by Angel Lawson
“What are you talking about?”
“I warned you about Kenley Keene, but you’re still seeing her.”
“And I told you I wasn’t interested in your opinion about that.”
“I know you think you can have it all. The beautiful girl—sweet on the outside—a wildcat on the inside—well, in bed at least. Those are the ones you have to be careful with. They’ll ruin your life.”
“You mean like Rose threatened to ruin yours?”
His jaw clenches, and he peers toward the door making sure we’re alone “See, that’s something you and I have in common. She was playing the both of us. Probably a few others. It’s exactly what I’m talking about. You thought Rose Waller was sweet perfection. In reality, she was trouble. How do you know Kenley isn’t the same?”
I grab my backpack and stand. “So you admit you were fucking my girlfriend?”
“You need to mind your tone, son.”
“No, you need to mind your goddamned business. You don’t know anything about Kenley, and I warned you about talking about her. A suspicious guy would think your interest was personal.”
He leans back in his chair, like he doesn’t have a care in the world. “My interest in Ms. Keene is self-preservation. But I can tell you one thing—everyone in Thistle Cove has secrets—my wife, my friends…maybe even your girl next door.”
My skin crawls and I lean over the desk. “If you go near her—”
“Chill, Finn, I’m not interested in your girlfriend, but that doesn’t mean she hasn’t caught the attention of other people in town.”
I lunge forward, but he stands quickly—his reflexes still on point. He’s got three inches on me. His eyebrow rises. “Remember what I just said about staying out of trouble?”
For a brief moment, I consider risking it all—the scholarship, the diploma, the future career, just to wipe that smug look off his face. But I know that it won’t help for me to get stuck in this town for the rest of my life, and I know Kenley would be pissed if I did it. I suck back my anger and think about what he said. Who are the other people in town? And why are they worried about Kenley?
6
Kenley
I flip on the light in my room as I walk in, tossing my backpack on my bed. It’s getting harder and harder to find the motivation to do my homework. An object bounces off the bed and onto the floor. My pulse quickens. Ever since those flowers arrived at my house with the note from BD, I’ve been expecting something else. I gather my courage and walk across the room and see a brown paper bag. A note is scrawled across the side.
Mom baked these today. I know they are your favorite.
-Finn
I open the bag and find three double chocolate chip cookies inside. Relief cascades over me. They are my favorite.
I take a bite and pull out my phone.
K: Sneaking in my room again?
F: Only to leave you presents.
K: Maybe you should come by sometime when I’m actually here.
F: One day our schedules will align.
The season may be over, and he earned that state ring, but the hard work is in full force. Finn’s working with a specialty trainer three times a week. He’s weighing offers from college, but signing day is in a few weeks. The most time we get alone is when we’re working out together.
Adrenaline still courses through my veins as I eat the rest of my cookie and kick off my shoes. It’s not Finn’s fault his little gifts give me panic attacks. I’m the one that hasn’t told him or anyone else about BD, the messages we sent to one another, or the flowers delivered to the house.
I open the bedside table drawer and see Rose’s iPod. It’s not charged. I took away that temptation. BD needs to think I’ve lost interest. Ignoring him seems like the best option, but at the same time it’s also my biggest remaining question.
Who is BD?
He’d had an arrangement with Rose through the SugarBabies dating app, under her profile name; Rosemary’s Baby. He set her up with a place in the city—a way out of Thistle Cove. It’s even likely that he called her on the bridge that night. Ezra had seen the name “Daddy,” pop up on her phone and we’d determined it was not Brice Waller. Was it BD? Had he been trying to reach her that night? She’d wanted to buy drugs from Ez, she had money, and it was pretty clear she was on her way out of town and not to the bonfire like she was supposed to be.
Does BD even know what happened to her?
Does he care? Because he had no problem approaching me under my false name, Eden, apparently ready to move on.
I stare at my backpack, filled with at least three assignments due the next day, but walk across the room and pick up the Eden book I’d taken from Rose’s room. The Audrina Dollanganger books have always been the perfect escape.
The East Point Suites keycard marks the last page I’d read. Just seeing the card makes my heart pound faster. I know it’s a clue. I know it’s dangerous territory. And I know that I can’t go there alone. Which is why I haven’t, because it means that I have to be honest with the guys about everything and I’m not ready to admit what I’ve been hiding from them.
They’d feel betrayed—as they should. It’s a huge secret. A stupid secret. One I can’t take back.
I look down at the book in my hand. More and more, I understand why Rose went back to these books. Her life was a series of messes. At least Eden’s was messier.
I pull out the keycard and settle on my bed. In this part of the book, Eden’s falling hard for her uncle—a completely inappropriate relationship, but as always, I find myself both equally horrified and a little titillated at the same time. That’s the bizarre allure of these books.
Eden’s both innocent and overtly sexual. Her body controlling her impulses; her uncle, older, handsome, charismatic…knowing how to pull the right strings.
I flip to the page where they finally succumb to all of their dirty, dangerous desires and pause.
There’s a note scribbled in the margin.
The Dollhouse
Along with a time.
The name looks familiar. I search my memory but can’t come up with where I’ve seen it before. I grab my phone and google it. It has a Yelp page that tells me that it’s a bar about thirty miles away, on the outskirts of Cliffside, and a warning not to eat the cheese fries.
It’s open until two a.m.
I close the browser and flip through my contacts. The phone picks up on the second ring.
“Hey babe, what’s up.”
“Is your dad still at that conference?”
“Yep. Want to come over?” Ezra asks, hopefully.
Yes. “No, sorry. Have you ever heard of the Dollhouse?”
“Maybe? Up in Cliffside?” He shifts around. “What are you up to?”
“Nothing. I just heard the name and wondered.”
“Okay,” he replies, sounding totally unconvinced. “Sure you don’t want to hang out?”
“Yeah, I probably need to get some of this homework done. I’ve been procrastinating all night.”
“I hear that.”
“Talk to you later?”
“Yep, night.”
“Night.”
I hang up. I should do my homework. I need to do my homework. I’ve got a B in chemistry and really need to get it up to an A. I open up Rose’s book and stare at her note. The Dollhouse. Why was she going to a bar? Who was she meeting?
The longer I sit, the more my heart starts to pound, and a plan starts to formulate.
I walk across the room to my closet and look through my clothes. Nothing says I’m twenty-one and comfortable hanging out in a bar alone. On a school night.
Because it’s a stupid, stupid idea.
I push a few things aside and black fabric jumps out at me. I pull it out along with one other accessory. I toss them both on the bed and stare down at the thin strip of fabric and the black shoulder length wig and wonder exactly how bad of an idea this really is.
I guess we’ll find out.
Ezra
I stare at my phone for a long moment after Kenley hung up.
What is that girl up to?
Because there’s no doubt in my mind that it’s not nothing. We’ve had a few calm weeks, but she randomly calls up at nine p.m. on a school night and asks about a place called The Dollhouse.
Which I’ve definitely heard of, by the way. I hop off the couch and walk down the hall to my father’s room. It’s empty; he’s gone for another day or two. I pass the king-sized mahogany bed and enter the master closet, which is the size of a bedroom. On the dresser is a cut-glass bowl. Inside are matchbooks. I fish around for a minute but find the one I’m looking for. The Dollhouse—Lounge.
It’s one of my father’s haunts. Something that would only add fuel to Kenley’s fire.
I shove the matchbook into my pocket and walk back to my room. There, I put on my boots and grab my jacket. In my dresser, under my socks, I open a small wooden box. Inside is an ID card and a burner phone I bought at the gas station. There’s no tracking device on it. I shove my iPhone under my pillow. If anyone checks I’ll be here all night, safe and sound.
In the kitchen I reach for my motorcycle keys, but pause. It’s late and cold. If Kenley’s determined to do whatever the hell she’s doing, I need to make sure she’s safe. I grab the keys to my dad’s SUV s and head out the door—determined to reach her before she does something stupid.
I park my car a block away and stand at the end of the driveway. The lights are off downstairs—her parents go to bed early. Her car is still here so I know I haven’t missed her. A few minutes later I see a figure exit the house and walk down the front porch stairs.
It’s Kenley, I’d know her shape and walk anywhere, but I squint, trying to figure out what’s different.
Her hair.
Not her hair—a wig. The black wig she wore in my rec room that night when she made the SugarBabies account.
She reaches the car and pushes her key into the slot.
“Going somewhere?”
She jumps straight in the air, before looking at me, eyes bugged. “Jesus, Ezra, you scared the crap out of me.”
I get a better look at her under the lamplight. Tight black jeans, clunky boots with a thick heel, a dark jacket with a flash of red underneath. A sliver of pale skin peeks between her jeans and the shirt. The black wig makes her skin look like alabaster, and deep red lipstick only accentuates it.
“I was just—” she starts. I cut her off.
“You’re going to need ID to get in that place.” I make no attempt to hide that I’m assessing her outfit.
She blinks, realizing I know what she’s up to. “I was going to figure that out when I got there.”
“Lucky for you, I have one my dad didn’t discover and toss.”
“How does that help me?”
“Babe, the bouncer won’t look twice with you in that outfit.” I jerk my head. “Come on, my car is back here.”
I walk down the road, hoping she’s going to follow me. I can’t let her go do this—whatever the hell this is—alone. Thankfully, she walks to the passenger side and gets in.
“Are you mad?” she asks.
“No, not mad, but next time tell the truth. If you want to go off and do something stupid, I’m more than happy to go with you.”
She smiles. “Really?”
“Absolutely.”
She leans over the middle of the seat and wraps her hand around my neck, pulling me to her. She kisses me, slow and sweet. “Thanks for not being a dick about it.”
“Well, save that appreciation for someone else. Like Ozzy, because he’s going to be pissed when he finds out.”
Her eyes darken with guilt. Yeah, this is something Kenley needs to understand. We’re in this together. For real together, which means no secrets and no games. I go with her while she explores whatever wild hair she’s got, but ultimately, we’re all going to have a long talk.
“You sure this is what you want to do? I can think of a few other ways we can break the rules tonight and we wouldn’t even have to leave town,” I suggest.
For a brief moment she looks tempted, but she shakes her head. “It’s something I have to do, Ez, for my own peace of mind.”
I nod, and start the car, pretty sure that whatever she’s looking for at the Dollhouse is definitely not going to give her peace of mind.
8
Kenley
I tell Ezra what I know as he drives the car out of Thistle Cove.
“I found a note inside Rose’s book—it had 'The Dollhouse—8 pm' printed in the margins.”
“Are we getting into this again?” he asks. “Rose?”
“I don’t want to, but there’s just a lot left unanswered.”
“What Rose was doing before she jumped off that bridge doesn’t seem that relevant anymore.”
“I know it seems that way but…” I glance over at his face, the hard line of his nose and jaw lit up by the dashboard. “Can we really trust Monica to be telling the truth? I still don’t see her going over that bridge without a fight. What if there’s more that we’re missing?”
More that involves the mysterious BD.
He stops at a light and reaches a hand over to rest on my knee. “We may never know what Rose was really up to.”
But we do, I want to say. The SugarBabies stuff is real. Rose had a life outside Thistle Cove. But the guys don’t know I opened an account under my name. They don’t know I’d communicated with BD, Rose’s actual sugar daddy. They don’t know that he sent flowers to my house after Monica tried to kill me.
The confession sits on the tip of my tongue, but I swallow it back and stare out into the dark night.
The bar is in Cliffside, which is literally a small town that overlooks the dark waters of the Atlantic. The name of the bar is written in neon and burns into the night. It’s tucked beneath an inn, which makes my stomach flutter nervously.
“You sure about this?” he asks, reaching for his wallet.
I take a deep breath. “I’m just curious about this part of her life.”
He meets me at the front of the car and takes my hand.
“Unzip your jacket,” Ezra says just before we reach the door.
I tug at the zipper and cool air meets my stomach and chest. Ezra’s eyes drop down to the cleavage I’m showing, the halter top is tight and revealing. He slips a hand around my back and pulls me to his side, giving me warmth.
Inside the door, a man sits on a cracked leather stool. He glances at Ezra, then at me, a line creasing in his forehead. For a moment I pray he turns us away. This is stupid. Foolish, once I walk in there I have zero plan. Ezra reaches for his ID, but the bouncer says, “Go ahead.”
And like that, we’re in.
I grip Ezra’s hand like a life preserver and think back to how just a few months ago, I’d been certain hanging out with Ezra Baxter was asking for trouble. Looks like the tables have turned, I’m the one leading us into uncertain waters.
“What do we do?”
“Find a seat. Get a drink.” He directs us toward a circular booth in the back. The lighting is dark, tinted red. It’s more crowded than I would expect for a weeknight. Most of the men are in business suits. The women dressed nice. I feel awkward in my jeans. Ezra’s also dressed casually, but he doesn’t seem to notice.
He tosses his arm around me, and I slide my hand over his knee. A waitress with blonde curly hair walks over and slides two coasters on the table. Her nametag says Miranda.
“What can I get you tonight?” she asks, barely looking up.
“I’ll have a beer—whatever’s on draft,” Ezra says easily, like he does this every day.
Her eyes skirt to me and she blinks, confused, but then says, “Appletini, right?”
“Uh, right. Thanks.”
“Sure thing, doll, it’s good to see you.”
She walks away, and Ezra removes my fingers from his leg. I’d been digging in hard.
�
��What the hell was that?” he asks. He studies my face, then touches the wig. “You do look a little like her.”
“Rose?” The wig is styled similar to how she wore her hair.
“Yeah, and she always wore that bright red lipstick.”
“Her signature.”
I swallow, feeling warm all the sudden. So Rose did come here. Enough to have a regular drink and to be recognized. To be missed.
“Why do you think she came here?” I asked.
“To meet men,” he says with zero hesitation. “Look at this place. It’s filled with businessmen.”
He’s right. There are also a few women sitting alone at the bar.
“This is so weird.”
Miranda walks back over with a tray flat on her hand. She places a beer in front of Ezra and the green martini in front of me.
“Uh, Miranda, how long do you think it’s been since I was in here last?” I ask as casually as possible.
“Wow, a few months, right? Around Halloween? I think we had the bar decorated.”
“You sure it wasn’t closer to summer?”
“Maybe, but I have a distinct memory of you sitting at the bar under the hanging spiderwebs.”
Apprehension tickles my ribs. “Oh right. Yes, that’s when it was.”
She looks at Ezra.
“You look familiar—have we met?”
He shakes his head. “First time here.”
“I’m usually good with faces but once in a while I’m wrong.” She chuckles and looks up when another table calls her name. “Let me know if you need anything.”
She walks off and I hold my breath, about to burst.
“Ken—” he starts, already knowing where this is going.
“Ezra, what if she was here at Halloween?”
He shakes his head. “I don’t believe for a second Rose Waller is still alive.” He looks across the bar at Miranda. “I do believe she came in here, I’ll give you that, but after September? Not a chance. Sorry, babe.”
He takes a gulp of his beer and squeezes my thigh, excusing himself to the bathroom. I sit alone, mulling over everything Miranda said. I’m deep in thought when she appears, holding a second drink—a shot glass of warm, amber liquid.