by Jillian Dodd
Garrett touches my arm, and I immediately flinch. “Did something happen?”
I shake my head. “I don’t know. I always thought I was good at reading people. I was so wrong about him.”
“Don’t question your instincts. Tell me what you really thought.”
“Even though the things he said were about the movie, it kinda felt like he was trying to seduce me. His hand would accidentally brush against my knee when he filled the wine. He asked me when I’d be legal. He told me I have an expressive face and all about these things I do with my mouth, like how I bite my lip. He ran his thumb across my lip. After dinner, he kissed me on the cheek, but it was longer than a kiss on the cheek should be. Then he looked at me and told me he could tell my other cheek was jealous, so he kissed it too. He was really quite charming.”
“Sociopaths are charming, Keatyn. People are naturally drawn to them, but they’re cold inside.”
I look at a photo of the girls on the coffee table. They’re all in rainbow tutus, except for Gracie. She’s in full-on princess garb. I remember the note in Avery’s backpack, and I instantly know what made him snap. “Mom became a whore,” I mutter.
Mom goes, “What?”
“The note that was in Avery’s backpack. He was pissed at you. You did those sex scenes and instead of being like the grandmother he idolized, you became a whore . . . like his mother. He hated his mother.”
“That’s very insightful, Keatyn. Now we’re getting somewhere,” Garrett says. “His grandmother, the woman he idolizes, dies. And the other woman he idolizes becomes a whore. That’s what did it. What sent him over the edge. Tell me the rest. Every time you had contact with him.”
I tell him everything.
Garrett looks very somber when he says, “Keatyn, Abby, this isn’t going to stop.”
“What do you mean?”
“We’re going to have to send Keatyn away for a while. She can’t stay here. It’s too dangerous.”
“We’re getting ready to go to Vancouver to shoot a movie,” Mom says. “She’ll come with us.”
“Abby, this has gone beyond your typical obsessed fan. The pictures, his following her, and breaking into the house a few doors down in a private, gated community all suggest that this has become a game to him. He managed to work his way into her life. Vancouver isn’t the answer. This is very serious, and I think it would be best for the whole family if you split up for the time being.”
Mom gets a fierce look on her face, like a lion protecting her young. “We’re not sending her anywhere. She’ll stay with us.”
“I was thinking of something like witness protection. We can change her name and she can go away until he finds someone else to obsess over, or until we can catch him.”
“Change my name? Move away? What happened to I’m not going to allow myself to be victimized. Isn’t that what you always say, Mom?”
“This is different, Keatyn, because you almost were a victim,” Garrett says bluntly.
That knocks out what little wind I had left in my sails.
Garrett continues. “Look, he’s obsessed about your mom for years. He got mad at her over the nude scenes and switched his focus to you. I think if he can’t find you or see you, he’ll find someone new to focus on. Worst case scenario, you go away for six months, maybe a year.”
“A year! Are you nuts!?” But then my eyes dance across the photo of the girls, and I know they won’t be safe if I’m with them.
Mom sucks in a loud breath. I can tell she’s getting ready to protest.
“No. He’s right. You’ve got to think about the girls, Mom. I want them to be safe.”
“What if she went to live with her grandfather in Texas?” Mom asks.
“Too easy to trace,” James says.
“What about France? She could live in our house there? Go to school? He didn’t try anything this summer when she was gone.”
“He knows about France,” I say, just as James says, “I don’t think that’s a good idea either.”
Damian speaks up. “What about boarding school?” He turns to his dad. “The school where Trent’s older brother went. Aren’t you friends with the dean?”
“Son, you're brilliant,” Mr. Moran says. “It's perfect. Highly secure. The Secretary of State’s kids went there a few years ago, so the Secret Service installed fencing around the perimeter. There’s a guard booth, single access entry, and perimeter cameras.”
“It sounds like a prison,” I mutter.
“It was designed to keep terrorists out. Inside, you can't tell. It's a beautiful campus. The dean was in a bind a few years ago that I helped him out of. It's very difficult to get accepted, but I'm sure he'd make an exception. He owes me.”
Garrett turns to Mr. Moran. “I’d like to hear more about this school. That might be our best solution. It could allow her some semblance of normalcy while still keeping her safe.”
Brooklyn, who has been sitting quietly, finally speaks up. “Boarding school won't be so bad, Keats. I haven’t told you yet.” He sighs. “I didn't want to tell you until after your birthday, but I leave next week.”
I feel like I’ve been punched in the gut. Is that why he wouldn’t commit all summer long? He planned this? He used me?
I can't breathe again.
I barely get out the words. “When were you going to tell me? After you'd left?”
I run into my room, slam my door, sit on my bed, and cry.
Cry over Brooklyn, the boy I thought I was so in love with. The boy I spent all summer with thinking we were in love. I cry again for being so stupid about Vincent. I open my eyes and see another photo of my little sisters. In this one they are all dressed as princesses.
I cry some more.
Go to boarding school, the voice from the club tells me. You’ll be safe. They’ll all be safe.
I can't put them in danger. I'd die before I'd let anything happen to those innocent smiles.
I think about how Vincent picked me up.
How he touched this dress.
How he touched my skin.
I run in my bathroom, turn on my shower, and stand under the hot water.
Then I realize I’m still wearing my party dress.
I rip it off, throw it to the ground, and drench my body in soap.
And then I scrub my skin until it feels like it might fall off.
When the hot water runs out, I grab a towel and dry myself off.
I walk back into my room, take a deep breath, and pull myself together.
I see the boots Cush gave me lying on my desk, so I pull them on my feet.
These boots are the new me.
The me that can handle anything.
The me that is in charge of my life and isn’t going to let people tell me what to do anymore.
I grab a pair of jean shorts and the soccer shirt I was going to give back to Cush and pull them on. I'm cleaning up the mess that is my face when Brooklyn walks in.
“You don't have to explain,” I say icily. “I get it. You need to do what's right for you, and so do I.”
“That’s it? That’s all you're gonna say?”
“Yeah. It’s all I can say. I encouraged you. Although,” I add snidely, “for someone who wants me to avoid the spotlight, I find it funny that you're heading straight toward it.”
“I’m not doing it for the money, the fame, or the spotlight. I'm doing it for me.”
“And I'm going to boarding school, but I'm not doing it for me. I'm doing it for them.” I point to the picture of the girls.
Brooklyn nods his head, gets tears in his eyes, and pulls me into a hug.
I hold my shoulders stiffly. I don't want to let him in.
“Keats, this is not the way I wanted this to go down. I had an amazing summer with you. The best summer of my life.”
“Is that why you didn’t ask me to be your girlfriend? Because you didn't want to have to break up with me? Because you’ve been planning this all along?”
“Y
ou’ve been my girlfriend all summer, Keats. I thought when I told you I loved you that you knew that. And I didn’t plan it all summer. I mentioned it to my dad, and he got the sponsors all set up. He told me when we were in London that he thought it might all pan out, but I didn’t know for sure until we got home. I didn't tell you, because I didn’t want to ruin your birthday.”
“I didn't know how you felt.”
“How could you not know how I felt? I've told you a million fucking times this summer that I love you.”
“Well, maybe you need to learn to communicate better.”
“Maybe you need to grow up. Stop worrying so much about what people think and start worrying about what you think.”
I immediately get tears in my eyes.
I swear, I'm normally not such a crybaby.
“Don’t yell at me. I can't take it.”
He grabs me. Hugs me tight.
I lay my head on his chest. The place that used to feel so wonderful now feels foreign. “So we were already going out?”
“I told you, I love you. We were together because we wanted to be. That's all that mattered.”
“No, knowing where you stand is what’s important. And after tonight, I knew exactly where I stood with you. That’s why I broke up with you even though we weren’t actually going out. And I kissed Cush.”
He purses his lips. “Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why did you kiss him?”
“Because you didn't like me enough to want to date me. We had sex the other day, and you said I'm glad we can chill together. That’s why. So are you telling me that we were in a relationship? Like you were my boyfriend?”
“Labels matter way too much to you. All the way down to the ones in your thousand dollar boots.”
I look down at the boots Cush gave me for my birthday.
Be bold, Keatyn.
I raise my chin up, stand up tall, and put my bitch on. “Lots of guys tell you they love you just for sex; even my mom, who is in a we’re-together-but-don’t-label-it relationship, asked me about my birthday. Wanted to know if you asked me out. If you gave me a ring or anything.”
“A ring?”
“Not like engaged. Just something to show the rest of the world you wanted to be with me.”
He flips his hand over and shoves his fresh tattoo in my face. “Tattoos last forever, Keats. I thought we would too.”
I start crying again.
“You should’ve known,” he pokes my chest, “in here. You don't know if I'm the one, do you?”
“I wanted you to be the one. I've loved you since the day I met you.”
“You had a crush on me. That’s different than true love.”
“And you’re telling me you feel that way about me? You can’t. You just decided to leave me for a year. You didn’t ask me to be your girlfriend, and you only like me when I’m your laid-back surfer girl. When I’m me, you don’t really like me that much. You want me in your world, but you don’t want to venture into mine.”
He runs his hand through his hair and shakes his head. “I know everything you’re saying is true. But I did love you. I mean, I do love you. I wasn’t lying. I just figured if fate wanted us together it would figure out a way, because I couldn’t figure it out myself. I couldn’t figure out how I could have my dream and you too.”
“Well, you pushed fate along. You didn’t dance with me. You didn’t try to be nice or meet any of my other friends. You made fun of my amazing shoes and called my gorgeous dress slutty.”
Brooklyn nods his head. He knows what I’m saying is true. “So what are we gonna do?”
“You’re going on tour, and I’m going to boarding school. I’m going back out there.”
Mom looks surprised to see me back out in the family room. “It's late, Keatyn; why don't you get some sleep? You’ve been through a lot. We can figure this out in the morning.”
“Mom, I’m not going to be able to sleep. Probably ever again. Besides, it is morning. I feel better since I took a shower and talked to B. I finally know where we stand.”
I sit down next to Mr. Moran and hand him Tommy’s laptop. “Would you mind showing me the school’s website?” I ask politely.
He types in an address and turns the screen to face me.
I click through the site.
“That looks very nice,” Mom says, hovering behind me. “Look at the gorgeous trees.”
Mr. Moran continues his sales job. “It's a beautiful campus—a lot like a college. And it's very exclusive. Most of the kids go on to Ivy League schools.”
I click on the soccer page.
Mom says, “Look, honey, you could still play soccer.”
“Yeah, it looks nice. Mr. Smith, if you think it’s safe, I’d like to go there.”
Vincent goes home feeling a sense of victory. The whore now knows how she will be made to pay. He plans his next move. He knows that school will be starting soon. He knows based on the amount of security at Abby’s home that she’s taking his threats seriously. The bitch even tried to get a restraining order against him. More than likely, she will have him watched. Have him followed everywhere. He must go back to work on Monday and act like everything is normal.
Even though it isn’t.
He made a miscalculation. He should have simply taken her hand as himself and offered to get her to safety. She would have gone willingly. Then once she was out the door, he could have loaded her into the van.
She doesn’t post anything on her social media, so he watches her friends’ profiles. He knows he’s being followed, so he’s careful, but he can go to any public place he wants. And it just so happens that tonight he’s hungry for pizza.
He sits at a table near a group of rowdy soccer players, who are having a going away party for the boy Keatyn danced with at her party. The boy she was with when she was dressed in the white goddess gown. The boy who is now moving away. Interesting timing, he thinks. Could they be considering sending Lacy away too?
Do they really think they can keep them apart?
The next night, he joins her friends, Vanessa and RiAnne at the club. The club where her party was held. He throws money around like the big spender he is in order to get VIP access and special treatment. He takes up a spot that allows him a full view of the dance floor, ignoring the sexy way the girls in the cages hanging from the ceiling are dancing.
He needs to stay focused. If she’s meeting them here, he’ll find her.
He remembers how she used to go dancing here every Thursday, sometimes by herself. Why didn’t he think of coming here sooner?
He vows to never miss a Thursday again.
Vanessa walks by his table and immediately recognizes him.
“Hey, you,” she says, sauntering straight into his section without being invited. He likes this girl’s boldness.
“You were at the hotel pool with Keatyn, right?” he replies.
“I was. Although, I will admit that I don’t drink beer.”
“What do you drink?”
“Champagne,” she replies, jutting out her hip in a sassy gesture. He could have this girl in his bed, easily.
He raises his hand in the air, summons his waitress, and orders a bottle of their best champagne. He needs someone on the inside.
When the champagne is served, her friend, RiAnne, comes looking for her. They each have a glass and then RiAnne goes back out to the dance floor.
“She loves to dance,” Vanessa says as I refill her glass.
When she finishes off the bottle, she grabs my hand and pulls me to the dance floor where she grinds against me, her hands all over me. Once I have her wanting me, I ask, “Why isn’t Keatyn here with you?”
“Who cares? She’s dead to me,” the girl shouts.
“Why?”
“Why? Why! I’ll tell you why. Because she cancelled her after party for no reason. She hasn’t replied to any of my texts. And everyone is asking me what her deal is. Like I’m her freaking keeper. I don�
�t know where she is. And I absolutely don’t care.” She storms off.
He follows, finding her in his VIP section, pouring more champagne. Tears glisten in her eyes.
“You’re awfully worked up about it for someone who doesn’t care,” I say gently.
“She’s my best friend, and she’s completely shut me out. I knew she was crazy about the surfer. I tried to tell her dating him would be social suicide, but I never expected this.”
“This?”
“For him to get her involved in whatever she’s gotten into.”
“What’s that?”
“I don’t know. Someone is controlling her. I was pissed after her party. I texted her and was mean. She didn’t reply. She always replies. Now when I text her, the texts aren’t even being read, so they’ve taken her phone and cut her off. I even tried just showing up at her house. There are guards there.”
“Do you think maybe there’s something going on with Abby? A stalker or something? Guards seem extreme.”
She’s tipsy, but her eyes get bigger, and I can tell she’s considering this. “You might be right about that, Vincent. Keatyn said you are in the entertainment industry. Do you think you could find out?”
He smiles. “Let’s make a pact. If I hear anything, I’ll let you know. If you hear from her, you let me know. Deal?”
She grabs my phone and texts herself. “Deal,” she says. “Now, take me back out there and dance with me.”
Vincent’s life continues. He goes to work and does his job. He knows he has to be careful. He knows he’s being watched. Vanessa still has no news. Then he realizes if they can hire people to follow him, he can hire people, too.
He calls a man who has often invested in his movie futures. The man has ties to organized crime and, after hearing a plausible story about a crazy ex keeping his daughter from him, offers him a few mid-level thugs.
The thugs follow her friends, allowing Vincent to stay away, but have nothing of note to report back. They try to walk the beach near her house, but get shooed away and threatened with trespassing charges. Finally, he gives them descriptions of their vehicles and has one pair wait beyond the gates for them to leave. The other pair follows the surfer. That’s who she was always with on the beach. Who she spent the summer with. Who she was with at the party when he approached her. It’s probable she thinks she’s in love with him. It’s not Lacy’s fault Matt is manipulating her.