by L. J. Woods
He told her.
He fucking told her.
Damien turns to look at me, all sounds becoming muffled. It takes everything inside me not to lunge across the auditorium at Lea. Every muscle in my body is stopping me from kicking Damien in the face.
Fighting my urges, I storm out before I hear anything else.
I’m only out for a second when I hear Nate’s voice behind me, “Jo wait!” There are already tears in my eyes when I turn around. “What’s going on?”
Fuck it. I let it all spill out, “Lea’s right, I’m a drug dealing murderer.” Allie and Christian come through the doors behind him. “And I don’t belong here.”
I turn to walk away, my chest feeling like it's about to close in.
I’m halfway to the exit before I hear Isaac’s voice behind me, “You should’ve told me, Jo.” Isaac doesn’t sound concerned. He sounds angry. When I turn around, the tightness in his cheeks confirm it. “Now you've fucked up my whole operation.”
Nate catches up to us, pushing him aside. He eyes Isaac before saying, “Oh is it every day someone tells you they’re involved in a murder?” Nate takes me under his arm. “You're the one who put her up to this Isaac.”
“Yeah, and now I’m fucked!”
Nate scoffs, “Grow up Johnson, and lay off the baking soda.”
“Fuck you, Quinfrey.” Isaac walks away, but not without another glare at me.
“Shit, Jo.” Nate puts his arm around me. “What did you get yourself into?”
I rest my head on his chest, unable to fight back any more tears. "I'm fucked."
Nate offers to get me out of school for the day, and Allie gives him her keys to do just that. He’s calling the rest of our day a "Mental Health Break". When we get back to his mansion we throw towels under the bathroom door and light up the rest of Nate’s stash.
His bathroom is like one from a showroom. Since his mom is always gone, he gets the master bedroom. His glass-walled shower can host a party, and the gold decor makes it feel royal. This golden face-mask and the fluffy robe around my body only adds to the experience.
“What did you do for this?” I ask, my mind already hazy, stupid smile on my face.
I’m passing him the joint as he gives me a scowl, “Ew, this is from Canada. I don’t go to Isaac.”
"Where’s your mom anyway?" I can't help but giggle and I'm relieved there's laughter in me. Thank you, Mary Jane.
He rummages through a metal case, his robe falling off his shoulders. "My real one? Or the millionaire diva who adopted me?"
Giggling again, I’m happy I’m laughing after the shit storm that has been the last few days. The last few weeks. Hell, my life has been a shit storm since the day my parents died, but Eden Gardens is on a whole other level.
"Quinfrey,” I clarify.
"Who knows." He opens up a gold container, taking a brush from the clear jar on the stone counter. "I'll see her at dinner like twice a month. Or if she has an event. She provides everything except her time, but I know my luck." Nate dusts some glitter along my cheeks and I take another puff. "I can't believe you’re working with the Kings."
“Was,” I clarify again. “And I can’t believe I almost fell for Damien.”
“You say that as if it’s the past,” Nate smirks, rummaging through his container for something else.
I snort, “Right? I’m so fucked up.” I let a smile sit on my face, even if the question makes me nervous. “Does Allie know?”
“I’m sure she does now.” Nate pushes my chin to the ceiling, stroking some purple dust on my lids. “You should talk to her. She didn’t mean anything by not telling you.”
I don’t even know why I’m holding a grudge when I’m angry at something else. Yeah, I'm disappointed in the lie, but I should at least hear her out. It's not her fault her brother’s a douche-bucket. Besides, I haven't been completely transparent either.
My phone buzzes next to me and I push the empty bottle of pinot to the side to reach it.
“Noooo,” Nate calls, his voice lazy. “My muse.”
I laugh, “One second.” The text on the screen jumps me out of my haze and my chest tightens.
Willow: Get home ASAP. Something’s going on. I’m scared.
“Fuck I gotta go,” I say, getting up. I tap Henry’s number on my phone.
“Everything okay?” Nate asks. “I’ll drive.”
I can’t help but laugh and the weed helps to quell the shock. “No. You won’t. Unless you don’t want me to get home alive. Willow’s in trouble.”
“Shit, okay." He takes the joint from me, outing it in the sink. "Go. Text me when you’re home.”
Henry’s swift with his pickup and I’m at the door of the Archibalds’ in about ten minutes.
When I open the door, three policemen greet me in the foyer. Nancy and Eric stand behind them in a sort of semi-circle.
“Well.” Nancy flaps her hands before she brings her thumb and index to the bridge of her nose. “Here she is.”
“Joelle Rowland?” One of the cops turns to look at me and I gulp. “We have a few questions we need to ask.”
Twenty-Five
Nancy and Eric’s eyes are on me and while I’m a nervous wreck on the inside, I’m holding my poker face.
“Joelle?” The officer approaches me with his hand out but I don’t take it.
“It’s Jo.”
He drops his arm. “I’m Detective Branson and today we arrested Isaac Johnson for a DUI.” He doesn’t look away from me as he talks but the more he says, the more I want to disappear into the ground. “We found an alarming amount of cocaine in Johnson's glove compartment. When questioned, he pointed me to you. Our records show an arrest for possession. Can I ask you some questions?”
“Are you kidding me?” Eric takes a step forward. “No. Not without a lawyer present.”
The officer looks at Eric then back at me. “Jo, this can be an easy Q and A or we can do it the hard way down at the station.”
“With all due respect officer,” Nancy pipes up. “I will not allow our foster daughter to receive questioning without a lawyer present now please, it’s late.”
The officer looks at them both then back at me before he nods. “I’ll see you all at the station.”
Eric escorts them out, a breath finally escaping my lips. I’m about to run upstairs and check on Willow but Eric stops me. Nancy waves him off and he walks towards his office.
“Jo,” she says, straightening her silk nightgown. “Your recent actions will draw too much negative attention to Eric and our business. It might prove hard to have you around after all. Now I know this affects your sister because you can’t be without her so—”
“You’re kicking us out?”
“Eric and I will discuss whether we can continue with the foster program. If we're not able to, you’ll both return to Glendale Grove. We’ve helped you as much as we can.”
“Great.” I turn around, lump in my throat as I storm up the stairs. “Thanks for the help. Glad I can be of service.”
When I get upstairs, Willow's on my bed, knees to her chest. She has an oversized Gucci t-shirt on and I'm too relieved to see that she's okay to ask where she got it. When she sees me, her body relaxes. Crawling into bed with her, she wraps her arms around me, squeezing tight.
“Is everything okay?” she asks. Her voice sounds muffled against my shirt but it's that scared, quiet voice I haven't heard in a while.
I nod, pulling her close. “It will be.”
Damien King has to fix this.
He owes me that much.
The Archibalds are on the verge of kicking me out, including Willow, if I don’t do something about it.
She’s asleep, so I climb down the window solo and use my phone to call an Uber.
It feels like no time before I pull up to the mansion. The gate is open so I instruct the driver to drive straight in before I’m facing the King’s door once again.
I head straight to the front door a
nd ring the bell, a round lady answering. I ask for Damien and she nods, bringing me into the foyer and telling me to wait there.
Without a bunch of students sitting around, the place looks much more lavish than I remember. I pace back and forth, my boots thudding against the marble, trying to figure out what the fuck I’m going to say.
“Miss Rowland,” that familiar stern voice makes me stop in my path. “How nice to see you again.”
I turn around to see Sebastien King looking down at me, arms crossed. At that moment, Damien comes down the stairs in a pair of black joggers, chest and abs on display. But his expression doesn’t change and I can’t read him.
“What are you doing here?” Damien asks.
Sebastien straightens his black tie, looking at his son. “I was about to ask you the same question.”
“Can we talk?” Looking at Damien in those multi-coloured eyes makes my heart patter. It's like my body forgets all the damage he brings when I look at him.
“There’s nothing to talk about,” Damien says.
"You know that's not true." My eyes narrow, trying to find the boy I left back in that room.
“Should I leave you two alone?” Sebastien asks.
“No.” Damien glances at his dad. “I have nothing to say to this trash from The Grove. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have important things to attend to. Isobel can escort you out.”
I’m speechless as I watch him walk away, his dad staring at me. “Is there anything else we can do for you?”
“No," my voice shakes when I respond. “That’s the only answer I need.”
I turn around and exit the way I came. I’m heading back to the Archibald mansion but only for a second. If no one’s going to help me, I’m going to have to help myself.
At this point, I’m only an anchor to Willow, and not in a good way. I'm holding her back. She can do better on her own and for that, I know what I have to do.
I have to leave Eden Gardens for good.
I tell my new Uber driver to wait, and tip-toe back in the house, up to my room. I'm quiet as I stuff my favourite clothes in my backpack. My notebook and the stash of money I earned from Isaac goes with it. Better with me than in this room as evidence. Besides, where I’m going, I'll need it. I write a note for Willow and leave it on the pillow next to her, along with the phone. I can’t take it. I’ll be too easy to find.
If I'm out of the equation, Willow will have a better chance.
I kiss her on the head, light enough so she won’t stir and exit through the window again.
Once I’m off the property and back in the car, I give the driver the address for the train station.
I’ll be back in The Grove by dinner. Away from the Eden Gardens police. Away from Lea and her manipulative tactics. And away from Damien King and everything toxic about him.
If he rules Eden, I want no part in it.
When I arrive in Glendale Grove, I have no appetite. The air smells like stale bread and yeast, with a hint of burnt rubber. Pulling my leather jacket around me for warmth, I'm not even sure if this place feels like home anymore.
I’m walking down the main street in the downtown strip, no clue where I’m going, or what I’m doing.
Anansi’s Kitchen has Miss Anita's pumpkin curry on special. Even that doesn’t stir up tummy grumbles or the saliva in my mouth. It’s a shame because for once, I have the money to afford it, plus a tip.
The streets in The Grove look more rugged than ever. Eden Gardens has smooth pavement and cobblestone streets that make intricate designs. Glendale Grove has potholes, rocky roads and missing manhole covers.
“Hey, baby girl.” Passing by an alley, I avoid eye contact with the group of guys hanging out near a dumpster.
It reminds me of hanging out with Zane and the guys, drinking a stolen case of beer or rolling up a few joints. I’m dying to see the boys, but I know that Zane wouldn’t be too far away if I do. As much as I’d like to think they care about me, I know where their loyalty is. Zane would know I was around whether they want to tell him or not.
This also reminds me that I’m back in their hood. My old one. It’s comfortable to wander around, but being out and about might not be the best thing if I’m trying to keep away from Zane. I’m back but it doesn’t mean that I need to take the bullshit he shelled out that night at MOCHA. Zane is off the rails, and I’m not the one to save him this time.
The sign for the Glendale Library comes up ahead and I decide to go inside. This library was where I spent so much time growing up. From Children’s books to Young Adult, the library always made it easy to escape my problems.
An old man holds the door open for me and I thank him as I walk in, wiggling the cold evening air out of my bones. Metal shelves and blue walls welcome me and when I move through the detector there's a familiar smiling face. Mrs. Angela Jenkins.
“Jo!” She pulls her gold metal glasses off her face and it hangs off her neck by a gold chain. “What a nice surprise!” She winks, reaching under her desk to pull out a tattered copy of The Hunger Games. “I know you were asking for this so I put it aside for you.”
I find it hard to choke back my tears and can hardly thank her when she hands me the book. She pushes the tissue box on the administration counter in front of me. “Are you okay, hun?”
I force a smile, and even though I know it’s weak, I hope it’s enough to have her not worry. “Just a little tired.”
“Alright well…” She leans over, looking down the path towards a study area. “There’s no one in your usual spot. Why don’t you go over there and relax? I’ll bring you some tea.”
Thanking her again, my boots thud against the dirty brown carpet. I make my way to what became my second home in The Grove.
I’m not sure if Mrs. Angela knows my situation. Or if she feels bad for me. Growing up in The Grove, she was the only mother figure I had after the accident. Whether it was picking me up patties from Anansi’s or packing herself an extra apple, she always had a snack, a book, and a smile to welcome me.
Sitting at the table, I take in the smell of old musty books and mildew. Sure the library in Eden smells like leather, wood, and chamomile but there’s nothing like the smell of this one. I settle into my seat before Mrs. Angela comes over with a white paper cup, steam coming from the top.
“Peppermint,” she says with a smile as she lays it down. “I remember this was your favourite.”
“Thank you so much.” I take the cup with two hands and she looks at me like a concerned mother.
Her wrinkled red lips twist. “Are you hungry?”
I shake my head. “The tea helps enough.”
“Well.” She smiles. “I’ll be at the front and you can stay as long as you like. Might as well milk it while we got it.”
I look up at her. “What do you mean?”
She nods. “Mhmm, Sebastien King brings the first signs of gentrification. This library will be a condo by next year.” Shaking her head, she rubs at her wrinkled mahogany forehead. “Damn shame. This place is great for the kids.” I'm still piecing together what she's saying when I hear someone call her name from the front desk. She puts her hand on my back. “I’ll be at the front.”
Of course. Even back in The Grove, the King's name is ruining everything. I let my forehead hit the table and I don’t hold back the tears anymore. Why should I?
My life is a mess and that's all it ever will be.
Damien King said he'd ruin me, and I'm destroyed.
Twenty-Six
It’s dark.
The smell of burning wood is overwhelming and I can hear the crackles of the flames.
I’m trying to get to them but I can’t.
I scream and nothing comes out.
The flames burst through and I can’t breathe. I’m choking, gasping for air but my chest is closing in.
“Jo?” A voice comes out of the fire. One that seems as dangerous as the heat. “Jo is that you?”
A hand on my shoulder shakes me awake.
When I lift my head, I’m back in the Glendale Library. Shaking my curls, my fingers come to my eyes, giving them a rub. The library’s emptier, tea cold in front of me.
“Well, damn! It is you!”
I look up to see a girl gazing down at me with wide brown eyes, straight black hair to her waist. She looks familiar but something’s off. I ask anyway, “Shauna?”
“Hey, bestie!” She wraps her arms around me and I hesitate to return the hug. I’m still in a daze from my dream. Still in a haze from what’s been happening. “Didn’t know you were back in town.”
I’m not sure if I should be happy to see her. Shauna and I grew up together. We were in the same foster home for six months and kept in touch after. That said, I wouldn’t exactly consider her a friend. Not the bestie she claims either.
Frenemies is more accurate. I'm used to Shauna always trying to outshine me. She went after the same people I did and always wanted to one-up whatever I was doing.
The Shauna looking at me now doesn’t look like what I'm used to. Her makeup isn't smeared on her face, no alcohol coming from her breath. I can even see a designer label on her furry jacket.
“How have you been?” I ask. Getting my bearings I pull my jacket around me.
“Me?” Shauna leans her butt on the end of the table. “I hear you’ve been kicking it with the uppity bitches in Eden.”
“Yeah well…” I sit up, sipping the cold tea because I’m parched. “Turns out that wasn’t for me.”
“Are you out? Of foster care I mean?”
“Mhm." I cut my answer off with another sip before asking, "Are you?"
She nods, wiggling a set of keys. “I'm an independent girl now. For the most part.” Shauna winks. “Not like when you and I used to be on the prowl.”
Rising off the desk, she does a twirl. Her beige pants fit her curvy body like a glove, pointy white shoes on her feet. It's a long way from a cut off t-shirt and baggy jeans.
“You look pretty damn good.” I smile, happy that she’s acknowledged our past.