars, but they’re all clearly top of the line and expensive as hell.
“Wow,” I murmur.
“You do have a license, right?” When I turn my wide-eyed gaze up to him, he lifts an eyebrow. “In case there’s ever a need.”
He’s giving me permission to use their cars. Holy shit. “Are you serious?” I squeak.
“It’s not like we ever use them all.”
He’s deflecting, trying not to seem like a nice guy, but I see what he’s hiding beneath the indifferent surface he tries to put out to the rest of the world. It’s almost a shock to realize that maybe—just maybe—Gideon Townsend isn’t a bad person.
After we return to the dining room, we have our first substantial conversation. I tell him more about my grandma, as well as my parents, though I’m careful to keep any information I reveal about Jasper to an absolute minimum. In turn, Gideon gives me more insight into Reina and Alaric, though he tries to avoid talking too much about Phoenix.
“Their mom was my dad’s younger sister,” he explains, spearing his steak, which must be cold by now, with his fork. “Their dad was Orion Hartley.”
What is it with rich people and these ridiculous names? I almost say that aloud, but then a realization hits me, nearly causing me to choke on my water. “The singer?”
Gideon confirms with a nod, and my thoughts slip back to the day Alaric showed up at Rainbow Records. He’d found our store online during a search for a mint condition vinyl of Young Decay’s sophomore album. Despite my love of music, I’d never really listened to the band, so he pulled up a video of their MTV Unplugged show.
The band was good. Like a moodier version of The Fray. I’d told Alaric that I thought the lead singer was beautiful, and he’d giv
en me a funny look and said that Orion died last year.
Five minutes later, he dropped 800 dollars cash on the vinyl.
And a few minutes after that, he stumbled back in the store, soaked from head to toe and claiming I was stuck with him a while longer because he rode his bike. It wasn’t until after the storm ended and he was roaring off, leaving me with kiss-swollen lips and a racing heart, that I realized he gave me the wrong phone number.
Hauling myself back to the present, I twist my lips. “How’d they die?”
“Car crash.”
“I-I’m sorry.”
Gideon tilts his head, giving my chest a swift jolt because he looks so much like his brother right now. Cold. “I barely even knew them,” is his reply.
The chill in his voice catches me off guard, and it takes me several beats to recover, but when I do—when I whisper that his father must have been heartbroken—a shield slips down over his features. “Maybe.”
I clear my throat. “Gideon, when are your parents coming back?” If I keep asking, at some point they’ll have to answer me.
“Soon, I hope, because Phoenix … well, you see how he is.”
Arrogant? Cruel? Confusing?
Even though I want to say all those things, I focus on my plate.
Still, I’m replaying my conversation with Gideon much later as I lay in bed. It’s close to midnight, and I should be sleeping, but I can’t turn my brain off. Throwing the covers off, I slip out of bed, grab my phone, and pad across the room to the door. I peek out into the hallway, and I’m met with total silence. It doesn’t look like anyone’s out right now, which is perfect because I don’t really feel like talking to anyone.
As quickly and quietly as I can, I make my way downstairs to the kitchen. Some hot chocolate and a few of the chocolate chip cookies the chef, Eliza, had made might be enough to relax me so I can sleep. The light’s already on in the kitchen, but it’s probably just Eliza prepping for tomorrow. I continue on, bringing up my unanswered texts from Jasper and shooting him off one more before I cross the threshold.
“Hey, Eliza,” I say casually before dragging my gaze up from my phone screen.
I freeze in my tracks when I see who’s actually in the kitchen.
It’s not Eliza but Alaric.
It’s shirtless Alaric.
Sexy, shirtless Alaric.
He’s leaning against the giant marble island closest to the fridge and wearing low slung gray sweatpants and nothing else. His dirty blond hair is in a man bun that looks surprisingly non-douchey on him. The rock hard muscles of his torso flex when he moves slightly, and for a moment, my stupid brain goes out of commission, and I forget he’s a shithead. Instead, all I can think about was how good his lips felt against mine when we were pressed together a few months ago.
Glancing my way, he cocks his head and grins. “If it isn’t the guest of honor. What are you doing down here?”
His words snap my out of my trance enough that I can form an intelligent response. “Can’t sleep.”
He shrugs and shows me the half-eaten cookie in his hand. “Same.”
That’s when I notice he has the whole plate of cookies resting next to him on the island, and I tentatively move forward. He pushes the plate toward me.
As I grab a cookie, there’s a sudden dinging noise that makes me jump. Alaric chuckles as he moves toward the microwave and pulls out a steaming plate of the leftovers we had for dinner. “Christ, you’re wound up tighter than a virgin’s asshole, aren’t you?”
Pulling myself together, I narrow my eyes at him. “Well given my current predicament, can you really blame me?”
His shoulders are shaking with silent laughter as he brings his plate back over to the island. “Not really, no. Still, chill the fuck out.”
I roll my eyes. “Easy for you to say.”
We chat a bit more, mostly about school. He eats his steak, and I make a cup of hot chocolate and eat a few more cookies. It feels oddly normal. After a while I’m not even that affected by his hotness.
Still, Alaric is a mystery to me. He’s not like Gideon. In fact, he’s probably the exact opposite. I rarely see him because he’s always at football practice, or at least that’s what Gideon’s told me. When I do see Alaric, he appears totally indifferent to me or anything else around him. I can’t get a read on him or what he might want. Is he absolutely loyal to Phoenix, or does he share some of his sister’s disdain for his family?
As he’s finishing up his meal, I blurt a question that’s been burning in me ever since I got dragged into this insane situation. “Have you told Phoenix about us?”
He pauses as he goes to put his dishes in the dishwasher but then casually replies, “About us? What’s there to tell about us?”
He’s playing dumb, something everyone in this household aside from Reina seems to excel at, and I release a sigh of frustration.
“Never mind,” I grumble.
He saunters past me to leave the kitchen, but he stops at the threshold. “Don’t tell Phoenix that thing you told me,” he says, a note of warning in his tone.
I glance toward him with a scowl. “What are you talking about?”
He turns his face slightly, giving me a view of his profile. “You know exactly what I’m talking about.”
My eyes widen as realization dawns on me. “Is ... is that why you gave me a fake number? Because of what I said?”
“Just keep it to yourself, all right?”
Before I can respond, he disappears out the door. I slump back against the kitchen island, even more confused than before.
I know exactly what he’s talking about. The reason I told him to stop. I don’t understand why he would tell me not to let Phoenix find out about it, though? Why would I ever tell him in the first place?
Why on earth would Phoenix Townsend give a fuck that I’m a virgin?
15
I’m so thankful this clusterfuck of a week is over.
I share a solemn final lunch with Gia, promising her that I’ll be all right, but this has admittedly been the shittiest week of school I’ve ever experienced. The only bright spot is that, thanks to Gideon, I get to visit my grandma and go to work in my old neighborhood tonight.
After Gideon and I get home from school, I borrow the least ostentatious car I can find in the Townsends’ garage—the Mercedes SUV—and drive myself to La Costa Community. I park as far away as humanly possible so that nobody notices me with a car that probably costs more than my grandmother’s house. Visiting her is both soothing and heartbreaking. There’s no change. There hasn’t been a change in weeks, and some hopeless, frantic emotion swirls in the pit of my stomach while I sit beside her, holding her hand.
Still, I bask in her presence, soaking in as much of her as I can while I still have her around.
After I leave her, I drive to the music store, which isn’t too far away. Again, I park far away so nobody spots me, especially my boss. The familiar jingle of the front door’s bell is like a balm on my soul, and I breathe in the somewhat mildewy smell of the old store. This place is as much home to me as my grandma’s. I’m truly able to be myself here, and I’m surrounded by my greatest love: music.
My mom used to bring me here when I was a kid, whenever we visited Nina, so the store means a lot to me. Mom was a musician—“A terrible one,” she would always joke—but her dark brown eyes always lit up every single time she stepped in this store.
“There’s my favorite girl!” my boss’s voice snaps me from my thoughts, and when I realize I’m playing with my bracelet again, I drop my hands to my sides. “How’s it going, Joss?”
I glance away from the rows of shelves to find the store owner, Rick Parker, standing behind the front counter. He’s a middle-aged hippy with long, graying hair he sometimes wears in a thick braid. Today he’s letting it flow loose around his shoulders.
“Hey, Mr. Parker, I’m good,” I say as I shuffle toward him.
He flashes me a big, gap-toothed grin. “I�
�ve told you how many times to call me Rick?” My refusal to be informal with him has become somewhat of a joke between us. Even Mom had called him Mr. Parker.
“I’m trying, I’m trying,” I say.
He rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “You’re lucky I like you. Well, I imagine it’ll be a slow night, so I’m going to do some inventory in the back. I bought a collection of old vinyls off an estate auction, and I want to see what might be worth something. You hold down the fort up here?”
I nod. “Sure thing.”
As he disappears to the back room, I take my place behind the counter. My usual duties involve dusting and making sure the shelves are organized, but Mr. Parker is so meticulous, it usually takes me fifteen minutes to get through the whole display area. Despite looking and sounding like an old hippie, he’s actually a rather savvy businessman who runs a tight ship of a store.
Once I make my way around and double check that everything is spotless, I return to the counter and dig out some homework. As time goes by, I help the occasional customer who wanders in, but Mr. Parker was right in thinking it would be a slow night. I’m just about finished with my Gov assignment when the bell over the front door chimes again.
“Welcome to Rainbow Records,” I call out over the sound of 311’s “Beautiful Disaster” without glancing up right away. “How can I help you tonight?” I tear my eyes from my schoolwork just as I finish my question, and the last words fade on my tongue.
Phoenix is standing in front of the counter, looking like the devil himself in designer jeans and a black T-shirt that hugs his perfect physique in all the right places. He’s peering down his nose at me, menace rolling off him in waves that damn near overpowers me. “Where the fuck have you been?” he snarls.
“Wh-what are you talking about?” I stammer.
He slams his palms on the glass countertop and bends toward me until our noses brush. “I recall making it very clear that you weren’t to leave the house without my permission and someone to keep an eye on your lying ass. Yet here I find you. In some shithole all by yourself, after stealing my car to get you here.”