by Tijan
“You did?”
Bryce chuckled. “She did. It was ridiculous to watch.”
I grinned at him. “I was trying to distract her and Guadalupe so you could get her phone.”
Corrigan glanced over. “Did you?”
Bryce held my gaze for a moment. More had happened up there, but I didn’t want to talk about it. He nodded, understanding me even though I had no idea how he could know. He said, “Yes.” He pulled out a phone, but it wasn’t Guadalupe’s.
“I wanted you to get Guadalupe’s phone.”
“It wouldn’t have mattered. She doesn’t keep anything on it worthwhile to us. Maria’s, however, is a whole other story.” He pressed the screen and started to scroll through it. Then he handed it over to me. Right there, on the screen, in black and bold letters was a text from her to Guadalupe. I smiled. I couldn’t hold it back, and it stretched from ear to ear.
I looked at Corrigan. “You asked if this venture had been worth it?” I passed the screen to him. “It was more worth it than you can imagine.”
Right there, on the screen, Maria wrote, I cut the brakes. Now that bitch won’t be in the way.
Guadalupe responded, Good. Bryce is mine.
“Whoa.” Corrigan’s eyebrows went up. “It’s right there.” He pressed a few more buttons and handed it back to Bryce.
“What’d you do?”
“I sent that shit to the cops. Now let’s watch ’em squirm.”
My sentiments exactly.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
We were met in the front entrance by my dad and Beth. I had one second to take in the fury and balled fists before my dad started yelling. He was throwing questions at me, and I felt déjà vu from the reporters again.
I checked out. I’d been through the wringer just now. I wasn’t going to sign up for another one. Bryce and Corrigan took over, though. I went to the back and rested while I let all of them duke it out.
Somewhere, in between my dad’s constant yelling and Bryce swearing back at him, I heard my dad yell, “Then what the hell were you thinking? This doesn’t help her case at all! It’s all over the news! Our personal phones are being flooded with calls.”
Corrigan flung his hands up in the air. “Fuck her case then.”
My dad went rigid. His eyeballs almost popped out. “Excuse me?”
“I said, ‘Fuck her case.’” Corrigan folded his arms back over his chest and leaned back against the wall. He glanced to Bryce, the two shared a look, and Corrigan seemed even firmer in his statement. “I said what I said.”
“You said what you said?” My dad shook his head in disbelief. “Are you kidding me? Are you KIDDING me?”
Corrigan frowned.
Bryce moved to stand next to him.
My dad burst out again, “Her case is everything! They only have circumstantial evidence on her, but with this stunt—this is actually something. The media has this now. They can see her yelling and cursing. You think people are going to like that? Public opinion matters. If the pubic hates her, that doesn’t help her case.”
Yelling and cursing. I started to laugh to myself. Of course that was all he had heard. He hadn’t looked past the volume of my voice. He didn’t actually hear the message I was sending. For some reason, this struck me as hilarious, and the laughter kept pealing out of me. I couldn’t stop it. The tension in the room was thick, and I knew this was inappropriate, but fuck it, how Corrigan said, just fuck it. This was hilarity gold. My own father had no clue the message I was sending to the real killer.
“You think this is funny?”
It wasn’t my dad who expressed judgment. I had expected it from him, but I glanced up, wiping tears from my eyes, as I couldn’t contain myself. It was Beth who stood with her hands formed into fists, resting on both hips. Her feet were spread out and a firm look of disapproval was on her face, it was worse than my father’s. A glaze of dislike mixed with it. That helped contain my laughter, and I stood, rolling my shoulders back, and I tilted my head to the side.
“Oh boy,” Denton muttered behind me.
I stepped toward her, but caught another look shared between Corrigan and Bryce. All three of them knew the shift that had just happened, but they didn’t say anything. They knew. They had learned. No one judged me, not unless they earned that right to judge me, and this time, this girlfriend of my father’s, had just made a huge mistake.
I asked coolly, “You disapprove of me?”
A flattened look entered her gaze, and her hands fell from her hips, but she didn’t move back. She held her ground.
That was a point for her, for now. I moved even closer, so it was just her and me, staring at each other. Face to face. On the same eye level, I asked, so softly now, “Do you think I’m not acting appropriately?”
“Sheldon—” My dad started toward us, but I caught movement from the corner of my eye. Both Bryce and Corrigan blocked him with their heads slightly down. They were going to let me finish what Beth had started.
“Do you?” I prompted again. She hadn’t said a word since her first outburst. I was waiting. I was hoping for it.
“I think—” she stammered, then stopped to regroup. Then her tone came out firmer, clearer, “I think your father has done nothing except try to help you, but you have only met his actions with a level of ungratefulness that I’ve never witnessed before.”
“You think that?”
“Yes.” Her gaze was firm. “I do. It would be in your best interest to listen to him. He’s only trying to help.”
Then I laughed. It was soft, almost tentative at first, and then grew to a harsher, mocking sound. As I kept going, Beth pressed her lips together.
“Do you think I was acting inappropriately when I was stalked in high school?”
Just a slight flicker of confusion appeared before it was masked. Her chest rose and dropped as she made a sound of annoyance.
I nodded. “Do you think it was appropriate for my father to leave me during that time?”
Another small flicker of question. Did she not know the history? I cocked my head to the side and scratched at my chin. Maybe she didn’t? So I asked, “How was I supposed to act when two girls that I liked and wanted to call friends were killed?”
She wasn’t holding back the confusion now. She glanced to my father, but I blocked her view. I wanted her to deal with me, not him, not whatever he would say to make my questions irrelevant. I knew he would somehow, it was his way and his idea of how to handle this, but I was the one with experience. Not him. Beth needed to get this reality check.
“Beth?”
“Huh?” She looked down to the ground and expelled another sigh.
I frowned. Why all the sighing? She hadn’t been stalked. “Am I bothering you?”
“No—”
I interrupted, with a chilling smile, “Good, because I haven’t even gotten started.”
“Sheldon, this is enough—” My dad tried to push through Bryce and Corrigan. They closed ranks again, forcing him back. When he started to go around, Denton straightened from the wall, a third in the line now. Bryce and Corrigan were facing me, their backs to my father, but Denton was staring right at my dad. He said quietly, “Let your daughter finish.”
“Denton!” My dad bristled.
“I’m sorry, Neil, but I think it’s something you both need to hear.”
I felt the change from my dad. He backed up and took another inventory of the situation. I considered it from his point of view. Here I was, a daughter that he hadn’t seen in years, but who came across like a bitch. She drank too much and was way too highly sexualized as a kid. That was me. Jaded, but real. Now fast forward where he’s in his own world, with his shiny new girlfriend, and he’s forced to bring in his abandoned daughter. She’s wanted for murder. She’s got an attitude and she won’t sit still and just be thankful for the help he’s providing. Now he’s been put in his place, the movie star had spoken, the one that had been separate from all my bad behaviors growing up.
I got the distinct impression that my father would shut up and start thinking differently. Maybe. I hoped.
“Go ahead,” Bryce prompted me.
I nodded and met Beth’s gaze again. The bite had left me so my tone wasn’t as clipped as earlier. “I’ve been stalked. I’ve been hunted. I’ve had two and now three friends murdered. I almost lost one of my family twice,” I gestured to Corrigan, “and I’ve killed someone too, but it wasn’t the murder I’m being framed for. The cops didn’t help catch Marcus. We did that. They didn’t catch who shoved me into a glass table or who cut my brakes. Grace confessed to the first, and we finally got a confession for who put Corrigan in the hospital a second time. So, if you’re asking me to be quiet and sit back because it looks bad for my case? I won’t do that.”
“Sheldon,” she murmured.
I lifted a hand, stopping her. I needed to finish, for her and my father. “I won’t sit back and hope things get better. Life doesn’t get better if I do nothing. I’ve learned that the hard way, but it’s my life now. It’s my freedom. My future.” I whipped around, the need for my dad to hear this was urgent in me. I went to him, and Corrigan and Bryce parted for me. I was right in front of him. “If you think I was yelling and cursing in that hotel lobby and that’s all I was doing, you’re an idiot. I was saying ‘fuck you’ to Grace’s murderer. I wanted him to know that I’m not scared and I’m not quaking in my boots. I’m ready to fight and if he won’t come to me, I’m more than ready to go hunt him down instead.” I stopped, my chest was heaving.
Neil held my gaze, studying me intently, and then he let out a soft breath. His head hung down, and he said, “I’m sorry, Sheldon.”
I closed my eyes. Those words hit me like a blast of cold air. I never knew I needed to hear them, but as soon as he uttered those words, a hole inside my chest shrunk a tiny bit. I felt raw. I was dying of thirst, and I had been starving for that message from him for so long. I blinked and stumbled back a step. Someone caught my arm and held me upright.
I had no idea I’d been yearning for those words.
Then I stopped myself, stopped any crumbling I might’ve done. I wasn’t Daddy’s little girl. I never had been, and those two words weren’t about to bring that change for me. My fairytale was the neglected princess who fought for her own survival.
I’d keep surviving. I’d keep fighting. I never needed my dad before, and I sure as hell didn’t need him now.
I turned away and left.
As I passed the hallway leading to the front door, I heard a quiet voice. “Sheldon?”
My feet stopped before I registered a new presence, and I turned, stricken, horrified, and for some reason, glad at the same time.
“Mena?” That couldn’t be right. I blinked, rubbed at my eyes, but it was her.
She held a hand up in a small wave. “Hey . . .” Her tiny smile turned timid and she tucked her hand back to her side, slipping inside a sweatshirt she was wearing. The jet-black hair was gone. She had dyed it blond, but it looked natural. She was still petite. She’d been wearing a tank top, trendy miniskirt, and black boots the first time I met her. Dressed in jeans, a sweatshirt, and sneakers, she barely looked like the same person. “I’m guessing my brother didn’t tell you I was coming?”
“Sheldon?” Corrigan was coming, followed by Bryce, and Denton. The first two slammed to a halt right behind me, riveted by Mena as well.
I waited, holding my breath. Then I heard Corrigan exclaim, “What the hell, Denton?”
“Fuck,” Bryce grunted, raking his hand through his hair. “FUCK!”
Mena frowned at her brother. “You didn’t tell them?”
“Uh . . .” Denton went to her side, facing us, and held his hands out. “Sorry, guys. It . . . this,” he gestured to his sister, “completely slipped my mind with everything going on.”
Mena turned, facing him squarely. She moved her head to the side and her hand came back out from her sweatshirt to land on her hip. “You remembered to tell me.”
He shot her a pointed look. “I know. Thank you.” He looked right at me. “I’m sorry. I really am. She’s going to college here.”
“My college?” Corrigan cursed, starting to pace back and forth behind me. “This fucking sucks!”
Denton ignored him, talking over him, “She’s only here for a while, until she gets on her feet with school. The plan is for her to wait a few months and then find a friend, someone we both trust for her to room with.”
“So, she’s here? For the duration?” Bryce’s tone was sharp. He was sending her a dark look. “How long have you known we’d be here?”
She opened her mouth, but Denton moved in front of her, blocking her from Bryce’s interrogation. He folded his arms over his chest and clipped out, back to him, “You need to back down. Mena’s my sister, and she has more right to be in this house than you do—”
“Exactly my point,” Bryce ground out. He didn’t back down. “Did you know about this before we came here?”
“Yes, but—”
“We shouldn’t have come here.” Bryce reached for my arm and started to push me back to the hallway. “We’re leaving. We’re not safe with her here.”
“Hey! Whoa. Whoa,” Denton called us back. “She’s my sister. I can’t turn her out.”
“No.” Bryce shook his head. “You should’ve turned us out. That’s the whole point. You know how we feel about your sister—”
Mena stepped toward us. “I’m right here.”
Bryce kept going, “—even if you trust her, I don’t. Corrigan doesn’t. I highly doubt Sheldon does.”
As he said those last three words, I felt Mena’s gaze come toward me, resting on me. A weird sensation of guilt filled me, and I stepped to the side, away from Bryce and Denton. I didn’t know what this feeling was about. Mena had burned her bridges. I had taken her under my wing, befriended her, but she hadn’t stood up to Bryce and Corrigan. She didn’t earn their trust, even when I told them to give her a shot, but I couldn’t do it for her. They did. They shut up, gave her an opening to stand up to them, but she hadn’t.
They broke her instead, and she started to sleep with one of our enemies. She became one of our enemies after that and had a full meltdown at one of our parties where she was found by Denton and then shipped off to a psychiatric place. She’d been there for a long time, and the last I heard was that she had gone to a residential program somewhere else.
It was Grace.
That was the guilt I was feeling.
Grace had been our common link at the end. She went to visit Mena, and according to Grace, Mena always asked how I was doing. “. . . you feel guilty because you couldn't help Mena. I was a better friend to Mena so you befriending me is almost like you're supporting Mena in a way.” Grace’s voice came back to me, and I reached out for the wall. Her words washed over me, mingling with so many other emotions—grief, pain, being haunted, all of those and more. I shook my head, needing to clear my thoughts. I couldn’t . . . Grace’s voice drifted back, I couldn’t shake her words, “Mena didn't want you to know how far she'd fallen.”
How far she had fallen. I lifted pained eyes. Mena was watching me intently. Searching her gaze, I didn’t see the embarrassment that Grace had mentioned when I asked about their visits.
She looked strong. She looked content. She looked at peace.
Not like Grace, my own thought laughed at me, taunting me. Grace was dead. Grace wasn’t strong. Grace wasn’t content.
Grace was dead.
I felt her, right then and there, like she was in the room with me. I felt rage from her. She was definitely not at peace.
“When are you going to avenge me? When are you going to deal with my murderer?” I winced, feeling her laughing at me.
“Grace,” I whispered under my breath, folding over. My head bent forward and I slumped down against the wall closest to me. I hadn’t done a thing, not yet, but I was trying.
“You’re just focused on yourself.
Yourself, Sheldon. It’s always about you. What about me? I’m dead. DEAD! You’re alive. Stop crying over that fact.”
I shook my head. This wasn’t real. Grace really wasn’t there. She wasn’t haunting me.
“STOP!”
Everything was too much. I couldn’t lift my head. I couldn’t focus on what they were saying, whoever they were. Mena’s shrill voice broke through, but I kept my eyes closed. A part of me, the irrational side of me, was scared that if I looked up, Grace would be sitting next to me. Angry. Hateful. Disappointed.
It wasn’t about me. It was about Grace. This was all about her now. She was right, whether she’d been real or not. I had to suck it up and find her murderer, not for me. For her.
“Grace,” I whispered again. I am so sorry. I am so sorry.
“Sheldon?” Corrigan was kneeling in front of me. His hand cupped the bottom of my face and he lifted my head.
I kept my eyes closed. I couldn’t look. She’d be there.
“Sheldon?” Bryce’s voice was close; he was next to Corrigan. “What’s wrong?”
“No.” I tried to pull from Corrigan’s hand, but he kept it firm. He didn’t let me go. Instead, he murmured, “Hey. Hey.”
“No.” I tried again.
“Hey, come on. It’s me.” He moved closer, and I felt his arms sliding underneath me. Then he picked me up and stood, cradling me against his chest.
I tucked my head into his shoulder and burrowed there. My hands clutched onto his shoulders. I didn’t want him to let me go.
He readjusted his hold to free one hand. Then he smoothed it down the side of my face, tucking my hair behind my ear. I heard him say, his voice coming through his chest to me, “She needs rest. I’m thinking this breakdown was bound to happen.”
Then, with a soft murmur for my ears only, he whispered, “I won’t leave you.” He turned and left. He headed to my room and laid me down on the bed. When he straightened and started to leave, I acted on impulse. I wasn’t thinking.
I reached for his hand.
He stopped, looked down. “Sheldon,” he started, the struggle obvious on his face.