“I don’t think you’ll ever hear from him again. That’s the way he wants it. That’s why he faked his death. Sometimes we’re better off without the truth.”
The final sound of her statement tells me that’s all I’ll get out of her, but that’s not good enough.
I want to ask her what he said to her. If he’s the reason she’s so much thinner than she was just a few days ago. If he gave her the bruise on her cheek. I want to know how he could possibly do what he’s done. I want to know why my father chose terrorism over me.
What Genesis leaves unsaid resonates in the air between us. My father is in hiding, presumed dead, possibly carrying out a second twisted terrorist agenda that might cost even more innocent lives. Her father is across town in a mansion on the beach, bought and paid for with profits from the drug trade that has killed thousands and sent thousands more to prison.
And thanks to his deal with the feds, he’s going to get away with it.
Somehow, the cousin I used to hate has become the only member of my family I can trust.
I don’t know why I’m asking.
GENESIS
When Maddie falls asleep, I tiptoe into the dark, silent living room. The green glow from the digital clock on the microwave is just enough light to keep me from tripping over a backpack leaning against the end of the couch.
The backpack is Ryan’s. It’s still here, waiting for him to come home and pick it up, even though he’s currently in the possession of the Miami-Dade County Medical Examiner.
The thought of him lying all alone in a refrigerated drawer brings fresh tears to my eyes. And makes me want to punch someone.
I need to forget everything that happened in the jungle, but the harder I try, the more fiercely the memories dig in.
I back away from the body. From the blood pooling on the floor. Indiana looks concerned. Holden is . . . angry. Guilty. Shocked. He wipes his bloody hands on his shirt and stares at the body, his expression a destructive blend of rage and . . . relief.
“Genesis?” Indiana whispers. “Are you okay?”
I shake off the memory, and instead of answering, I round the couch and stretch out next to him. He scoots back to make room for me, and we lie face-to-face. His arm slides around my waist. My hands rest on his chest. We’re sharing a pillow.
No moment in my four-year relationship with Holden ever felt this intimate.
“So, what are your plans?” The question feels formal—at odds with how closely we’re pressed together—but I’m not sure how else to ask. “I don’t know what you were planning to do after Colombia, but . . .”
But he struck off into the jungle with a possible skull fracture to rescue me. That’s not the kind of thing a person does if he’s just planning to hit the road a few days later. Right?
I’m trying not to care either way. I really am. Everyone I’ve ever trusted has betrayed me. Except for Maddie. And I’m not about to climb into her bed and cuddle.
“All year, my plan has been to go to new places and meet new people,” Indiana whispers.
“Is this the first time that plan has led to you crashing on a stranger’s couch?” I ask, and my nose brushes his.
“No. And Maddie’s not really a stranger anymore, but Miami is a new place for me, so technically I’m sticking to my plan.”
“How long can you stay?” I don’t know why I’m asking. I only have six weeks of high school left, and after that, I’m off to either NYU or Berkeley. I always have a plan, and that’s been the plan since I was a sophomore.
But nothing feels certain anymore. I’m not sure I can use my father’s dirty money for tuition. I’m not sure when Holden will out me as a mass murderer or whether the inevitable death threats will keep any good school from taking me, for the safety of the other students.
I don’t know how Indiana fits into the chaos my life has become. I don’t even know if he wants to.
I just want to know if it’s possible.
Indiana brushes hair from my face, over my shoulder. “The beautiful thing about a nomadic existence is that my plans are somewhat flexible. And by somewhat, I mean entirely.”
I press my mouth against his to keep him from noticing my stupidly big smile. Indiana kisses me back. His hand spreads out against my lower spine, pressing me even firmer against him. I slide my hand into his hair and lift myself onto one elbow, giving myself better access to his mouth.
“The floor can’t be very comfortable,” he murmurs against my neck when we pause to catch our breath. “You’re welcome to share the couch with me.”
“I thought you’d never ask. . . .”
6 DAYS, 21.5 HOURS EARLIER
This is enough for now.
MADDIE
I’m still awake when Genesis sneaks out of my bedroom. I could have guessed she wouldn’t make it more than an hour on the floor, but I still don’t understand what she’s doing here.
Is she reluctant to spend her father’s money on a hotel, now that she knows where the money came from? Or does she truly want to be near me?
The walls of my apartment are thin and the springs in our old couch are loud. When I hear them groan, I sit up and dig in my nightstand drawer for my earbuds. But when I grab my phone, I realize I don’t want to hear music.
I want to hear Luke’s voice.
The phone is already ringing before I notice that it’s nearly midnight. He’s probably already asleep. I should hang up.
But I don’t.
“Hello?” His voice sounds sleepy and intimate in my ear, and suddenly I’m so jealous of Genesis that it’s hard to draw my next breath. I’ve never wanted her money, or her big house on the coast, or her private prep school that costs more than most colleges. But I want what she has right now.
I want Luke to be here, curled up next to me in my bed.
“Hey,” I whisper into the phone. I’m pretty sure Genesis and Indiana wouldn’t hear me even if I started shouting, but this feels like a whispering moment. “Sorry. I didn’t realize how late it was until the phone was already ringing.”
“Late-night call from a beautiful girl?” Luke says, and I can hear the smile on his face. “Not a problem. What’s up?”
“Nothing. I just . . . wanted to hear your voice.”
Silence echoes over the line, and I close my eyes. Was that too much? Am I freaking him out? A week and a half ago, I wouldn’t have noticed him if we passed each other in the school hallway, and now I’m terrified that I’m more into this than he is. That I’m clinging to him because everything else in my life has fallen apart. And I’m worried he might not understand that that’s not because of how solid and dependable he is, but because of how good he makes me feel, even during the worst week of my life.
“Do you want me to come over?” he asks, and I exhale in relief.
“No, that’s okay.” The fact that he’s willing to is all I really need to know. “I just . . . this is enough for now.”
“Is Genesis there? Is she listening?”
“No, she’s on the couch with Indiana.”
Luke’s bedsprings creak over the line. “I’m glad they’re keeping you company, with your mom still in the hospital.”
“If this were just about keeping me company, Genesis would have invited me to her house. She’s pissed at her dad.” A sentiment I completely share. “And I think there’s something she’s not telling me.”
“Like what? You think she’s lying about something?”
I shrug, though he can’t see the motion. “Right now, I think it’s more like . . . withholding.”
“You sure you don’t want me to come over?”
“No thanks. Just get some sleep. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
“Okay. Text me if you change your mind.”
“I will. Night.” I hang up the phone, and for several minutes, I can only lie in bed trying to make my thoughts stop racing. Trying not to picture my father in the jungle, ordering the kidnapping that cost my brother his life. My mother in
her hospital bed, dark circles beneath her closed eyes. Ryan lying in the grave Luke dug for him at the army bunkhouse.
And when it’s clear that I cannot sleep here, in a room that’s too quiet for all the noise in my head, I get up and pad barefoot into the little square of hallway outside my room.
Genesis and Indiana are . . . occupied. So I turn in the other direction and find myself in Ryan’s room.
Everything is just like he left it. There are drumsticks and cleats on the floor. A cookie wrapper on his bedside table. Two of his dresser drawers are standing open. And the whole room smells vaguely like sweat and soap.
Tears fill my eyes as I cross the carpet toward the bed. I lie down, intending to inhale the scent from Ryan’s pillow, just for a minute. But when I wake up hours later, early morning sunlight shining into my swollen eyes, I realize that I cried myself to sleep in my brother’s bed.
6 DAYS, 13 HOURS EARLIER
I’m not going.
GENESIS
The buzzing of my phone wakes me up. Indiana shifts beside me, and the blanket we’re sharing slides down to expose my back. The rest of the room is cold compared to our naked couch cocoon.
I roll over and grope on the floor for my cell. Daylight peeks through the vinyl mini-blinds over Maddie’s living room window, but it’s still pale and weak. Early morning light.
I resent the wake-up text. Whoever it’s from.
I check the screen.
Put on something nice and meet me at the local ABC station. We’re going live via satellite on Good Morning America Weekend Edition at 9 am.
There’s no name associated with the phone number, but I know it’s Holden. No one else would talk to me like that.
I slide out from under the blanket and pull on my clothes, and as I head into the kitchen, I add him to my contacts list, then text him back.
I’m not going on TV with you!
His reply comes as I open the first of three cabinets in Maddie’s tiny galley-style kitchen, in search of coffee.
Viewership of 3.5 mil. people. Love the pic and want to hear our story, Gen. If you don’t show up, I’ll tell it my way.
Translation: If I don’t tell the world he’s the hero that stupid picture made him look like, he’ll tell everyone I pushed the button that killed twelve hundred innocent cruise ship passengers.
Exhaling my frustration, I text him back.
You can’t be serious.
His reply comes within seconds.
Stop being selfish, Gen.
Then:
Play nice, or . . .
Chill bumps rise over my arms in a frigid wave. He knows what really happened to the Splendor. He knows about my father. He knows about my uncle.
This is why he hasn’t outted me yet; he’s going to blackmail me. But for what? A PR opportunity?
Knowing Holden, it’s bigger than that. A book deal. A movie. A chance to transform his image from wealthy, entitled prick to national hero.
Or this could just be revenge for me choosing Indiana’s life over his.
When the truth is that Indiana and Rog are the heroes.
I could go on GMA and tell the world the truth—that he’s a coward and a liar, at best; a murderer at worst—but if he goes down, he’ll take me and my whole family with him.
Groaning softly to myself, I reply.
Fine. But Indiana’s coming with me. Send a car to Maddie’s apartment in an hour. I’ll text you the address.
Maddie’s cabinet holds a stack of plates on one shelf and on the other, a mismatched collection of brightly colored glasses our grandmother sent from Colombia last Christmas. I find a nearly empty bag of pre-ground generic brand coffee in the fridge, but there’s nothing to put in it but whole-fat milk or expired soy.
With another sigh, I text Holden one last time.
I want two bottles of water and two VENTI caramel lattes waiting for me in the car, or there’s NO TELLING what I’ll say in my sleep-deprived state. And you better have hair and makeup standing by.
Holden understands diva demands. He practically invented the concept.
His reply comes a second later.
Whatever. Just be here. And turn on the charm.
I shove my phone into my back pocket and take a second to breathe.
Three and a half million people. Live national television. With Holden.
I’d rather get Botox with a crack-house needle.
I tiptoe into Maddie’s room and grab my toiletry bag, then shower as quickly as I can in a bathroom that doesn’t look as small as I remember it being, after a week of sponge bathing with a questionably fresh rag. The hot water runs out before I can rinse my hair, and I shiver as I shave my legs. But I love every second of it.
When I open the bathroom door, I smell coffee. Maddie is in the kitchen stirring milk into a mug. She holds out the pot to offer me some.
“No thanks,” I say, and she replaces the pot. The circles under her eyes say she didn’t get much sleep. The ones looking back at me in the mirror told the same story.
“Good morning.” Indiana pads into the living room on bare feet, his hair still wet from the shower and partly covering the puffy gash on his forehead. He must have used Maddie’s mother’s tiny bathroom.
His chest is bare and still beaded with water. The urge to touch him is suddenly overwhelming, and for the first time in my life, I’m unsure how to handle that.
With Holden, there was a lot of posturing. Being with him was like playing chess—there was a purpose behind every move each of us made.
But with Indiana . . . ?
“Good morning.” I let my gaze linger on his chest, indulging the moment and a memory from last night. Holden was my first and—until last night—my only, and no matter how many revenge-hookups I’d indulged in when he cheated, I’d had no plans to change that as long as we were together. But Indiana is . . .
The way Indiana looks at me makes my skin flush and my stomach flip. My hands want to reach for him all on their own, and that impulse scares me in the best possible way.
I give him a smile, then I head for Maddie’s bedroom to grab my makeup, and I’m totally not running away from an overwhelming urge to touch him and the fear that I won’t be able to let him go.
Indiana intercepts me on the way and slides his arms around my waist. He kisses me, and a little bit of the tension from Holden’s demands eases inside me. I sink into the kiss as if I’m not standing in the middle of my cousin’s tiny apartment. As if we’re alone, and nothing else in the world matters.
His hand slides up my back as he steps away, and a soft, satisfied sound slips from my throat. I should be embarrassed about how much that reveals, but strangely, I’m not.
Holden only kissed me when he expected that kiss to lead to something more. Or when there was an audience around to appreciate the gesture. But there’s no audience here, except for Maddie, and she doesn’t care what we do.
“What’s the hurry?” Indiana says with an amused smile.
“Holden just threatened to call me a mass murderer on national television if I don’t go on Good Morning America with him and make him sound like a hero.”
“Wait.” Maddie sets her coffee mug down with a harsh clack against the countertop. “Indiana searches for you for three days with a head wound and you’re going to give Holden credit, on national television?”
Indiana tenses, his smile fading into a rare glimpse of anger.
Guilt washes over me. Protecting my family means denying Indiana and Rog the credit they deserve. “I—”
“I don’t care about that,” Indiana says, and he seems to mean it. He doesn’t care about cameras or attention. Or credit. “What I care about is that he killed Rog and now he’s blackmailing you.”
“What? Holden killed Rog?” Maddie’s focus flickers between us.
“It was an accident,” I explain. “He thought Rog was one of Sebastián’s men.”
But Indiana’s jaw tightens. “Even if that’s true—”
And it’s clear from the deeply furrowed line of his brow that he doesn’t entirely believe it. “The Splendor was an accident too.”
“Yes, but he knows that if both of those come to light, people will care way more about the Splendor.” About the twelve hundred innocent people I killed and the hundreds more I injured than the one man who died on a rescue mission he knew from the start would be dangerous. “And there’s more than that. He knows the truth about my dad. And about Maddie’s.”
“That bastard,” Maddie breathes. Then she sinks into a chair at the table, blood draining from her face. “He’s threatening the whole family. My mom . . .”
“He says if I make him look good, he’ll make me look good. He’ll keep his mouth shut.”
“Do it,” Indiana says through clenched teeth. “That stupid picture has already done most of the work, and you can probably say what he wants without actually lying. And if that’ll keep him from dragging your whole family through the mud . . .”
If I don’t cooperate, he won’t just drag the Valencia name through the mud—he’ll bury us all alive. But . . .
“It may be a moot point, once the FBI talks to Sebastián.” He has no reason to out Maddie’s dad, but he also has no reason to protect me.
“But if your dad’s working with the government, it won’t be in their interest to let any of that come out,” Indiana responds.
“So if I keep Holden happy, this might all just go away.” And right now, all he’s asking for is a little flattering press coverage. “I can do that.” Not just for myself. Not just for my dad. But for Maddie and her mom. They’ve been through enough.
I look up at Indiana. “Do you mind coming with me?”
He actually manages a smile as he pulls me close. “I’d kind of hoped not to have to share you with your ex and a national audience today, but sure.”
In the kitchen, Maddie stares blankly into a bowl of Ryan’s favorite sugary cereal. Which is definitely not on the diabetic-friendly list of foods. “Why don’t you come with us? We’ll go out for a real breakfast and some decent coffee afterward.” I owe her that, at the very least. For letting me and Indiana crash with her. For being the only member of my family who’s never lied to me. That I know of.
99 Lies Page 11