My stomach twists, and I think I might puke. I flatten my lips to steady my trembling chin. “How did he die?”
“He shot himself at the campsite. I think he planned to kill himself all along. He just wanted to kill us first.”
“But why?” I ask angrily. “Why would anyone want to hurt two little boys?”
“He had his reasons.” Sebastian won’t meet my eyes, his nostrils flaring. He stands, depositing me back onto the table. “Story time’s over.”
And then he’s walking out the door.
Not knowing what to do with myself, I stand, grabbing my phone from the counter before digging my music box out of my suitcase. I crawl into Sebastian’s bunk and curl up under his blankets, tucking the music box into my chest. I have the sudden urge to call my dad. He used to fix everything. He was a good man once—the best man—before he threw it all away for a little white pill. I turn my phone over, scrolling through my call log to find his name, but it’s been so long that I’ve used his number that it’s not even there. I dial the number I know by heart, hoping by some miracle he’ll answer and tell me he’s okay. That he’s getting better.
The phone rings. And rings. And rings. Finally, it goes to his voicemail, the recording still from before. “You’ve reached Dr. Gavin Thorne. If this is a medical emergency, please hang up and dial nine-one-one. Otherwise, leave your name and number and I’ll call you back at my earliest convenience.” It physically hurts to hear his voice. To remember what he was like before his addiction stole him from us. Sometimes, loving an addict feels more like mourning their death.
“Dad…” I start, but my voice breaks. I clear my throat before continuing. “It’s me. I love you. And I guess… I guess I just called to say that I’m not ready to lose you yet. I don’t care what you’ve done. It’s not too late to make it better. Please get help.” I hang up the phone, covering my mouth as I finally let out the tears that I’ve been holding back for the better part of two years. I cry for Sebastian and Eros, and I cry for the man my dad used to be. And I cry for me. For the sixteen-year-old girl who lost her father to addiction and never really dealt with it.
I don’t know how long I cry, soaking Sebastian’s pillows with tears until I drift to sleep, thinking about two little boys in sleeping bags.
MY MIND STIRS AWAKE. I’M warm and comfortable, so comfortable that I slip back into sleep. I’m on my side, and a strong arm is curled around my waist protectively. Light snores come from behind me, and I can feel his breath puffing up the baby hairs at the nape of my neck. Am I still dreaming?
My eyes shoot open, finally conscious enough to remember that I fell asleep in Sebastian’s bed last night. Slowly, I turn toward him. He doesn’t even stir. He looks so innocent like this. So young. I stretch my neck to press my lips to the scar under his lip before laying my head back down, soaking up this feeling while I can. I’ve never been held like this before, and I have the sinking feeling that once Sebastian wakes up, he’ll go back to being his calloused, grumpy self, shattering the illusion of safety.
I can tell the moment he rouses, feeling something else rouse along with him. He stretches his arms above his head, his hips pushing into me. His eyes aren’t even open when he rolls me onto my back, fitting himself in between my thighs. I’m still not wearing underwear, and I can feel every inch of him through his boxers.
“Morning,” he says into my neck. His voice is deep and gravelly with sleep as he holds my arms above my head, pressing himself into me.
A soft moan slips out, and he covers my mouth with his palm, rocking into me once more. Our breathing turns heavy, our bodies coated with a light sheen of sweat. I’m about to come when I hear the door to the trailer spring shut. My wide eyes snap up to meet Sebastian’s, but it’s too late, I’m already falling over the edge, and Sebastian keeps moving, his rough palm covering my mouth as he grinds into me, taking advantage of the privacy curtain on his bunk.
I come quietly, heart pounding, blood rushing into my ears. Sebastian slowly rolls his hips, bringing me down before he pushes off me and opens the curtain. I try to slink back against the wall, making as little noise as possible.
“What are you doing up this early?” Sebastian asks.
“Haven’t gone to bed yet,” Eros explains, and I can hear the smile in his voice.
Sebastian bends over, retrieving his jeans from the night before then walks away. A second later, I hear the bathroom door shut.
“Good morning, Evan,” Eros sings, and I know from his tone alone that he heard us. I adjust my dress, pulling it down to cover my ass before swinging my legs over the side of the bed. Thankfully, Lathan and Tres are passed out on their bunks across from me, oblivious.
Remembering what Sebastian told me last night, I stand, padding toward Eros, before I throw my arms around his waist, laying my head against his chest—against the eight-inch, puckered scar. I don’t say anything, not wanting to throw Sebastian under the bus for telling me something so personal. I hear his heartbeat, strong and steady. At first, he doesn’t react. He holds his arms out at his sides, his posture stiff, but then his huge palm flattens against the back of my head.
“I always knew you had a thing for me, Jailbait.”
Sebastian comes out of the bathroom, and he must give him a look because I feel Eros shrug in answer to his silent question. I turn toward Sebastian, but he looks away, avoiding eye contact. I get it, I want to say. I feel raw and exposed, too. I may not have been the one divulging all my secrets, but I feel it nonetheless. Being in his bed in our dream-like state allowed us to stay inside the bubble of truth and trust and no pretenses we created last night. The moment he stepped out, that bubble popped.
I look back up at Eros, releasing my death grip on him. He scratches the back of his neck, uncomfortable, and his eyes have lost that mischievous spark. With one look, I know he knows that I know. What I don’t know is what to say other than I’m glad you’re alive, so I opt for nothing at all. Eros drops a kiss to the top of my head before mussing up my hair and playfully shoving me away with both hands, making me laugh.
I freeze, suddenly remembering my music box, and how I never put it away last night. I hurry back over to Sebastian’s bunk and smooth my hands across the mattress before shaking the blankets out. “Shit,” I say, trying not to panic. It’s not like it grew legs and walked away. I drop to my knees, searching under the bed, too. Nothing.
“What’s she doing?” Eros asks flatly.
“Fuck if I know.”
“Have you seen my music box?” I ask, trying to keep my voice down so I don’t wake Tres and Lathan. Sebastian walks over to a cabinet I didn’t know existed, pulling out the ornate green and gold music box.
“This thing?” he asks.
“Thank God,” I say, moving toward him to take it from his hands, but he opens it, letting the music play, looking at it with a crease between his brows.
“This thing stabbed me when I got into my bed,” he explains, still inspecting it in the palm of his hand. “Looked fancy, so I put it away.”
“Thanks.” This time, when I reach for it, I’m able to snatch it from his hand. Bending over, I zip it back up safely in my suitcase before fishing an outfit out—a pair of light denim skinny jeans and a plain white T-shirt—before heading to the bathroom to change.
I stare at my reflection in the mirror on the back of the door, noticing how different I look from when I first came. I don’t spend an hour making sure every strand of hair is stick-straight or making sure my makeup is perfect. I look younger without the makeup to hide my pink cheeks and the freckles across my nose, courtesy of my father. I’d never have worn this outfit to school. There’s nothing sexy or powerful about jeans and a T-shirt. But here, I feel…free. Free to be myself, whoever that is. Content. As my old life falls apart, this one is coming together.
I open the door and quickly brush my teeth at the sink. When I’m finished, I turn to find Eros sporting a shit-eating grin.
“What?”
I ask, looking from him to Sebastian.
He stands in the walkway, holding a balled-up piece of black fabric. “Missing something?”
Oh God. My cheeks flame. He’s holding my cum-stained underwear. I flatten my lips together, dropping my toothbrush to the counter, my eyes darting to Sebastian who looks like he’s trying not to laugh.
“You having fun holding my cum rag?” he asks. Eros’ face twists with horror before he launches them at Sebastian’s head. I shake my head, embarrassed, grabbing my phone from Sebastian’s bed before stuffing it into my back pocket, and then I’m heading for the door.
“Evan,” Sebastian’s clipped tone calls after me, and I pause, looking back at him. “Be at the show tonight.”
“We’ll see,” I say with a casual shrug. He lifts a brow, daring me to see what happens if I don’t, sending a thrill through me. I’m tempted to not show up and see what happens. Pushing him to lose control worked out well for me last night.
Before he has a chance to respond, I’m out the door. “You sick fuck. It’s about time,” I hear Eros say behind me.
My stomach growls, reminding me that I skipped breakfast. I decide to set up the face-painting booth, and if I have any time before we open, I’ll grab something from one of the stands. Plucking my phone out of my pocket, I check to see if I have any missed calls from my parents. Nothing. I punch out a text.
Remember me? The daughter you left in Arizona? Or are you too busy pretending you don’t have a family?
I hit send without hesitation. Passive-aggressiveness at its finest. After all, I learned it from the best. My mom invented passive-aggression. I shove my phone back into my pocket as I approach my booth. To my surprise, Jada is already there, flattening paper towels before setting the paints on top. The standing sign advertising all the design options is already up, too.
“Did we switch shifts today?” I ask her, confused.
“Nope,” she says innocently, arranging the handheld mirror and tip jar just so. “I just thought we could work together today.”
I narrow my eyes at her. “Okay, eager beaver. What aren’t you telling me?”
Her shoulders slump, and she rolls her eyes. “Okay, fine. I heard about last night.”
My eyes bulge. “What about last night?” Lots of things happened last night, and Jada is way too young to know about any of them.
“Sebastian showing up at the Vixens’ tent with Selina. You storming out of the tent,” she deadpans.
So much for going unnoticed.
“Who told you that?”
“Nikki.”
“And she is…?”
“My cousin. She’s one of the Vixens. She used to sleep with Eros.”
“Jesus, you guys really are an incestuous bunch, you know that? Is everyone here related?”
She shrugs, unaffected. “We’re all connected in some way, I guess. It’s like a big dysfunctional family.”
“I’m getting that,” I mutter.
“So?” she prompts, bouncing on her toes like a Chihuahua on crack.
“Settle down. You’re giving me a headache.” Or maybe it’s the lack of food and sleep. Either way, an energetic, prying Jada is not how I want to start my morning.
“Sorry,” she says, plopping down on one of the stools behind the booth. “So, what’s up with you and Sebastian? Are you, like, dating? I hear Selina is pissed.”
“Nothing’s up with us,” I tell her, grabbing the jar of brushes from the shelf under the booth. Dirty, per usual. Jada never rinses them once she’s done. Her face falls, disappointed.
“Give me something,” she pleads, hands folded under her chin. “Sebastian hasn’t shown interest in…” she trails off, mentally calculating. “Well, anyone. Ever.”
My stomach flips at her words. She’s blowing it out of proportion, I know this, but it still feels good to hear that even other people are picking up on this thing between us. Lets me know that it’s not all in my head. “If I tell you one thing, will you leave me alone about it?”
“Yes,” she barks before the words have even left my mouth, causing me to jump.
“Jesus.” I laugh. I rack my brain for something to tell her. Something that will satisfy her without divulging too much. Once I’ve got it, I lean forward, not wanting anyone else to overhear. “He’s a really good kisser,” I whisper conspiratorially.
“Shut up!” she yells. I shush her, covering her mouth with my palm. “Shut up,” she repeats, this time it’s more of a whisper-yell. “You can’t just tell me that and expect me not to ask questions.”
“We had a deal,” I remind her.
“Fine.” She pouts. “For the record, I knew you were lying.”
I spend the rest of the afternoon painting fairies and dragons and fielding questions from Jada. Once she calmed down, talking to her was actually kind of…nice. She’s cool in that annoying little sister way.
I didn’t end up getting lunch, and by the time my shift is almost over, I’m starving. When I’m finishing up my last customer, a sassy four-year-old named Rosie who insisted on a rainbow, a ballerina, and a unicorn all on one tiny cheek, Lathan shows up, tossing a brown paper bag onto my lap.
“Um. Hi?” I say, keeping my eyes trained on the toddler in my chair.
“Brought you lunch.”
“Is it poisoned?” I ask, raising a brow. Why the hell would Lathan bring me lunch?
“What happened to your eye?” Rosie’s soft voice chimes in, pulling his shirt until he bends down to her level. Sure enough, he’s sporting a big black eye.
“Rosie,” her mom says, embarrassed, but Lathan waves her off. Rosie cups both of his cheeks, turning his head this way and that, inspecting the black ring around his eye.
“Got in a fight with a pirate last night,” Lathan offers.
“Did you win?” she asks, letting go of his face. I finish the purple part of the rainbow, but she’s watching Lathan intently.
“I’m here, aren’t I?”
She nods, apparently satisfied with his answer.
“All done,” I say, holding the mirror up for her to see. “What do you think?”
“What do you think?” she asks Lathan.
He twists his lips. “Needs glitter,” he says tersely, arms folded across his chest.
“Needs glitter,” she repeats, turning back to me.
“How could I ever forget the glitter?” I mutter, cutting my eyes to Lathan. I dust it onto her cheeks, and this time, she beams when she sees her reflection. Her mom pays me, while Rosie hops off the stool, giving high-fives all around.
“Got a minute?” he asks, and Jada makes a squeaking sound from beside me.
“I don’t know. Last time you ambushed me, it wasn’t very fun.”
His arm darts out, snatching my elbow before pulling me away. I catch the paper bag before it falls off my lap, scrambling to keep up with him.
“What the hell, Lathan?” I snap.
He drags me to one of the picnic tables with a half-eaten corndog on it. “Sit,” he says, pointing at the bench.
“Not until you tell me what you want.”
“I’m trying to apologize.”
I press my lips together to keep my laugh in. “Well, you’re off to a great start,” I say sarcastically. I sit, if only to get it over with, dropping the paper bag on top of the table.
“Seb said you left without eating. He strongly suggested I bring you some food.”
“Thanks,” I say, still not sure how to feel. Whatever’s inside smells amazing.
“I still think you should leave,” he starts off.
“You’re really bad at apologies.”
“But,” he says tightly. “I overstepped. My bad.”
I quirk a brow. “What happened to your eye?” I ask, unfolding the top of the bag, pulling out something wrapped in foil.
“Don’t worry about it.” I narrow my eyes. Did Sebastian do that? I think back to this morning, trying to remember if Sebastian was sporting any battle woun
ds. If he was, I didn’t notice.
“Did he make you apologize to me?”
He chuckles darkly. “No one can make me do anything.”
“Okay.” I shrug. “What is this thing?”
“Cheesesteak.”
I scrunch my nose, unwrapping it. It doesn’t look pretty, but it smells amazing. “Well,” I say when the silence stretches between us. “Thanks for this.” I raise my sandwich.
He hesitates, like he’s got something else to say.
“For the record, I really was trying to protect you.” His tone is earnest, his eyes holding a sadness I’ve never noticed before. “But I see now that it’s too late.”
I lay my sandwich down, suddenly losing my appetite as an uneasy sense of foreboding courses through me. Before I can tell him to quit being so cryptic, he prowls away.
The sound of the dirt bikes vibrates through my entire body. I’m blissfully buzzed and more than a little turned on watching Sebastian do his thing in the cage.
“Damn, girl.” Miles laughs. “he’s going to be a lucky man tonight.”
“Shut up.” I roll my eyes, bumping him with my shoulder. After Lathan’s cheery visit, I went to see Kat and Miles to take my mind off things. We ended up drinking margaritas with the Vixens. It felt so good to let off some steam and just have fun.
You’d think the Vixens would be this stuck-up, high-maintenance group of girls, but the truth is, they’re surprisingly laid-back. When they’re not on stage, they’re in sweat pants and no makeup, and just so…normal. They’re the kind of friends I wish I’d had back home. And the best part? They’re all sick of Selina. I took a shameful amount of sick pleasure hearing about how she’s managed to piss everyone off. Apparently, she’s a mess of epic proportions, showing up late or drunk or both, demanding to be the star of the show and not giving anyone else a chance to headline. I imagine they feel similarly to how I feel about Savannah. I’ll always have love for her, but I don’t like her a solid ninety percent of the time.
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