Ever Lost: Lost Boys of Neverly Prep: Academy Romance

by L. E. Bross

  I didn’t have the heart to tell her they aren’t real.

  But I’ll never forget her smile when I tapped her on the nose and told her she was now Tink, keeper of Neverland.

  I run my finger along the image of her face as tears burn the back of my eyes. So innocent. So...good.

  “I will find you, Belle, I promise.”

  The knot in my stomach tightens violently and I feel sick. I’m here in this fucking mansion with a bed and food and safety while my sister is out there, god only knows where, with who knows who. I almost missed the sticky note that was pressed to the page under Belle’s picture.

  Ever,

  I’ll be back later tonight and we can talk. We can help each other. Please accept my hospitality in the meantime. There are several clothing stores in town. Buy anything you need. Bob my driver is waiting. Hanna will let him know when you’re ready.

  Sincerely,

  PP

  I stare at the neat handwriting. Peter knew I’d come in here, that I’d open the folder. There are so many sides to him that I can’t get a clear read. He’s obviously a grieving husband, but there’s something else. He and the boys should be leaning on each other, not enemy ships passing in the night.

  An old fashioned clock chimes ten times, pulling me from my thoughts. The day is still young, and I really do need something to wear. These dirty clothes are making me itch. Plus the idea of running into the three boys again looking like this bothers me more than it should.

  Reluctantly, I leave the office, careful to shut the door behind me and go back to the kitchen. When I let Hanna know I’m ready, she smiles and picks up the house phone to call for the car.

  How the hell did this become my life?

  “Here you are, Ms. Darlington. Are you sure this is where you want to go?”

  Bob pulls the limo up to the curb of Target and I slide across the seat before he can get out and open the door. When I told him where I wanted to shop, I thought he would argue. He even suggested several boutiques in the city, but I shot him down. If I’m sticking around, I will be comfortable and no way is that happening if I’m wearing designer clothes that cost more than I’d see in a year.

  I’m not falling for the whole Pretty Woman thing.

  The only thing I didn’t have a choice about is the uniform at Neverly. Peter’s assistant stopped by right before I left and I’m now the owner of three uniforms. Plaid skirt and all. Not even fucking kidding.

  Mortification fills me when Bob pulls right up to the door of Target and then gets out to open my door. Curious stares follow me as I get out and I hurry inside. I can't remember the last time I bought something right off the rack and not a dollar deal at the thrift store. As I take in the sights and sounds, I can’t help the giddy feeling in my stomach when I grab a big red cart.

  Okay, so maybe a little Pretty Woman would be okay.

  I spend an hour in the juniors section, loading up my cart with anything that catches my eye. I’m big enough to admit that it feels really damned good not to have to worry about the price tag, even at twenty-four ninety-nine.

  In the shoe section, I kick off my boots and try on several new ones. The pair that lace halfway up my calf are amazing, and I get them in brown and black. I grab a pair of grey and blue tennis shoes because why not, and just as I’m pushing out of the aisle, a pair of black heels catch my eye. They’re higher than anything I’ve ever worn before, but they have leather straps that would wind around my ankles and tie, and they are so sexy that I can’t resist.

  I’ll probably never wear them, but to own something so fancy? Hell yeah.

  In the toiletries aisle, I grab the most expensive shampoo and conditioner, and several platinum highlighting kits. I throw random face washes into the cart, a hairbrush, blow dryer and a sparkly hair clip covered in fake diamonds.

  The makeup section is trickier, and I take a while to look through everything. I’ve never bothered with much before. Sticking to shadows and going out at night negate the need for much. Still, tracing my fingers over the rows of eyeshadows, it’s tempting to get one of everything. Which I end up doing just because I can.

  Eyeliner, mascara—the good kind that doesn’t smudge—lip gloss and liner get tossed into the cart. At the concealer I pause. There are so many colors and weights and they all do something different. I’ll need to hide my scar, but I don't know how. I’ve never bothered to try.

  A knot grows in my stomach.

  I’m going to a fancy prep school. Everyone there will be perfect and beautiful, like the boys I now live with.

  Dread creeps up my spine. I eye my cart filled almost to the brim with stuff. All of this is crazy. It’s not going to change who I am, where I came from. I’m not the kind of girl who can pull off a fucking Cinderella move.

  My hands shake and I look around, catching my panicked reflection in one of the tiny mirrors. The jagged line cutting across my cheek looks even more pronounced now.

  I’m damaged inside and out.

  No amount of makeup will change that.

  Reality crashes into me so hard that I stumble back.

  It’s my fault I have to look for Belle. I should have controlled myself better. My little sister was counting on me to protect her and I let her down. I’m the one who took her and it was my disregard for the law that put her in danger. I brought her to a known gang leader's house. What the fuck was I thinking?

  Tears flood my eyes and run uncontrolled down my cheeks. I ignore the stares all the way to the exit. Hot air rushes into my lungs and makes it even harder to breathe. I stumble to the edge of the parking lot and sink down onto a boulder, pulling Belle’s picture from my pocket. I stole it from Peter’s file. She’s my sister, and that makes the picture of her mine, too.

  My little sister is the only person I will cry over. The only person I love enough to care about. She’s my life and I’ll do whatever it takes to find her. When I hear tires crunch in the gravel behind me, I wipe my eyes and stand. I’m ready to climb back inside the limo.

  I’ve lived on the street, begged for money and food, slept places that I had no business being, and I survived.

  I can take living in a fucking mansion, wearing a plaid skirt, and a few glares from a boy who hated me on sight. It doesn’t matter. The only thing I care about is finding Belle.

  No matter what I have to do.

  The ride home is short and Bob drops me at the front door. I really need to be alone for a while, so I follow a cobblestone path that winds around the side of the house and leads to a huge archway made of sticks. When I step through, I lose my breath. I’ve crossed over into another world. A magical world where hedges shaped like animals prowl the foliage and brilliantly colored flowers dance between them. Brick paths wind leisurely through it all and I get lost in a hedge maze that leads to a three-tiered fountain spilling water gently down the sides.

  There’s a wooden bench to the side, under a tall shade tree and I sit, taking in every detail. A faint floral scent floats in the air, changing with every shift of the breeze. Belle would love this place. Here she could be the fairy she dreamed of. She would call it her very own Neverland.

  I vow that after I find her, I’ll bring her here just once before we leave.

  Hanna isn’t in the kitchen when I pop in to grab an apple, but whatever she’s cooking smells incredible.

  The aroma follows me up the stairs and my mouth waters, already looking forward to dinner. At my door I take a quick glance down the hall to make sure Riot isn’t lurking. All is quiet and the twinge of disappointment surprises me. I don’t want to run into him again. The other two, maybe, they seem less aggressive, but Riot? He wears his anger like battle armor and I’m not ready for that kind of fight.

  I let myself get distracted by the gardens, but I didn’t lose sight of what was waiting for me. It hasn’t even been a whole day that I’ve been here yet and my emotions have run the gamut. Honestly, I’m tired. Exhausted really. And with nothing else to do, I decide to
take advantage of the quiet and sleep. I yawn in anticipation and my jaw cracks.

  Except when I push into my room, I’m suddenly wide awake. There are at least ten bags on the bed and I can tell from the logo they’re from my abandoned shopping trip. I left the cart and walked out. Maybe these aren’t my things. But as I empty each one out onto the bed, it’s clear that they are. Everything I picked out is here, including a smart phone which I didn’t. It’s the kind of phone someone like me could never afford.

  I don’t have anyone to call.

  Maybe when this is over, I will.

  I carry the toiletries and supplies to the bathroom then with nothing better to do, start ripping tags off my new things and organize them before taking them into the huge walk-in closet. Even after I hang up all my new stuff, it’s still three-quarters empty. The four pair of shoes look silly sitting on the floor-to-ceiling shelves. I can’t imagine owning enough shoes to fill this entire space.

  I run my fingers over the wisps of material and the urge to clean up and put on something brand new is too much. I’ve been wearing the clothes I have on for two days now and I desperately need a shower. I grab a pair of purposely ripped jean shorts that are faded and worn looking, a black tank top, a matching bra and panty set, because why not, I’ve never worn one before, and the black boots I’m never giving back.

  I feel like a princess stepping into the bathroom and laugh again that somehow, in this moment, this is my life. There’s a cost and I’m not sure exactly what it is, so I’m not getting too comfortable, but I will take advantage.

  I grab one of the bleach kits and follow the directions, painting over the already dirty blonde ends of my hair, then use my new phone as a timer. At least it’s good for something.

  With twenty minutes to burn, I open and organize all the makeup I got. I had no idea just how much until it is all laid out. The products alone had to cost over five hundred dollars. It’s a sickeningly good feeling seeing all the shiny new things.

  Immediately I feel guilty because my sister might be lying on a thin mattress with dirty sheets and no dinner. Fuck, I hate the not knowing. I think I could deal with the waiting if I knew she was safe.

  My phone chimes so I slip out of my gross clothes and step into the shower that should have its own zip code. It take a few tries to figure out what knob controls which shower head. When I get the biggest one directly over my head going, I move under it.

  It is the single most amazing thing ever.

  I wash with berry-scented bubbles that leave my skin feeling so soft, then scrub shampoo through my hair until all the bleach is rinsed out. Once I lather on a thick layer of conditioner, I shave all the important parts, give everything a final rinse and turn the water off.

  I step out feeling like a new person.

  The towel is so big I wrap it around my body three times. It smells so good and feels like a cloud. I had no idea something could be this soft. It must be a rich person thing, because everything, from the sheets to the skin, is soft when you have money. I try to memorize every single detail, so when this is over, I can think back to the one day that everything was perfect. Even if just for a minute.

  I smooth scented lotion over my skin like I belong in this place, dress in clothes that have tags and not stains. I take care with my makeup, blending until my scar is barely visible. I’m not doing this for anyone but me, at least that’s what I tell my accusing reflection. That it has nothing to do with the three boys who I might run into again. They’ve seen me at my worst, but I want them to know I’m more than just dirt and a scar.

  I’m extra careful with the eye shadow and my blue eyes pop after I line them with chocolate liner.

  There’s no need to dry my hair because it’s so short, but I spray a little product in it and spike up the ends along the front. The platinum color is perfect, much more white than orange now.

  The silver ring in my eyebrow glints in the light. It was a gift from Nate. Before he tried to take it back with a knife.

  I glare at the girl in the mirror and shake it off.

  “We never look back,” I tell her. “All that matters is forward from now on.”

  There’s a basket in the bathroom I throw my dirty clothes and towel into before walking into the bedroom. The carpet feels cushy against my bare feet. Again, so soft. The new black boots I got make my heart beat a little faster and I can’t help but smile as I lace them up. No matter where I end up, they are coming with me.

  Ass kicking boots.

  Just what I need.

  Hanna is still bustling around the kitchen, though her apron is gone now.

  “Ever,” she says with a warm smile. “I just put dinner back in the oven so it should still be warm.”

  I can get it myself but she pulls out a foil-covered plate and carries it to the built-in seating in the alcove.

  “Now you can enjoy the view while you eat.”

  The floor-to-ceiling windows offer a glimpse into the back yard, the pool more specifically. I slide onto a bench and stare out. There’s a huge pile of boulders and a waterfall on one side of a sparkling blue pool, and what I think is a hot tub several steps higher in the middle. Past a white building off to the side, there’s sprawling lawn and more gardens, and past that more trees than I’ve ever seen in my life in one place.

  “Mr. Panchard arrived while you were upstairs. He said to join him in his office when you finished. I only work until four most days, but dinner will always be waiting when you're ready for it. There’s snacks in the pantry, ice cream in the freezer… I can’t think of anything else to tell you. Oh, just put anything you want washed into the basket in the bathroom and I’ll take care of it.”

  She’s almost to the door when she hesitates, then looks over her shoulder. Debate plays out on her face before she makes a choice.

  “They’re good boys, just...a little lost right now.”

  On that cryptic note, she turns and disappears. The house is back to being too quiet and I finish my meal quickly knowing Peter is here and waiting for me. I’m ready to find out how the hell he expects me to help him.

  After rinsing my plate in the sink then tucking it into the dishwasher, I set out for the office. The door is wide open now but I stop at the threshold anyway and knock. Peter looks up from behind his desk, then he does a double take. His gaze moves over my face and down over my body in a way that doesn’t raise an alarm. It’s more curious than lecherous.

  “You look nice, Ever. Shopping went well?”

  I shrug. I’m not about to tell him I ran out of the store, yet somehow everything in my cart ended up on the bed. Plus a few things I didn’t ask for.

  “You said we could talk.”

  “Close the door and come in and sit, please.”

  I move across the room and sink down in the chair opposite him. Peter leans back and steeples his fingers under his chin, looking at me. I’ve always avoided as much direct contact as I can, and with a jagged scar along my cheek, people stay away.

  When you look tough, they make assumptions, and it works fine for me.

  Hidden away under makeup and new clothes is something I’m not used to. The way Peter is studying me makes me feel exposed. I shift in my seat and fight the urge to run upstairs and scrub at my face until the real me is shining through.

  “What do you want me to do?” I ask a little too harshly, self-consciousness bleeding into anger. “You said we could help each other. You already know what I want,” I nod toward the folder he’s holding. I’m sure he’s already put it together. “So what are you looking for?”

  He blanches before pain slashes across his face. His subdued gaze slides to the portrait on the other side of the room. The one I stared at earlier. Wendi.

  “My wife,” he whispers.

  Regret fills in the cracks and I see a broken man before me. He sucks in a breath and I watch him fight to regain control. His eyes close for a moment, by when he opens them, he leans forward and plants his hands on his desk. There i
s a ferocity about him now that makes him seem wilder. A bit unhinged.

  “I want you to break into William Hook’s house and steal a timepiece for me.”

  I wait to see if this is a test.

  Peter slumps back into his chair and stares at me.

  “You’re serious?”

  “One hundred percent. You broke into my facility and got further than anyone else ever has. You’re resourceful. Smart. I need someone who can think outside the box.”

  My mind goes a mile a minute then blanks.

  “I don’t understand. You own one of the best security companies in the world. Don’t you have people or something?”

  “I do. They all stick out. You’ll blend in. No one will even know you were sent. No one would suspect a teenage girl.”

  “So you want me to just stroll up and break into someone’s home?”

  “Something like that.”

  I can’t help but laugh.

  “And I don’t want the boys to know.”

  Okay. “Why not?”

  “The last year has been...” His gaze drifts to the painting. “Hard. They’ve drifted. They’re wild, unpredictable. They won’t like that I’ve brought you in to do this, so that stays between you and me. As far as they know, you're just another foster.”

  Unease crawls over my skin. I’m not sure what’s going on here. There are a hell of a lot of secrets for one simple job. I lean forward and prop my elbows on the desk.

  “What aren’t you telling me?”

  His gaze skirts over mine as he avoids the question. “I have a copy of your transcripts. You were a very good student before you dropped out at the end of your senior year.”

  I snort. Like he needs to know that I avoided going ‘home’ to the foster parents who didn’t want Belle or me there. That I hung out at the library almost every night until they closed with my little sister so she’d be safe. That the only reason I even did my schoolwork was to make sure she did hers.

  Ironically, it lead to really good grades.

  There’s no way I’m telling him a thing.