Let Me Know

by Stina Lindenblatt

  If my edginess surprises him, he doesn’t show it. His frown smooths and he brushes a wayward strand of hair out of my face, tucking it behind my ear. “It’s going to be okay, Amber. I’ll be there for you during the interview and during the trial. I just wish I could be there for you when you have nightmares.”

  I know it’s true. It’s killing him that he can’t help me with them. I can see it on his face.

  I nod, and after downing water from the water fountain, I join him on the weight floor. My legs have been rubberized and don’t want to cooperate. I do my best, though, to keep Marcus from guessing the truth. He lost it on me before Christmas for pushing myself too hard. I don’t need an encore.

  We work out for the next forty minutes, with me taking things easier this time, then get ready to hit the TV station. Marcus drives us, which is just as well. I’m too fidgety. I’d cause an accident for sure if I got behind the wheel and managed to turn the engine on.

  “Why aren’t you even nervous?” I ask, taking in his cool exterior. I’m not the only one going on the show. After we told Olivia about the fundraiser we’re doing, she invited Marcus to join us.

  He looks briefly at me. “Would it make you feel better if I told you I’m nervous?”

  “Yes.” Who am I kidding? This guy stood up to Carlos, the leader of a gang in Marcus’s old neighborhood. And even when Carlos’s men attacked him, Marcus kept his cool. I guess being reckless also means being fearless.

  “Well, I am.”

  I’m positive my eyes are as round as the steering wheel. “Seriously?”

  He nods, his attention still on the road. “I’ve been thinking about what Liam said, you know, about me going public with what happened to me and Ryan. I was awake all night thinking about it.”

  Now that I look at him more closely, I notice the faint shadows under his eyes, which nearly match mine. Mine are a shade or two darker, but that’s nothing new.

  I settle my hand on his thigh and stroke my thumb against the soft denim. “You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to, Marcus.”

  He places his hand on mine and interlaces our fingers. “But I do have to do it, and I want to. What Liam said made sense.” He gently squeezes my fingers. “Plus, your life has been splashed on the front page of every newspaper. The least I can do is admit what happened to me. I might not be allowed to say Frank’s name, but I can at least tell mine and Ryan’s story.” He cringes. Not because he’s going to reveal what his stepfather did to him, but because he’s going public with what happened to Ryan as well. The story he swore to his dying brother he would never tell.

  But if Ryan is watching from heaven, I’m positive he’ll be proud of his brother. Because in the end Marcus is turning his horrifying childhood into something good. Something that will benefit other kids like him.

  Ryan can’t fault him for that.

  We arrive at the studio on time and are hurried to the makeup station for a quick touch-up. Much to Marcus’s chagrin. I laugh at his expression, but he can’t complain. Neither of us is coated with makeup like Olivia. No wonder I didn’t recognize her when I first met her at the vigil. She looked younger, more natural than she does now.

  “You ready?” she asks, smiling. There’s something reassuring about her smile. It’s as if the tap to my emotions has been turned on to a fast drip, draining away some of the tension.

  I smile back and nod. I can do this.

  We’re directed to the green room, where we wait until it’s our turn.

  The production assistant, a girl a few years older than me, fetches us after ten minutes. “It’s time.” Her tone is a mix of cheery and excited.

  She leads us down the hallway, chatting as she goes, and flashes appreciative glances at Marcus. He doesn’t notice. His focus is straight ahead, hands fisted.

  I wrap my hand around his and give it a light squeeze, like he gave me in his car. We’re in this together and I’m proud of what he’s about to do. Of what we’re both about to do.

  While the show is paused for a commercial break, the production assistant shows us to the couch and the sound person descends on us. He connects a tiny microphone to Marcus’s shirt and one to my blouse. Then he asks us each a question before walking away.

  Olivia gives us the same reassuring smile as earlier. “You two will be great.”

  A bald-headed man tells her we’re on in five, and counts down with his fingers…Four. Three. Two.

  And we’re on.

  “Welcome back,” Olivia says, her long blond hair glowing under the hot stage lights. “I’d like to welcome our next guests, Amber Scott and Marcus Reid.”

  A moment of panic slams into me. What if this is all a lie and she’s planning to ask us questions about the trial and all the controversy bubbling around us like boiling lava?

  My heart jumps up, eager to scramble its way out of my throat and out of the studio.

  But then I remember what’s at stake if she does. After Olivia contacted me to confirm the show, I talked to my mom, the D.A., and my lawyer, Sheryl. We discussed the benefit of my doing the show and how to make sure I wasn’t jeopardizing the case. In the end, Sheryl gave Olivia a contract to sign, outlining the questions that were acceptable to ask. In turn, Olivia gave me her questions ahead of time so that I’d be more comfortable during the interview. If only the defense would do that for the trial.

  “As many of you are aware, Amber was stalked and kidnapped while in her senior year of high school. Because her alleged kidnapper’s case is going to trial soon, we won’t be discussing details about her ordeal last year. Amber will be sharing tips to keep you and your family safe. Things she had to learn the hard way. Because contrary to what many people believe, stalking isn’t exclusive to Hollywood. Isn’t that right, Amber?”

  Without looking too obvious about it, I rub my hands against the soft fabric of the couch, conscious not to start tapping my fingers against my thigh. “That’s right. It’s estimated six million people each year will be stalked. This number includes those individuals involved in relationships that have turned abusive, either now or in the past.”

  The more Olivia and I talk, the more relaxed I become. She’s living up to her promise, and everyone in the audience is listening to me as if I’m telling them the winning numbers to next week’s lottery. Some women nod, as if they know what I’m talking about, as if they too have been stalked in one capacity or another. No one’s judging me. All they want is to learn how to protect themselves and their loved ones.

  “Thank you, Amber,” Olivia says once I’m finished. Her smile tells me I did well. I rocked my first television interview.

  She then changes the topic to the one Marcus has been dreading most. “Amber, you and Marcus have been organizing a special basketball tournament at UIC. Can you tell us more about it?”

  I subtly brush my hand against Marcus’s. He releases an equally subtle long breath, which does nothing to ease his nerves. Tension rolls off him like a thick fog off the lake, but I suspect I’m the only who notices. Everyone else just sees a good-looking guy.

  “While I was a kid,” he says, voice smooth, unaffected, “my brother and I were victims of domestic abuse. Our stepfather used to hit us. We felt we had nowhere to turn, so we kept silent. In our teens the abuse continued, but things grew worse. He…he sexually assaulted me and raped my older brother.” A collective gasp rises from the audience.

  I glance at Olivia. The reassuring smile has vanished, to be replaced with the same look of horror everyone else wears.

  “Again, we told no one,” Marcus continues. “We were afraid we would be put in the system and separated. We couldn’t handle that. My brother died last year trying to protect me from our stepfather. Amber and I started organizing the fundraiser so I could buy my brother the gravestone he deserves—instead of the small place marker currently indicating where he’s buried—and also so we could donate proceeds to the Chicago Little Heroes Center.”

  “What is the CLHC?” O
livia asks, not missing a beat.

  “They help kids who are at risk of being sexually abused, and kids who have been abused and are now struggling to cope.”

  Olivia asks questions about the event, all which Marcus easily answers.

  “Is it correct to assume your stepfather is currently serving time?”

  Marcus shakes his head. “Unfortunately not. Because it happened a long time ago, the cops can’t prove anything. I know there are other victims who have been sexually abused by my stepfather, but none are willing to step forward. And without that, he could remain free, and won’t be listed as a sexual offender.”

  “Why do you think no one else will come forward?”

  “They’re scared. Ryan and I—” his Adam’s apple slides uneasily up, then down “—Ryan and I didn’t tell anyone because we were afraid of what others would think of us if the truth came out. We were ashamed. This is the same fear that keeps other boys from coming forward. But it’s also this fear and shame that lets my stepfather continue to hurt others.” The pain and guilt etched on his face causes tears to well in my eyes.

  And I’m not alone. A number of women in the audience brush away the tears from their cheeks.

  This time when I touch his hand, the gesture isn’t subtle. I thread my fingers with his and hold on tight.

  Olivia clears her throat. She’s a professional, but it’s clear his words have had an impact on her like they have on everyone else. “It takes strong individuals to do what you two are doing in the face of everything you’ve gone through. I hope it inspires other victims to find their voice and get help.” She turns to the camera. “We’ll return in a moment after our sponsors’ messages.”

  “And we’re off,” the bald man says. The sound guy rushes to remove the microphones from our clothing.

  “That was an amazing thing you did, Marcus,” Olivia says. We stand and she hugs us both before we’re ushered off the set.

  As we head to the exit, a woman stops us to talk to Marcus. I pull my phone from my purse. I’m curious what she wants to talk about, but I should text Jordan and Emma to let them know we survived, even though I’m positive they skipped their classes to see the show.

  While she asks him about how to spot signs of sexual abuse, I check my messages.

  Amber, I need to talk to you. Pls.

  Chapter Forty

  Marcus

  I shove my way through the crowded food court, accidentally bumping shoulders with someone as I pass. He yells at me but I ignore him.

  Jordan and Chase are sitting in our usual spot, laughing and eating lunch. I drop on the seat across from Jordan. “Have you seen Amber?”

  “Not since she left yesterday. Why? What’s wrong?”

  “She left?” And why am I only hearing about it now?

  Jordan frowns. “I thought you knew.”

  I grunt. “Apparently not. Where did she go?”

  “She didn’t say. She came back after you guys were on the show and said she had to go away for a few days. She probably had to go home since the trial’s next week.”

  “Did you try calling her?” Chase asks, and recoils at my glare that says of course I did, dumbass. “O-kay. I take it that’s a yes.”

  “I haven’t seen her since I dropped her off at her dorm after the interview,” I explain. She was acting a little off, but nothing that screamed she was upset. I figured she was coming off her adrenalin rush after the show. I asked her if she was okay, and she said she was fine. And then abruptly changed the topic.

  “Maybe you should call her mom and see if she’s there?” Jordan helps herself to Chase’s fries.

  I cringe. “It might be better if you do it. Her mom still isn’t a fan of mine.” I’m hoping with time things will improve between us, once I’m able to prove I am the right guy for her daughter.

  Now it’s Jordan’s turn to cringe. “I guess not.” She takes out her phone and makes a call. “Hi, is Amber there? This is her friend Jordan.” Silence. “Oh…okay.” More silence. “Thanks.” She hangs up. “According to her mom, Amber’s here.”

  Chase and I exchange looks. “I don’t like this,” I say. The urge to race out of here and find her builds like steam in an overheated radiator. Except where the hell do I start searching?

  “Maybe she needed a break from everything and went off somewhere,” Chase says.

  “But why not tell me? And why not tell Jordan where she’s going?”

  “Because she knows you’ll go chasing after her,” he points out, and he’s right. “The girl’s on the verge of cracking. You haven’t known her all that long, Marcus. This could be her way of dealing with things when they get too out of control.”

  That’s more me than Amber. The Amber I know may hide from the world when she’s upset, but she doesn’t completely disappear. “I’d feel better if I knew where she is. What if something’s wrong?”

  All I can think about is how Paul kidnapped her and she was missing for eight hours before her brother’s body and Amber’s abandoned car were found. Eight hours before anyone thought to look for her. By then it was too late.

  My phone buzzes and I check to see who sent me a text. Amber. Relief slams into me. At least she’s alive.

  I’m fine, Marcus. Just needed to do something. Will be back soon.

  All kinds of horrible scenarios kick around in my head about what could have happened to her. How do I know this is you? I know I’m being paranoid. The chances of her being kidnapped again are low, but it doesn’t stop me from worrying.

  How do you tell that you are in the hands of the Mathematical Mafia?

  I don’t know. I do know. I was the one who told her the joke.

  They make you an offer you can’t understand.

  I smile even though I miss her more than anything, and send her a text to tell her that. Then I add: Can you tell me where you are?

  No. You need 2 trust me. I just need a little time while I sort some stuff out.

  About us?

  About me.

  Before I can send her another text, she adds: Love U. XOX

  Love U 2,

  My phone rings and I dive to answer it. It’s not Amber. “Hello?”

  “Hello, this is Anthony Emerson with Emerson Power Sport Management. Is this Marcus Reid?”

  “Yes?”

  “I represent Eric Walters, the center for the Chicago Bulls. He asked me to arrange a meeting with you. Today if possible.”

  “What for?” Not that I wouldn’t kill for a chance to meet him, but why the heck would he want to meet me?

  “He didn’t say, other than it’s important.”

  We set up a time for later this afternoon, at a coffee shop near the United Center. When I arrive, I spot Eric sitting at the corner booth. At six foot five, and wearing an orange T-shirt, he’s hard to miss. Several high school seniors are standing around the table, chatting with him. He seems more than happy to talk with them. Since he already has a coffee, I place my order with the barista.

  While I wait, I watch him interact with the teens. He has an easygoing manner that’s a complete contrast to how he is on the court. During a game he’s fierce and a force you don’t want to get on the wrong side of.

  Once my coffee’s ready, I join him and his fan club. “Hi, Eric. I’m Marcus Reid.”

  He gestures for me to join him and I slide into the opposite side of the booth. Apparently sensing we want to be left to talk in private, the teens wander off and sit at another table not far from us. But far enough away so they can’t overhear our conversation.

  Eric leans forward, his elbows on the table. “You’re probably wondering why I want to chat with you.” His tone is friendly, but there’s something beneath the surface I sense he’s holding back.

  “You could say that.”

  Other patrons watch us with an open curiosity. Eric appears oblivious to all of this as he sips his coffee. “I saw you admit the truth on the daytime talk show about how your stepfather had molested you and you
r brother. That took guts.”

  I laugh but it sounds forced. “I don’t know about that. I was pretty freaked out about admitting it. But I knew I needed to be honest about why I’m doing the fundraiser.”

  “To me that took guts.” He sips his coffee again and glances around the room. For some reason he suddenly seems slightly nervous as he scans the place.

  “I just figured it was time people stop hiding from the truth. It’s a bigger problem than most people want to believe. And I want to give kids the voice they don’t often have. You know what I mean?”

  He nods, and the sadness rolling off him shoves against me. “While I was in high school, the person I was supposed to trust the most, my coach, started touching me. I never told anyone. Like you said on the show, I was too ashamed to tell the truth.” He takes a long gulp of his coffee. I’m too speechless to say anything. This was the last thing I expected him to tell me. He was the last person I expected to know how I feel.

  “I’ve spoken with several of my teammates,” he says, “and they’re interested in helping you and your girlfriend with the charity event. Whatever you need, we want to help. Also, I plan to end my silence about what my coach did to me. He’s dead, so I can’t press charges even if I wanted to. You did a brave thing, Marcus, and I want to do the same. I want kids to know that they shouldn’t feel ashamed for telling the truth.”

  “D-do you think you could talk to a friend of mine? He’s fourteen and I’m positive my stepfather hurt him. But he won’t admit to it, and I’m worried about him.”

  “And you’re hoping by talking to me he might change his mind?”

  I nod, silently praying Eric will say yes. “He’s a huge fan of yours and the Bulls. And right now he’s the only person I know for sure who was victimized by my stepfather. If I can get him to tell the cops the truth, maybe my stepfather will finally be found guilty.”

  Eric smiles. The movement is small, nothing like the smiles I’ve seen from him when his team wins. But there’s also an air of determination about it. “I can’t make any promises that talking to me will change anything, but I can at least try.”