“I passed out. Somehow, the cops were called and when I woke up, the EMTs were with me. I…I don’t know what’s going to happen with Rhys. Can you please meet me at the hospital?” My voice broke and I shoved one hand under my thigh, feeling grounded by the trapped limb.
More than a few colorful curse words hit my ears. “Which hospital?” He asked gruffly.
I looked to the flashlight lady sitting strapped next to me and relayed Thatcher’s question. “Mercy Hospital.”
“Did you hear that?” I turned away from the woman. If I couldn’t see her, it was almost like I had privacy.
“I’ll be there. See you soon.”
I dropped the phone in my lap and closed my eyes for the remainder of the ride. Rhys was arrested, Jonah was being hunted, and Beck was jumping in with both feet at my request to help out. Thatcher was the only one who didn’t have any imminent dangers nipping at his heels. Now I had a taste of why Jonah wanted to ghost on us.
Would Thatcher get pulled into the quicksand from being in our close proximity? That wasn’t a question I could answer, but he wouldn’t stay away even if I really wanted him to.
The truth was, I was worried about the guys and afraid for their futures. I needed comfort from anywhere I could get it right now.
“We’re here.” The lady touched my shoulder as she jumped down and opened the doors. The next two hours passed in a blur. Lots of unnecessary paperwork, probing questions, and unending waiting. By the time I was discharged, I had seen the doctor for a total of ten minutes. His diagnosis was a nasty bump on the head, a strong prescription of Tylenol and an anti-inflammatory for the swelling. Nothing I didn’t already know or would have done for myself.
I walked out and Thatcher jumped up from a seat by the door. The waiting room was a cesspool of dirty people and stringent chemical smells. Thatcher wasn’t bothered by it, though. His main focus was running to me. He ran a hand down my hair, twining the ends around his finger as he searched my face. What was he looking for? I told him everything that happened before I went into the hospital.
“What?” I asked.
“Wipe the frown off your face. Can’t I be relieved to see you?” He was trying to make me smile but I didn’t have it in me right now to make him feel better. “Come on. I’m not parked very far.”
He tangled his fingers through mine and I gripped him tight. I needed him as a lifeline.
“Have you heard from Rhys or the others?” Damn, I forgot to ask him to keep this from Beck and Jonah for the night.
“I haven’t been able to get a hold of Rhys. Beck called earlier and they were waiting until eleven or so to head over. They said they’d have a better chance of getting to him if it were later. Apparently, criminals don’t rise before nine.” He glanced at me and when I didn’t answer, he shook my hand. “Astrid, are you okay? You’re like a zombie.”
We reached his car, but he didn’t open it, instead spinning me so I was sitting on the hood. The metal was cold, seeping through the material of my pants.
“I’m fine, Thatcher.” I dug my fingers into his arms and drilled holes into his chest. It wasn’t that I was afraid to look him in the eyes. Only I knew what I would see there. Compassion and pity would be stamped all over his face and right now, those weren’t the emotions I wanted.
“Of course you’re fine. You’re too prickly and self-aware to be anything other than fine. But I can’t help it if I want you to be more than fine. If I didn’t think the guys would hunt us down, I’d whisk you and Trinity far away from here. There’s nothing for us here, anyway.”
My stomach tightened from his sweet words. Beck had the honeyed tongue of the group, but on occasion, the artist’s heart that gave Thatcher his fire filled passion for painting, gave him the ability to speak as sweet as any poet. The way he strung ordinary words together meant so much more because he only ever spoke from the heart. He felt too much, my painter.
“Maybe someday.” I glanced up with a wistful smile, tightening my hold. He moved so close that his chest brushed mine. In the shadowed dusk of night, the dark green of his eyes seemed like two pools of the darkest water under a luminescent moon. A shiver worked its way down my back from the intense gleam in his eyes. I was caught, but I couldn’t hold his gaze any longer and lowered mine to his stomach. The plaid jacket he wore was unzipped; a cluster of white paint splotches caught my attention.
A long finger slid along my jaw, then tilted my face up to his. “Don’t tease me, Astrid. I’m almost done with college. Trinity has one year left. Say the word and I’ll take us somewhere far away from here. Maybe somewhere with tropical beaches and coconut drinks. Or a city with lots of jobs and opportunities. The possibilities are endless.” He dipped his head closer. “We could dedicate a room to our art. I’d paint and you’d lounge on the couch and work on your photography.” One of his hands curved around my back and pulled my lower body tight to his.
He was seducing me with his body as well as his imagination. How was I supposed to stand strong when he plied me with such pretty visions of what life could be like? Why would I even want to?
The first press of his lips against mine was like the softest silk sliding over me. The second press was accompanied by the barest touch of his tongue, following the line of my bottom lip, before sucking it into his mouth with a gentle nip.
He wound his arms around me until I felt like nothing in the world could touch me. It was the oddest feeling of heady lust and electric safety.
Too soon he pulled away, cupping my jaw and resting his thumb over my mouth. He stared at my lips like they were the greatest prize he’d never hoped to receive.
“Now you’ve had your real first kiss. And I’m glad I was the one to give it to you.” He murmured.
Shit. I’d had my real first kiss, but Thatcher wasn’t the one to give it to me. And I didn’t have the heart to tell him he was wrong.
Strapped into the passenger seat I tried to call Rhys. The phone went straight to voicemail. Freaking A, that wasn’t good. Where was the best place to go first? To the cottage or to the police station?
“Can you drive by the cottage? I want to see if the light’s on. And if it isn’t, maybe we can swing by the police station.”
“Sure. But he might be inside the house with his dad. We won’t know if he is.”
That was a great point, and one that hadn’t even crossed my mind. Rhys hated the big house and only went in when absolutely necessary. But if his dad did manage to keep Rhys and Trey from being arrested, he’d feel the need to lecture them, using it as an opportunity to inflate his ego.
“Hmm… Actually, I want to run into my house first. I need a new memory stick for my camera.”
Thatcher’s head jerked back against his seat. “Uh, I’m not sure now is the best time to work on your photography skills.”
It almost made me laugh. “It’s not to work on my art. It’s to make sure if his dad is doing something he shouldn’t be, Rhys has the ammunition to make him stop. I took pictures of the fight until I waded in the middle. I showed the cops and EMTs, and they took the memory stick. That alone might be enough to save him. Now I need a new stick.”
“That’s all good. But what you’re talking about is blackmail. That’s a sure-fire way to get you on the wrong type of radar. Ask Jonah.”
Did he think I was an idiot? Not for a second had I forgotten how Jonah screwed up. But I couldn’t fault his logic. It was the Devil’s Hands who were unpredictable, ruthless people without morals or consciences.
“I’m not talking blackmail. I’m talking evidence.” I snapped.
He lifted one hand toward me. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it to come out that way. I’m just antsy from all the shit swirling around us right now.”
The hot air leaked right out of me and I was left with an empty, hollow feeling. “I’m worried too. But if I can do this thing that helps my friends, I want to do it.”
“That’s good enough for me.” He stopped down the street, not
daring to stop in front of my house. There was a good chance Mother Dearest was still up and it would take away from all our good intentions if she caught me sneaking into my bedroom.
“I’ll be right back.” I whispered. With my trusty camera bag over my shoulder, I slipped into the night.
Stace and I always joked about becoming private investigators, but as I slunk down the street, sticking to the wide patches of shadows and stepping with hardly any sound, it might be a good fall back plan. I’d be lying if I said that I didn’t enjoy the electric rush that filled my veins from capturing the deepest, darkest secrets from the anonymity of hiding behind the camera.
Some people were meant for the spotlight, thriving under the blinding glare and fickle adoration that came with it. Me, though? I was meant to silently slide through life in the background, and I was okay with that.
Whatever Dad had told Mother Dearest about my absence, it hadn’t alarmed her enough to move the spare key. I pulled it out from behind the Bible plaque hanging by the back door. ‘As for me and my house, we shall serve the lord.’
Placing my ear to the door, I listened for any sounds of the parentals moving around. Muted shouting trickled through the door. Shoot. How was I supposed to get a memory card undetected?
I took a deep breath, and chanced discovery by cracking the door an inch. I wasn’t leaving here until I had what I wanted. Whatever happened, Mother Dearest was unloading all of her anger on Dad. Good. Her shouting might disguise my steps through the house. Especially if they were in the study.
Thankfully, the stairs didn’t creak as I tiptoed to the top. In my room, it was exactly as I left it. Blankets and pillows were strewn everywhere, from Rhys and Thatcher’s abrupt departure. My own bed was in disarray, and a decidedly Astrid shaped dent sat on the center edge of the bed.
I rushed to the desk and picked through the drawer, pulling out two spare cards. Not wanting to waste an opportunity or time, I inserted one right away. I grabbed a few spare sets of clothes and stuffed them in the case since the camera was hanging around my neck. Now I had to get out of the house.
The only light on downstairs was the oven light in the kitchen, casting a soft glow on the dark wooden floor leading to the stairs. At the bottom, I peeked down the hall where the study was, then glanced toward the back, where I left the door cracked.
“No! I won’t live like this. The whole town knows what you’re doing. You call yourself a caring, Godly man?” Mother Dearest scoffed and it was ugly and desperate. “You’ve never been that. But it didn’t matter before because it wasn’t me you’d wronged. Now it is. You will stop this disgusting fling, or you’ll regret it.” The reedy wasps of my mother’s voice grew hoarse with each word until she was rasping and panting by the end.
The door was partway open, and the hall was pitch dark. The lamp was on in the study, but it was an old, dim lamp, barely providing enough light to read by. Dad always said he liked the ambiance it gave. I could see what was going on. The curiosity burned the back of my throat, egging me forward until I stood just past the reach of the light.
“Why are you doing this to me?” Mother Dearest sobbed. “I won’t let you. I won’t.” A sob broke free as she slung one of his favorite mugs against the bookcase, coffee stained porcelain flying everywhere. Dad jumped out of his chair.
I used a finger to make sure the flash was off. If nothing had come from moving to Silver Ranch, I’d at least learned to always make sure the flash was off. The plastic was cool against my cheek as I glanced through the lens, adjusting the focus for the right effect.
“I’m not doing this to you, Trina. I never was.” Dad was as unemotional as if he were watching grass grow, contrasting drastically to the fury and sorrow leaking from Mother Dearest. If there was an emotional spectrum, Dad would be on one end and Mother Dearest on the other.
“Why? We have a good sex life. We make love. What does he have that I don’t?” She cried, rushing to him, beating against his chest.
Snap. Snap. Snap.
I only clicked the button to take the photo during a sob or during each pounding on his chest to hide the sound of the shutter. The scene was dark and painful. Dad held her to him but not with any warmth. More to contain her and keep her from hitting him again. Her head was tilted back and the lamp was just bright enough to glisten on her tears without showing any of her features. And Dad, anyone looking in would know he didn’t care for her at all. And that was very sad. Why would he want to be trapped with her? And she him?
Done here, I backtracked through the hallway and pulled the door shut so slowly, I questioned if it was actually closed. Not willing to check and make any noise, I placed the key back where it was supposed to go and crept back to Thatcher. The night was young, and I had a feeling my emotions would be fried before the night was done.
“Did you get the memory card?” Thatcher asked when I tapped on his door. His window was down, and he’d turned off the interior lights. He might be decent at sluicing too.
“I did. Let’s walk around Rhys’ to see if he’s there.”
Together, we checked the cottage first, and as I suspected; it was empty. It was more wishful thinking than actual hope that I’d find him here. Even for all the power Mr. Bennet wielded, he couldn’t bribe the police without serious repercussions.
Thatcher picked up my sad, boho bag that had been tossed carelessly on the grass next to the cottage, and swung it over his shoulder.
“Check the house?” Thatcher whispered.
“Yes. You stay here and I’ll check the windows. If Mr. Bennet catches me, I doubt he’d do anything since I know of his dirty little secret. But you don’t have the same protection. He’d call the cops just for fun.”
“I could see that from someone like him.” Thatcher grunted.
He stayed out of sight by the cottage while I edged toward the windows. The house was completely dark. Every room was deserted, not giving any clues as to what happened after I was carted off. At the very least I’d wanted to find Mr. Bennet to glean some information on where Rhys was. His parents were probably at the station trying to do damage control.
“No one’s home.” I motioned for Thatcher to follow me back to his car.
“Where to now?” He turned the car on and let his hands fall to his lap, while he looked at me.
“I don’t know.” Did we want to try and tag along with Beck and Jonah? They would hate that and would do everything they could to prevent it. Did we show up at the station? Mr. Bennet would bar me at the door if he could. He was that kind of person.
“Me either.” We sat there, watching the street as it grew later into the night.
I was completely helpless. No plan, no great evidence to help the guys. We had school tomorrow, but it felt wrong to go to sleep.
“Can we go to your house? I’ll call Beck on the way and see if they can come over until it’s time for them to leave.” If they planned to drive out to the Devil’s Hand’s compound at eleven, they could keep us company for at least an hour. It would bring a small measure of comfort to me. Who knew, maybe they could use the companionship too.
“You got it.”
I dialed Beck, but he didn’t answer. I tried Jonah, but he didn’t answer either. My heart twisted in my chest, as I looked at Thatcher.
“Neither answered. Do you think they would have decided to go over early?” I glanced nervously at the clock. It wasn’t that much earlier, but any deviation from their plan planted a seed of doubt and worry in the pit of my stomach. If they didn’t call back soon, that seed would sprout into a full flower of fear and helplessness.
“They may have. Let’s not get too worked up yet. Did I ever tell you about how I got into painting?” He changed the subject, and even though I knew exactly what he was doing, I welcomed the distraction.
“No. You didn’t always want to paint?”
He laughed. “No. I was pretty horrible in art all through elementary school. I sucked at drawing straight lines and when I actua
lly did try to make something special of a collage or paper caterpillar, I was more likely to glue my fingers together than the paper.”
“That’s pretty drastic from where you are now. Was it your fondness for supply closets that made you take it seriously?” I smirked and mentally patted myself on the back for being able to joke about our meeting. I had come a long way from the awkward, blushing teen I once was. I was still awkward, but some of my innocence was shedding, one sliver at a time.
He grinned unrepentant. “Don’t knock it until you try it. If you’re not careful, I’ll take the next opportunity to corner you and this time, I’ll show you exactly what the draw is.”
Still feeling playful, I teased him. “I don’t think I’d want to get on my knees in a dusty closet. That doesn’t sound fun to me at all.”
He coughed and laughed at the same time. “I wouldn’t want you to. That was…I don’t think—” he coughed again, and I laughed at how he untucked his black hair from behind his ear to hide his face. “Damn it, Astrid. Why’d you do that to me?” He laughed with me. “Ever since that day, I can’t tell you how many times it crossed my mind that you’d think I was a taker and not a giver.” Startled, I sat up a little straighter. “And I guess that can be true with other people, but not when I care about someone.”
I tried to sound calm, but it came out more as a strangled cat under the cupboard. “So, you’re telling me that you’re a great lover, but you don’t mind getting a blowjob from anyone that offers?” The fun part of the conversation quickly descended into that weird plateau of awkwardness I often found myself in. Did everyone experience this or was it just me? Something told me it was just me. Hence why I was destined to live life in the background. I’d be mortified if the world realized just how weird and socially inept, I was.
His chin dropped open and he craned his head toward me and then back toward the windshield three times. He was going to get whiplash.
“That makes me sound like a horrible person. I don’t take advantage of people. It wasn’t like Emily wouldn’t have left the closet very satisfied. You walked in at the wrong time!” He shouted and I winced.
Ugly Truths: A Contemporary YA Romance (Astrid Scott Series Book 2) Page 19