by T. L. Martin
I trudge toward my bedroom in a daze, feet weighed down by bricks. The outline of something small and hard pulls my attention to the jeans in my grip, and I check the back pocket. My shard of opal. Easton put it in my pocket. I swallow, my pulse quickening. Bridget’s scolding returns to my ears the same moment I reach my door.
“You knew the deal. You’ve brought this on yourself.”
Easton’s voice is quiet when he speaks, and I know it’s for my sake. “I know. I fucked up, okay? But this isn’t Eva’s fault. You can’t punish her for something I pursued.”
I rest my head on my closed door. Stupid tears. Stupid Easton. He’s even honorable when he lies.
“Mom . . . just . . . think about what you’re doing. Please.” He pauses, a sigh filters through the hall, and I can picture him running both hands through his messy bedhead. “Eva didn’t know about our agreement. She had no clue what the consequences would be.”
Agreement? My brows furrow, and I wipe my cheek with my palm. What agreement?
“Good. It shouldn’t take knowing the consequences for someone to behave with a moral compass.”
“Are you fucking kidding me right now? A moral compass?” Those two words are all it takes for him to snap. Anger punctuates each syllable with a rough, bitter edge, but it’s not enough to mask the heartache. “A moral compass should include staying sober, being a parent, and not sleeping around while you’re married. What are the consequences of that? Wait, I know this one: a bastard kid, a permanently high mom, and a husband who can’t stand being in his own house. Do you even know who my real father is?”
Silence.
It permeates the house, thick and heavy on my chest. I wonder how long Easton’s been burning to ask that question.
“Of course, I do.” Bridget’s tone wavers, decisive to uncertain, then back again. “But you—you’re trying to change the subject—”
“You steered us here just fine on your own.”
“Easton. I won’t pretend we don’t have things to discuss on that matter—”
“Wow.”
“But now is not the time. Eva will have one last day at Caspian Prep to say goodbye to her friends, assuming she has any. By tonight, she will be on a plane to California.”
California? My breath catches in my throat, panic freezing my veins. That’s on the opposite side of the country. Away from Easton. Away from Alejandro. I will truly have no one.
Numbness sets in, cold and distant, but I manage to force myself to turn the knob, opening my door. I don’t enter yet though.
“Mom. Listen to what I’m saying.” The rough plea beneath his demand bleeds through. “You aren’t sending her there. I won’t just stand by and watch.”
“For heaven’s sake. She will be fine. It’s Newport Beach, not North Korea.”
His door closes quietly, and I know he’s the one who shut it. Always trying to protect me.
Still, his muffled growl seeps through the barrier. “With Uncle Perry, it may as well be. He’s a fucking creep.”
They continue back and forth, but Bridget’s responses are underwater, drowning alongside Easton’s heated, relentless pleas.
So Uncle Perry is a creep.
I know his type well.
A sliver of awareness skates over me, trying to break through the numbness, but I block it out.
It doesn’t matter anyway. I’ve gotten too comfortable here, in a stranger’s house. That comfort is what has possibly led him right back to me.
I should never have forgotten who I am.
I have no home.
And I have no mother who can tell me what to do.
She can send me to the airport, but the second I set foot on pavement, I’ll be on the run again.
Lost.
Lost.
Lost.
Just as I’m meant to be.
Easton
Me: Are you home?
Whitney: Yes . . .
Me: Stay there. I’m giving you a ride to school today.
Whitney: Umm, okay?
I almost forget to grab my backpack before I exit my bedroom. My shoulders tense when I spot my mom in Eva’s room—arms crossed, quietly watching Eva pack as though she’s a fucking delinquent who can’t be trusted. My mom’s gaze slides to mine, and I spot the cell phone in her hand. Eva’s phone. I grit my teeth, meeting her stare. She’s not only making sure Eva isn’t up to anything. She’s ensuring I can’t intervene. Resentment twists inside me.
Guess my mom does know me somewhat after all. But not well enough if she thinks her presence is all it will take to get me to stop Eva from getting on that plane.
Eva’s back is to me, her movements passive as she drops a folded tank into a suitcase at her feet. The sight fills me with unease.
Where’s her resistance?
Where’s her fire?
Three years ago, I promised her she’d be okay. I promised she’d be safe. Last night, I made that promise again.
There’s no way in hell I’m breaking it.
I tear my gaze away and head down the stairs with tension tightening my shoulders. My grip is unsteady on the orange juice carton while I fill a tall glass. I leave it on the island, hoping she’ll see it. There’s no way to speak to her right now, and my mom would throw away any notes I left out, so I have to hope this gesture delivers the message I can’t.
I’m not letting her go.
I’m never letting her go.
Tossing my backpack onto the back seat of my Audi, I slip into the driver’s seat and start the engine. At least Eva’s flight isn’t until tonight. I’ll see her at school. We can talk then and figure something out, even if it means finding her someplace else to stay for a little while. Blowing out a breath, I hightail it to Whitney’s. She lives only a few minutes from my house, but the pressure in my head verges on fucking unbearable as my questions and fury continue to mount.
Whitney’s red hair and yellow dress are like a neon sign as she waits in front of her house in an oversized pair of sunglasses. I pull up to the curb, and she lets herself in on the passenger side.
When she glances my way, she frowns, lifts her sunglasses up, and takes in my expression. “What dead animal crawled up your butt this morning?”
I don’t respond.
She sighs, “Whatever,” before she buckles up.
My knuckles whiten around the steering wheel as I drive. I expected to start shooting out questions as soon as I got the chance, but to see her in person, so fucking nonchalant, it transforms my rage into something explosive and alive. It’s impossible to speak.
We’re almost to school when she breaks the silence.
“Anyway.” She clears her throat, looks out the window. “Way to show up out of the blue. You have been super evasive lately, ignoring most of my texts and all. You know what seeing my mom does to me. I can’t drive myself home from the hospital when I get like that.”
She shifts so she’s facing me. I don’t look at her. It’s irritating enough I can still see her out of the corner of my eye.
“I’ve had to use my old driver every night since the anniversary party. Remember Richard? He’s well, in case you’re wondering, Mr. Chatterbox.”
My jaw tightens as I pull into the school parking lot. The campus buzzes with students and teachers, cars and bikes, and the chaotic commotion only sets me more on edge. I need quiet. I need her full attention. I need answers. I keep driving.
“Okay, weirdo. You can drop me off here, thank you.”
I ignore her and park in an empty corner of the lot. A few teachers’ cars are parked here, but it’s quiet. I put the car in park and unbuckle my seat belt, finally turning to face Whitney.
She looks at me. Then out the window. Then back at me. “What?”
“What’d you do, Whitney?”
Understanding flashes in her eyes. She chews her lip, glances away, and the obvious guilt is enough to spike my anger ten notches higher.
I knew it was likely, based on what Eva s
aid, and still, I can’t believe it.
“What do you mean?” She lifts her hand to examine her nails. “I’ve done countless things today. Curled my hair, updated my Insta—”
“Do you have any fucking idea how serious what you did is? How much worse things could have been for her?”
Whitney’s lips thin, and steam may as well be shooting from her ears. Just like that, her innocence washes away, replaced by freckled cheeks reddened in anger. “What is up with everyone’s obsession with her? She is a horrible person! Horrible.”
“Because she’s different from you?”
“Because she sucked my dad’s dick!”
My head jerks back. “What the fuck did you just say?”
“It was her, Easton. The girl I saw leaning over my dad when I was fourteen? She’s a year younger than me. Do you realize what that means? She was thirteen.” She shudders. “And filthy. I don’t even know what possessed him to sneak away in the middle of the night when he was supposed to be taking care of my bedridden mom. Of course, I had to follow him, but I never in a million freaking years would have guessed he was going to The Pitts.”
I rub the side of my neck, pull at the collar of my T-shirt. Thirteen years old. She was the same age when she would slip behind my house. Starving, tired, hurting. An ache creeps up my chest as I realize what she had to do to survive, and the feeling is quickly chased by a violent, sickening heat wave. She was thirteen. Taken advantage of by a man old enough to be her father. And somehow she’s in the wrong here?
“I recognized her the instant she set foot in our school. I wanted to claw her eyes out, but then I found out she was adopted into your family. I have been beyond nice, considering, and don’t get me started on that stupid Daddy Fucker poem. I didn’t even write that. It was a moment of weakness when I confided in Carter at Elijah’s one night.” She pushes a curl over her shoulder and straightens her posture. “As if I would ever publicize what happened, let alone misspell yours.”
Contempt drips from my voice. “So you waited three years, then decided to slip her a date rape drug?”
“I—what?” Her jaw drops. She looks away. Shakes her head. “No. I . . . I mean, I wondered . . . before he left—”
“Who?”
“What?” Still lost in her thoughts, confusion clouds her gaze, and I want to fucking shake her.
“You said he. Who are you talking about?”
She swallows and presses her lips together. “Okay. There’s a man. He’s been trying to reach her.”
My chest pounds as Eva’s words slip into my head.
A man. He wants me back.
“What man?” I push the question through my locked jaw.
“I met him at the anniversary party. Older guy, but nice-looking. Clean, handsome. Even if his suit was beyond pretentious.” She stares at me seriously. “Easton, he’s friends with her father. Like, her actual dad. By birth.”
My eyes narrow, and I wrack my brain. It doesn’t take long to recall the weird dude in a floral brocade suit. The sweat on his forehead and icy grip when we shook. Paul.
“How do you know he’s who he says? You just took his word for it?”
“Of course not. He had pictures in his wallet. So many pictures—of Eva, of her dad, even her mom. The resemblance was so obvious; she looks just like her mom.”
Mom.
Dad.
My fingers rap on my jeans, as quick and erratic as my pulse. Eva doesn’t have family. She didn’t even have a birth certificate. It’s how my mom was able to adopt her so easily when no one came forward. So how would that man have pictures?
“What did he want?” I ask, knee starting to bounce.
“This is the good part. He wants to reunite her with her dad. See? Maybe it’s a tad self-serving of me to want to get her out of my sight once and for all, but can you blame me when the end result is for a good cause? I filled him in on her life now, but he already seemed to know most of it.” She shrugs.
I shake my head, slide my teeth across my lower lip. “Why would he say all this to you? Why didn’t he go straight to Eva himself?”
“Oh, but he tried. He said she won’t give him a chance to explain. She won’t even answer his calls or texts. He said he needed a little help so he could get her back home where she belongs. Which”—she swallows—“I guess brings us to yesterday.”
I wait not so patiently for her to explain. Something about this whole thing doesn’t add up.
“So, you know how I participate in SAT prep classes sometimes before school starts? Well, he was waiting in his car here again yesterday morning.”
“Again?”
She smooths her dress, looking down at the movement. “Yes. He came once before to try and talk some sense into her. I thought it was very smart of him. Anyway, he said he needed help to get a letter to her and showed me an envelope. He said the letter would explain everything and finally convince her to come back home. I figured, easy, right? I’ll hand it to her in class or, better yet, slip it into her locker so I don’t risk the chance of catching anything from direct contact.”
Gritting my teeth at that jab, I ask, “How do you know her locker combination?”
“Um, hello? ‘Keep your friends close and your enemies closer’ ring a bell? Anyway, for whatever reason, he wasn’t comfortable with that. He said this letter was his last chance to bring her home, and he didn’t want to risk it not getting to her, so he asked if he could put it in her locker himself just to ensure she would get it.” She rolls her eyes. “Whatever. That was fine and all, but the SAT prep class was starting, and there was no way I was risking losing my spot for Eva, no matter how noble the cause.” She lifts a shoulder. “So I gave him her combo.”
Pressing my fingers to the bridge of my nose, I squeeze and shut my eyes. “Of course, you did.”
She shifts in her seat, chewing the inside of her cheek. “The thing is . . . once I got to the class, I realized I left my stupid book in my locker, so I had to go back anyway.”
I open my eyes to look at her, but she’s more hesitant than ever. “Get to the point, Whit,” I growl, struggling not to lose my shit.
“Okay. It’s just—when I walked up, I thought I saw him putting her water bottle back into her locker.”
“You, what?”
“Don’t look at me like that! He wasn’t holding the envelope anymore, so I figured he must have slipped it under the water bottle or something? So he was just putting it back?” She shuts her eyes briefly and exhales. “But then, at the end of the day, when Eva was at her locker, I looked inside and didn’t see an envelope, Easton. There were books, a hundred of those cheap hair ties she wears, and her water bottle.”
My throat burns with acid.
Whitney swallows, glances out the window, and when she looks back at me, her green eyes are watery. “Easton,” she whispers. “I swear, I didn’t know. I thought it was weird, but you have to believe me. You have to.” Her voice breaks. “Until you mentioned drugs just now, I had no idea. I—I mean, I kind of wondered what he did, but I’ve never actually seen anyone do that except for in the movies.”
“Jesus, Whitney.” I sigh and rub my palm down my face. I believe her. Whitney might be catty, but she’s not evil. Just naïve. Even though I’m pissed she’d blame Eva for what happened with her dad, I get that Whitney’s in pain too.
Fuck. My stomach wrenches at the thought of what might have happened to Eva if I hadn’t shown up when I did yesterday.
Who the fuck is this guy? How the hell does he have photos of Eva and her biological family? Clearly, the idea he only wants to reunite them is just a cover for why he drugged her.
Even if I manage to stop my mom from sending Eva across the country, how do I keep her safe from someone as sick as him? Eyes narrowing, I recall what I found tucked into the waistband of Eva’s jeans when I removed them. Broken glass—spattered with faded red stains. I thought it was strange when I saw it, but now . . . now, I wonder if there’s more to that l
ittle shard than I could possibly understand.
“Shit.” I rub the back of my neck and start the car, anger and apprehension shaking the keys in my grip.
“What are we doing now?” Whitney asks.
“You’re going to school,” I answer, pulling out of the parking spot. “I’m going to find Eva.” And call the cops, but I keep that part to myself so I won’t alarm her. I don’t have enough information, let alone evidence, but the signs are all here, and if he was on school grounds, there’s gotta at least be a record of him on camera.
Whitney nods, her focus geared toward the school, but I can see panic in the way she squeezes the hem of her dress.
Pulling in front of the entrance, I hit the brakes and glance at Whitney. “Hey.”
She looks at me, her eyes wide.
“I’ll find her, okay? It’s gonna be all right.” My voice is raw with determination and hope. “She’s going to be okay.” She has to be. The steadfast look on my mom’s face before I left the house flashes in my mind, and when realization seeps in, my jaw twitches. “I’m starting to get the feeling she won’t be coming to school today, but will you text me if you see her?”
“Yeah. Of course. Easton . . .” Whitney sniffs. “I just wanted her gone.” The words are quiet. “Not—not—ugh. Oh, gosh.” She covers her mouth, her pale skin turning a shade lighter. “Do you really think . . . Was he going to . . .”
She can’t bring herself to say it.
Neither can I, but we both know the answer.
Eva
I zip the flashy suitcase shut. Bridget, still staring at me, watched with crossed arms and disapproving eyes the entire time I packed the travel set, otherwise I wouldn’t have bothered. A minute on the street with an Armani logo on my bag, and I’ll be robbed blind.
Rising to my feet, I pull my hair into a ponytail and move past Bridget.