by Callie Rose
That little corner of the sweeping mansion was ours, and although the rest of the place might be big and cold and filled with some seriously weird vibes from the house’s other occupants, our out-of-the-way nook felt cozy.
But without my mom here, it just feels empty.
By the time I reach the mansion, there’s no sign of Lincoln or his car. I walk around to the service entrance, anxious to avoid running into anyone else before I can slip into my room and lock the door.
I don’t quite know how to exist in this space anymore. I tried to do some cleaning on Monday, since Mom wasn’t here to do any of it and I was crawling out of my skin with worry anyway. But Mr. Black found me dusting in the great room and told me to stop, saying he didn’t feel right having me work with everything that was going on.
Which I appreciate, except—I don’t know what to do. My mom and I were brought to live here so she could be their housekeeper and I could be her assistant. And since neither of those things are true anymore, I don’t quite know what I’m doing here.
It makes me wonder how long it’ll take before the other shoe drops.
Mr. Black was quick to step up and offer to let me stay with them, but my mom is facing murder charges, for fuck’s sake. That’s not something that’s gonna get resolved in a week or two. Her lawyer said she probably won’t even go to trial for several months.
Are Samuel and Audrey Black really going to let me stay here rent-free all that time?
In my limited experience with rich people, they get overexcited about their pet causes sometimes and make big, sweeping gestures because they like being the hero. But their attention spans aren’t great, and once the thrill of playing savior wears off, they move on to the next thing.
How long will it be before Mr. Black gets tired of supporting his maid’s teenage daughter? Especially as word spreads among his circle of friends about exactly why Mom was arrested.
He’s been weirdly invested in this whole thing—standing up for my mom to Detective Dunagan, helping her find a lawyer, offering me a place to stay. Maybe it’s because the detective made the arrest at Samuel’s house, at his cocktail party. Maybe in some weird way, he’s standing up for his honor and reputation as well as my mom’s.
Whatever the fuck his reasons are though… I appreciate the help, but I know better than to rely on it.
I slip inside the service entrance and walk up to the second floor. When I step through the door in the northwest corner of the house where the hallways that lead to my room and to my mom’s apartment intersect, I see Lincoln leaning against the wall just past my bedroom door.
His arms are crossed, and his too-handsome face is set in a grim mask, his amber eyes bright in the dim light.
For fuck’s sake.
My muscles clench involuntarily as I brace for another confrontation, but he just nods once and presses away from the wall, retreating down the corridor before turning a corner toward his room.
What the hell was that about?
Does he think I’m going to make a run for it? Was he just waiting to make sure I actually came inside the house instead of running for the hills?
I know he’s been watching me—at least, when he’s not at school—but he’s usually more subtle about it than this.
His spicy coriander scent still seems to linger on my clothes, and as I slip inside the bedroom, my skin still tingles from the heat of his hands on my arms.
I’ll have to shower before bed tonight. I don’t want his addicting aroma clinging to me, reminding me of something I thought I had.
Something that was never real.
3
The water cascading over my skin is hot, almost painfully so, and I scrub hard with my loofah, massaging the pomegranate body wash into my skin as if I can erase Lincoln and replace him with a gentle fruity scent.
My skin is pink by the time I turn the handle and step out of the shower, but I feel refreshed. Honestly, it wasn’t just Lincoln’s touch I was trying to scrub away, but the stale air of the prison too, the feeling of failure that clings to me all the time now.
I tug on a pair of flannel pajama bottoms and a tank top, even though it’s not even five o’clock yet. The Black family will have dinner downstairs—served by Gwen, who cooks pretty much all the meals around here—but I don’t plan on leaving this corner of the house for the rest of the evening.
There’s still food in Mom’s little kitchen, so I’ll go over there to grab a bite later. I don’t like spending more time in her apartment than I have to though, because it just reminds me all over again that she’s gone—that she was dragged away unexpectedly.
The police searched her place the same night they arrested her, tearing through her apartment and dumping clothes, books, and couch cushions on the floor while I watched from the doorway, clinging to the frame to stay upright.
Once they finally left, I put everything back as close to the way it was as possible, but it still doesn’t feel right. There’s something off, like a puzzle that’s been put together out of order.
I hate it.
Before I can grab my book and settle on the bed, the doorbell chimes.
My heart slams in my chest, and I move closer to the bedroom door as if drawn by a magnetic force. I don’t know who it is, but the Black family doesn’t get a lot of unexpected visitors. If someone’s at the house now, there’s a good chance it has to do with my mom.
I slip into the hall, padding on bare feet toward the second level balcony that overlooks the grand foyer on three sides. I reach it just as Samuel Black opens the door, and I watch him greet Detective Dunagan with cool civility.
“Detective. What can I do for you this evening?”
He doesn’t open the door wider, and I notice he also doesn’t invite the man in.
“Sorry to bother you again, Mr. Black,” Dunagan says curtly. “I just have a few more questions for you, if you don’t mind.”
Lincoln’s dad shakes his head, irritation clear in his posture even from where I’m standing. “I already answered your questions. I’ve gone along with this sham of an arrest and allowed you to execute your search warrants on my property. I don’t really—”
“Just a few questions, sir. It won’t take much time at all, I promise you.”
“It’s not my time I’m worried about,” the dark-haired man growls, but he sighs and ushers the detective down the stairs of the front stoop, stepping out after him.
Before they go, Dunagan’s gaze flashes upward, landing unerringly on me. I’m so startled that I move back quickly, bumping into the wall and almost taking down a painting that’s hung right behind me.
The detective’s eyes narrow, and he gives me an assessing look that seems tinged with something else too. Pity?
Fuck. I don’t want his sympathy. Especially because it probably means he knows something I don’t.
I don’t know what the police were looking for when they searched Mom’s apartment or her car, but whatever they found in the car was considered important enough to seize the vehicle as evidence. I don’t understand how that’s possible though. If she’s innocent, why is it taking so long to prove that? Why does the detective keep sniffing around her life like a bloodhound on the scent? Like he’s certain that if he keeps poking at things, the ugly truth will pop up like the dead rising from the grave.
All of this might—might—make me question for a second whether everything I thought I knew about my mom was a lie, if I hadn’t seen with my own two eyes the man who did this. And it was a man, I’m sure of that. Even in a black ski mask and dark clothes, the figure was obviously tall and somewhat broad-shouldered. My mom is only slightly taller than me.
The detective’s gaze never leaves me, even as Mr. Black steps outside to join him at the top of the stairs. My mouth opens like I’m about to blurt something out, but before I can say anything, the door closes behind the two men.
I clamp my jaw shut, exhaling sharply through my nostrils. Goddammit. What the hell was I gonna sa
y anyway? I already blabbed everything I know the night he took my mom, and he didn’t believe a word I said.
Who the hell knows what he’s asking Mr. Black? And who the hell knows what Linc’s dad is telling him?
My gut twists around and around itself as I stand with my hands on the balcony railing, staring down at the door.
They arrested my mom based on a “credible tip”, and after searching her car and her apartment, they still haven’t let her go. That means they have something on her—something connecting her to Iris’s murder.
Even though they shouldn’t.
Even though no such thing should exist.
I’m up early on Thursday, and I shower again and throw on a soft green sweater and jeans before grabbing my backpack and heading downstairs.
As far as Lincoln knows, I’m not planning on going to school today, but I still want to minimize my odds of running into him by leaving before he does. And besides, I need to get an earlier start than usual since the bus takes more than twice as long as driving.
My textbooks sit like lead weights in my bag, and I know I’m going to be painfully behind in all my classes. Not only have I not gone to school since last Friday, but I haven’t even done the homework that was due on Monday. And knowing the teachers at Linwood Academy, there’ll be several more assignments that I’ve missed while I was gone too. I’ll have to do some serious begging to get extensions on any of it.
I wonder if any of them have ever heard this excuse before. Not “my dog ate my homework”, but “my mom was arrested on murder charges”.
Tugging out my history book, I try to make the long bus ride productive by reading ahead a little, catching up to where I’m guessing the rest of the class is. I’m a little motion sick when I finally get dropped off on Newfield Avenue and start walking toward campus. Then again, I’ve felt nauseated off and on for the past several days, so maybe it’s got nothing to do with reading on the bus.
I join the stream of students walking toward the front doors of the school, trying to take comfort in how normal it all feels. The bus didn’t take quite as long as I thought it would, so I’ve got twenty minutes before first period starts.
Heading toward my locker, I flip my backpack around to dig for a couple of books. But before I can pull them out, a loud shriek cuts over the soft din of conversation in the hallway. My footsteps skid to a halt, and I glance up to see Savannah staring at me from several yards down the corridor. Trent is leaning against a locker near her, and she’s got an entourage of younger cheerleaders around her. They’re all looking at her with wide eyes, awe and fear on their faces. Her focus is solely on me though, and an ugly snarl curves her lips.
“I fucking knew it!”
She forms words instead of an unintelligible screech this time, but her voice is still harsh and high pitched, barely human sounding.
“You think you can show your face around here, Pool Girl? Just go to class like everything’s fine? Like it’s all okay?” Her long red hair is down, and I swear I can see the strands vibrating with her rage.
Ah, fuck.
I’ve been so focused on my mom, and on doing this for her, that I honestly forgot to even consider what other people’s reactions would be to me coming back to Linwood.
And of course Savannah is pissed about it. She never liked me even when Iris was alive—but after the blonde cheerleader died and her on-again, off-again friend decided I had something to do with it, she cranked the knob all the way up to hate.
My stomach still feels like a cement mixer, and my head hurts, and I don’t really want to get into this shit with Savannah before eight a.m. So I shake my head tiredly.
“I’m still enrolled here. That means I can still go to school here. If Mr. Osterhaut wants to do something about my unexcused absences, that’s between me and him. It doesn’t really concern you.”
She lets out a loud, disbelieving laugh, stepping out of the circle of her riveted posse. Trent straightens, pushing away from the bank of lockers.
“You think anyone cares about absences?” she shrieks. “You’re not welcome here because your mom is a fucking murderer!”
Oh, hell no.
I had to stand by and watch as Fox Hill police officers arrested my mother. I had to let them go through her things, rifle through her life, take her car. I’ve visited her in prison, and I’m still trying to make peace with the fact that I couldn’t stop any of this from happening.
But I haven’t had to deal with someone screaming that she’s a murderer until this exact moment, and it snaps something inside me.
It happens so fast the rational part of my brain gets completely left behind.
My mother is the sweetest, gentlest, most optimistic person I’ve ever known, and if you call her a murderer, you better go ahead and call me one too, because I’ll fucking kill you.
That half-formed thought is the only thing that penetrates my brain as I charge toward Savannah.
My backpack is gone, abandoned on the floor behind me, and I honestly don’t know what I’m going to do when I reach her, but I sure as hell hope it involves my fingernails and her eyes.
True fear flashes in her eyes—we already got in a fight once, and it didn’t end all that well for her—but before I can lay a hand on her, strong arms band around my waist, lifting me off the ground like I weigh nothing.
Dax.
His sweet clove scent surrounds me like a blanket as he drags me away from the redheaded cheerleader, and motherfucker, why does he keep doing this to me?
“Let me go! Let me—fucking—go!”
I struggle in his grip, shoving at his thick forearms, not even caring that I probably look psychotic, not caring that I’m making it look like Savannah is right. That my mom and I are both crazy and violent.
He doesn’t let go though, and I can’t break free of his hold. He pulls me farther away as Lincoln, River, and Chase step up to Savannah, speaking to her in voices too low for me to hear. Their faces are all tight with anger, and I can see tension bunching Linc’s shoulders.
But it’s not enough. She doesn’t need to be talked to. She needs to be punched in her big fucking mouth.
“Goddammit!” I hiss at Dax, renewing my struggles. “Let me go, you asshole!”
Dax loosens his grip, setting me back on my feet, but when I make a move to sprint toward Savannah, he bear hugs me again, pressing my back to his firm chest.
“Don’t do it, Low,” he murmurs. “It’s not fucking worth it. You’re on thin ice already with all your absences. Come on. Do you think your mom wants this?”
That’s not fair.
That’s so not fair.
He’s playing dirty, and I’m sure he’s doing it because he knows it’ll work.
Of course my mom wouldn’t want me to get in trouble. And I can’t give her anything else to worry about right now.
I deflate in his arms, slumping back against him as I suck in ragged breaths through my nose—but I’ve stopped trying to bum-rush Savannah.
Mrs. Morrison steps out of a classroom a little ways down the hall, her already stern face looking even more pinched and annoyed than usual. “What’s going on out here?”
“Nothing,” Lincoln says smoothly, and my stomach flips at his words.
Didn’t we just do this?
For a second, I feel like I’m living in some kind of freakish nightmare where a single moment of my life repeats over and over.
This is just like the night the cops took my mom away.
Dax’s arms around me, holding me back. Lincoln’s even, measured voice promising he doesn’t know anything. Serious expressions on all the guys’ faces.
It’s all the fucking same.
I shove down hard against the copper-haired boy’s arms, and he releases his grip as Mrs. Morrison casts her gaze around the hall. She obviously doesn’t quite believe Lincoln’s words, but she also doesn’t seem that interested in trying to sort out what she missed.
When she’s sure we’ve a
ll settled down, she steps back into her classroom, and as soon as the door closes, Lincoln’s gaze snaps to Savannah again. He mutters another few words under his breath, and although she clearly hates what he’s saying, she doesn’t challenge him. She shoots a piercing glare at me, flips her hair over her shoulder, and storms off down the hall.
Her entourage of cheerleaders trail after her like baby ducks, and the three other kings turn back to face Dax and me. As soon as their gazes land on us, I realize that even though I broke Dax’s grip, our bodies are still pressed tightly together. His broad chest moves against me as he breathes, and I can feel the heat from his body seeping into mine.
I step away from him, putting distance between me and all four boys.
“Whatever you think you’re doing, just stop.” My voice is low and hard, but only because I’m trying not to fucking cry. “Stop trying to manage me. You lost your right to have any input on how I live my life when you let my mom go to jail.”
River winces, his gaze locked on my face. Chase actually looks a little chagrined, like maybe he regrets the fact that they stopped me from going after Savannah—or from helping my mom. Dax’s expression is a lot more serious than usual, and he shakes his head, like he’s trying to tell me something without words.
Lincoln’s lips press together, that same anger I saw when he confronted me outside the gate flashing in his eyes.
I don’t know what the fuck he has to be mad about though.
What did I do to him?
It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask, forgetting that I don’t want to talk to any of these guys, but before I can, he turns on his heel and strides away. The other three break away from me too, River casting one last glance over his shoulder as they go.
The hallway starts to empty out, and I stare after the kings of Linwood for several moments until the bell rings, signaling that I’m late for class.