by Vivi Barnes
This isn’t my Jack, who once looked at me like I was his world. The guy who tracked down my grandfather so I could have a chance at a safe, new life. The guy who’s occupied the better part of my mind for eight months.
This is Z, criminal hacker with a twisted agenda and an arsenal full of anger.
“Hey, Liv,” Sam says brightly, stepping forward. I keep my eyes focused on the scowling guy in front of me as I let her wrap her arms around me lightly. Her clean ocean-like perfume filling my nostrils is the only indication that I’ve started breathing again.
Releasing me, Sam looks at Jack, then me. “So, um, your text had me—us—worried.”
“Yeah, sorry about that, but I’m fine,” I tell her. “Really. Turned out it was a guy here at school.” The heat rises to my cheeks and I’m not sure why. Maybe because I know I said it just to jab at Jack. His eyes narrow at my blush.
“Oh. Okay, well, that’s great!” Sam gestures at Jack, but he doesn’t say anything. What the hell is his problem, anyway? Sam obviously feels the same. She throws up her hands. “Oh for God’s sake, Z. Did you drag me all the way up here just to stare at her?”
Drag Sam here? It certainly doesn’t look like Jack has any interest in being here. Sam, as I recall, is a manipulator, though I don’t know what she gets out of this. I cross my arms in front of me and decide to address my question to her. “Why did you come all the way here?”
“You know, I have no idea now. He wanted to see you.” She looks back at Jack. “So now you’ve seen her. Is that all?”
He shrugs, as indifferent as if Sam was asking him about his color preference. Seriously? The emotions roll over me like a wave—regret, sadness, and most of all, anger. How did I ever think a guy who clearly doesn’t even like me anymore was sending me roses?
“Okay, so, thanks for coming,” I tell Sam, trying to sound as bored as he looks. “It was great to see you.” I look over at Z with my most polite eat-shit grin. “I’ve got things to see and people to do—”
Sam snickers at my word slip, but Z glares at her. “Anyway, I need to go,” I tell them. “You can head back to Monroe Street so you can, you know, plan your next big heist.”
The last few words crack as my throat tightens, the tears pressing against the backs of my eyelids. I whip around to walk toward my car. Jerk.
This is the point where he should call to me, to tell me he misses me. But there’s nothing. I finally turn around, hoping I’m far enough away that he can’t see my totally fake don’t-care attitude crumbling. For the space between two heartbeats, I catch a flicker of pain in his eyes. It’s gone so fast, I wonder if I imagined it.
“You know, I have something to return to you,” I tell him in a voice that’s as cold as the air. “If you’ll wait right here, I’ll get it, then you can leave for good.”
I open the door to my car and reach into the pocket of my bag to pull out the small box containing the bracelet, my fingers trembling. Whether he gave it to me or not, I don’t care anymore. I want this thing gone.
I want Jack gone.
Sam is talking in a low voice and gesturing angrily at him. He doesn’t answer, his eyes fixed on something in the opposite direction. His jawline is tensed, the muscles twitching. It’s satisfying to know he’s not as dismissive as he’s pretending. With him not looking at me, my heart softens for a moment. This is the guy I love. Loved. Whatever.
He just didn’t love me back. Not enough.
They both look surprised as I step up and hand the box to Jack. He opens it and removes the bracelet, his eyebrows pinched in confusion. “Why are you giving me this?”
“I don’t want it.”
“I don’t want it, either. Shouldn’t you give it back to your boyfriend?” He practically spits out the last word.
I draw myself up taller. “Is that why you’re really here?” I ask him, unable to keep the sharp irritation out of my voice. “To see if I have a boyfriend? I’m surprised you even care.”
“Maybe I don’t.”
“Okay, okay,” Sam says, waving her hand between us. Her worried eyes flick from him to me—what did she expect, that we’d run to each other with open arms? “Um…so, I thought you said your, um, boyfriend gave this to you. Why are you giving it to Z?” She takes the bracelet to examine it, whistling softly as she holds it up to let the emeralds sparkle in the light.
“He gave me roses, not the bracelet.”
“You think I sent it?” Jack asks. “Why would I send you something like this?”
“Good question,” I say. His face is confused and more than a little irritated. He didn’t do it, and a mix of annoyance, relief, and fear wells up in me. I hate to ask him the next question, but I have to know. “What about the rose on my pillow?”
“Someone left a rose on your pillow?” Sam and Jack ask together, their eyes widening.
“Yeah. I think someone paid one of my grandfather’s staff a tip to do it.” My attempt at an excuse doesn’t work on Jack. I recognize the anger boiling underneath by the way his chin juts out slightly.
“A secret admirer, maybe?” Sam prompts. “This is a pretty rich school, right? If it’s not your, um, boyfriend, couldn’t it be someone else?”
I stare at the ground without responding. If it’s not Theo, and it’s not Jack, I really do have a secret admirer.
Or a stalker.
“Apparently so,” Jack says drily when I don’t answer.
I ignore him. “Theo could afford it. But he told me he didn’t do it, and I couldn’t find any evidence that he did.”
“We could go find this Theo and ask him ourselves,” Sam says to Jack, but I grab the bracelet and its box.
“No. I appreciate you coming here because you were worried. Really, I do. But this is my problem, not yours. I’ll handle it. Just—” I close my eyes for a second, and an image crops up of Jack pounding on Theo. Just like he did Tyson, a guy in Richmond he once believed drugged me at a club. He thought he was protecting me then, but I don’t need his protection anymore. I open my eyes and focus only on Jack. “Just leave me alone.” The words are too final, and as soon as they’re out, I wish I could pull them back.
Z’s eyes tighten at the corners, and he nods. “We won’t bother you again.” He gestures at Sam. “Let’s go.”
“But—” Sam starts, but Z’s already walking back toward Sam’s car without another word or look. He’ll soon be in her car and gone, and that will be the end of us. The final good-bye. The pang in my heart burns—and it’s too familiar.
“So that’s it?” I say loudly. “After eight freaking months, after you came all the way here, that’s all you have to say?”
He turns around, and I envy and hate his emotionless expression. “What do you want me to say?” he asks calmly.
I step closer to him. “When I saw you here, I thought—I thought— You know what? Never mind. At least now I know where we stand.”
“Go back to your life, Liv. It’s obviously a good one.” His eyes flick to my car before he turns and gets into the passenger side of Sam’s car. I can feel the door slam like it’s attached to my heart.
Sam touches my shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Liv. I thought— He’s been messed up since you left. I figured he’d get closure this way. You really did a number on the guy’s heart.” She sighs. “Probably best thing for both of you to cut ties anyway. There’s too much going on at home with Maggie and the others moving in for him to be so distracted.”
“Maggie is back at Monroe Street?” This surprises me. Z had once said Maggie made it clear that she wanted nothing more to do with the hacking side of the business. Or, more than likely, just him.
“Briarcreek House,” Sam corrects. “It’s definitely not the same as Monroe Street, unfortunately. And yeah, Maggie’s living with us, and boy is it fun to watch Z try to avoid her while she’s being all sappy over him. Sorry, but it’s true. Anyway, now you can both go on with your own lives, right? This is a good thing.”
She gi
ves me a hug. “It was good to see you again,” she says softly as she releases me. Her hand touches my hair, straightened and styled since she’s last seen me. “You look amazing. Very rich.” She winks at me, then turns to leave.
“Sam?”
She turns around.
“Take care of yourself.” And him.
“You, too.” She smiles, then like a blink, she’s in her Camaro. An invisible string still connects me to them, tugging angrily at my heart as they drive away.
I lean against my car and breathe deeply. Definitely not the fairy-tale reunion I’d once dreamed of. I’ve moved on and so has he. The end of Jack and Liv, a romance that was over almost as soon as it had begun. Could I really even call it love, considering I’d known so precious little of it before I met him? Maybe it was my infatuation with the excitement of Z that I thought was love. Maybe he only cared about me because I was a sad, lonely foster kid. I’m not that anymore, so he’s moved on.
This is for the best.
You’re such a liar.
You still love him.
Admit it.
I slip into my car and press my forehead against the steering wheel. Then I straighten up and start the engine. Forget Jack. Work on figuring out who’s stalking me—that’s what I need to do.
Forget him.
Chapter Eight
JACK
Liv and I are over. She’s going to move on with her life with her grandfather and have her rich boyfriend and go to college. And I’m going to move on with mine. Return to being Z, a glove that fits a hell of a lot better than Jack ever did.
It’s a good thing. Really. It’s what I wanted. Giving her a better life was the whole purpose of finding her grandfather and reuniting them.
I didn’t know it would actually hurt.
The whole way back, I say nothing, and Sam doesn’t press me except for a comment at one point about how she knows I’m full of crap and that she knows I’m not giving up on Liv. I ignore her.
We get back to Briarcreek House late in the afternoon, which surprises Nancy. Obviously, she thought I’d be running away with Liv or something ridiculous.
“You okay?” Nancy asks as I pass her on my way to the stairs.
“Yeah.”
“Want to talk about it?”
“No.”
I get to my room, glad that Maggie isn’t camping out in here, and lock the door behind me. I crank up my stereo as loud as I can handle and sit at my computer, noticing that instead of the screensaver image of Liv, the screen is dark. It’s almost like the monitor knows we’re done. I’m grateful not to be smacked with the image of what I’ll never have again. I type my password, then go into the files and delete the few pictures I have of her. Liv’s face is not going to torture me anymore.
I stop at the last one. Liv’s head is tilted back slightly, her mouth opened in a laugh. Long, wavy dark hair flying wildly over her shoulder. This is how I remember her. Not the girl I saw today, with her perfectly lined eyes and styled hair. That girl is meant for the good life. Now she’s just another ex-girlfriend to me.
But as soon as I close my eyes, I see her ridiculously beautiful face, large brown eyes that see right through my bullshit, her soft smile that breaks down all the barriers I’ve worked so hard to build up. Her touch that unravels me. The memories rip my soul apart. I’m one of Freddy Krueger’s victims who can’t escape the nightmares. They’ll probably end up killing me, too.
Someone bangs on my door. I get up and jerk it open to see Sam. “What?”
“You might want to escape after dinner. Nancy says she’s taking an online class about choosing the perfect career that she’s going to share with us.” She motions gagging on a finger. “You need to talk to her. She’s becoming boring.”
“Thanks for the warning.” I close the door again.
Choosing the perfect career? I chose it a long time ago. I miss the Monroe Street house. Miss the easiness of the life, the puzzle-solving challenges that hacking presented. Mostly, I miss not having to think about anything past today. Now I feel like I have to worry about everything, and the fact that money tops the list really sucks.
It’s not that I personally need money right now—I have plenty saved in my bank account from so many years of cracking banks. Nancy won’t let me give any of it to her for the house account. She wants me to save it. If I moved out right now, I’d have plenty to live on for a while. So would Sam, Micah, and many of the others. But Nancy, who uses everything she has for the house and the other kids—she’s the one I worry about most. Our situation right now reminds me too much of being poor when my mother was alive and knowing that she had to scrape and save every stupid penny while my father had billions of dollars. He didn’t give my mother any of it. Just went back to his perfect family while we suffered.
My father really gave me my first lesson in taking what you want. He’s the main reason I refuse to work for some bullshit corporation, no matter how hard Nancy tries to convince me otherwise. Those guys are no better than us, except they somehow manage to convince people they’re doing well.
I pull up news on ICL Investments, the main financial support behind my father’s campaign for senator in the upcoming New York election I’ve been following. So many articles about his talent with money, his family values, and—my personal favorite—his work with local foster homes in his community. My lips press tightly together. What would people think if they knew the so-called generous, compassionate, wealthy John Dawkins Winslow III had an illegitimate son by a woman he got pregnant and then dumped without so much as a penny? A woman who then committed suicide and left their son in, surprise, foster care? The media loves a story like mine, especially when they can use it to take down a mogul like him.
I stare at the picture of my father in the midst of a bunch of kids, standing in front of a brand-new group home his money helped build. Building homes left and right while mine falls apart.
The ICL icon flashes in the corner of the screen. It’s been a few months since I touched his accounts. I once was a frequent customer, filching here and there from it anytime I thought about my mother. It was my own personal act of revenge, I guess. The hacking stopped after I realized it wasn’t helping me feel better.
No, I correct myself. I stopped stealing from my father after I met Liv. My feelings for her gave me the ability to look past all the shit he put me through.
But now she’s gone.
Gritting my teeth together, I do the usual precursory check of my computer’s settings, then log into the back door of one of ICL Investment’s accounts through Tor. The access hasn’t changed—idiot security. It doesn’t take me long to transfer money to my dummy account, then send it to my overseas account. So ridiculously easy. It’s not a large amount—not by ICL’s standards. They won’t even notice it’s missing. But it’s enough to satisfy me. For now, at least.
I ignore the stab of guilt at what Nancy would say if she found out I did this. But she started up our group home intending us to be hackers. She can’t just tell us to stop now—not when it’s a part of who we are.
My fingers tap at the keys idly. Nancy’s always behind her computer these days, sorting out bills. She deserves better. So does everyone in this house. Considering his political platform, I’m sure my father would agree.
I open our house account and redirect the money into it. Hopefully she’ll just think I’m pulling from the reserves in my own account. She won’t be happy I’m transferring my money, but she’ll be much less angry than if she found out it was stolen funds.
I relax back in my chair, linking my hands behind my head. Sam and I can’t be the only ones having a hard time with Nancy’s new look on things. Maybe if enough of us speak up, she’ll listen.
I head to Cameron’s room, but stop when I hear Sam inside. Bad choice anyway—Cameron’s happy enough with the way things are now. Especially since Sam finally got with it and realized that he’s a good guy. I turn and head instead to Micah’s room. He’s si
tting on the bed, talking on the phone and waving me away. I sit on his desk chair to wait. He rolls his eyes.
“Hey, my brother just walked in so I gotta go. I’ll call you back.” Micah laughs at whatever the other person is saying to him before hanging up.
“How are things going?” I ask, nodding at the phone.
Micah grins. “Great, especially since Alec finally came out to his parents.”
“Have you told him about us?”
Micah throws his hand over his mouth in fake shock. “Us? Are you finally coming over to the dark side, love?”
“Shut up. I mean the house. Does he know what we do?”
Micah’s grin falters.
“I didn’t think so. When are you going to tell him you’re an expert cracker?”
He fiddles with the edge of his comforter. “I don’t need to tell him that. We’re not doing that anymore, remember?”
His voice is just soft and unsure enough. I shove the door closed with the back of my foot. “Don’t you miss it, though?” I ask. “You’re the best. You can get through almost any firewall. You made more money in a month than a lot of people make in a year. You can’t tell me you don’t regret Nancy’s decision.”
“Yeah, her decision that was made because you screwed up,” he says, his voice stronger. He stands up, the happy-go-lucky attitude clouding over into something more like anger. Perfect. “You screwed us all over when you brought Liv here and were stupid enough to fall in love with her.”
“I didn’t screw up—Bill did, by keeping information about us on his computer. Except we don’t know that he did for sure, do we? Everything is based on maybe. Aren’t you tired of being held back by maybe? We could be doing so much better right now, instead of going out and getting a boring dead-end job. Unless you’d like working at some help desk with a corporation that cares more about its bottom line than its people.”
I choose my words intentionally, since I overheard Micah telling Nancy that no way was he going to be stuck at some corporate IT help desk. Micah stares at me for a long moment—by the way the muscles around his eyes twitch, he’s thinking hard about this.