by Angel Lawson
Does that mean she felt differently about him?
Did she have feelings for him that went beyond what she felt for Chandler?
I turn and walk back down the hallway, reentering the bedroom. There has to be something here. Something else.
I go back to the closet and sort through the clothes. There’s nothing really recognizable—all of it a little dressier than what we’d wear back home—but it may be the kind of thing that would fit in somewhere like The Dollhouse.
“Oh, Rose, what the hell did you get yourself into?”
I walk over to the bed and sit, opening the bedside table. A book sits inside. A familiar book. Eden’s Passion. The second book in the series. I flip through the pages. There are no bookmarks or notes but there is a dogeared page. I open it up.
“What’s that?” Finn asks.
“Lady porn,” I reply, flashing him a tight grin. “One of the Eden books.”
“I guess it’s another sign she was here.”
“Yeah.”
He sits next to me, the bed sinking beneath us. “What’s this one about?”
“Um, if I remember correctly, Eden finally finds out that the man that adopted her is really her father. Her lover isn’t her uncle but her brother, and she’s pregnant with one of the men’s baby. She doesn’t find out whose until book three, when the baby is stolen by her step-mother.”
“Jesus, those books are really twisted, you know that?”
I nod, looking down at the cover illustration. Eden, beautiful but dark, stands in the middle holding her swollen belly. The other characters stand around her menacingly, obsessively, eyeing both her and her unborn child.
“They’re an escape,” I say, “a dark, gothic fantasy.”
“It’s strange to me, because Rose was like the sun—everything gravitated toward her.”
I look down at the picture of Eden, the object of so many people’s desires, including mine to an extent, and wonder if maybe all that attention was just too much.
15
Kenley
The ride back to Thistle Cove is quiet. Ezra sits in the front this time—eyes trained out the window. His jaw is clenched so tight I wonder more than once if he’ll crack a tooth. As we enter the town limits, Ozzy speaks up from the back seat of the car.
“How are we going to deal with this?”
I glance at him in the rearview mirror and say, “I think Ezra gets to decide.”
He shifts, finally, proving he’s not a statue. “I don’t want to confront him. Not yet.”
“You want him to get away with it?” Finn asks.
“No. My father is very good at covering his tracks. If we tip him off, he’ll weasel his way out of it.” He glances at me. “If he’s the one behind the stuff at Kenley’s, it could put her in danger.”
“You don’t think he’s behind the flowers? The gift?” I ask.
He shrugs. “It doesn’t seem like his style, but what the hell do I know? If it is, it’s another reason to stay quiet. It would be better to catch him in the act.”
“We’ve already seen Chandler get away with this. Mr. Baxter is in good standing right now. He offered the reward when Rose was missing—” Ozzy says.
Finn interrupts. “Because he knew he wouldn’t have to pay it out?”
“Maybe? But he shifted it to a scholarship in her name, and I bet you anything he’s behind paying for the senior retreat.”
“So he’s been doing damage control this whole time,” I say, stopping at a light across from Kendrick’s. School is out and kids from the elementary and middle schools walk down the street toward the ice cream shop.
“It explains why he’s been around so much lately,” Ezra says, shaking his head bitterly, “And I thought maybe he’d finally taken an interest in being a father. I should have known better.”
I reach out and take his hand. “I’m sorry about all of this.”
He looks over at me, eyes dark and full of anger and pain. “Yeah, me too.”
Because of that conversation, we sit on what we know.
The fact we know that Mr. Baxter was Rose’s sugar daddy, paying for an apartment and a life away from Thistle Cove.
The four of us carry the disturbing detail that he’s most definitely BD, the man that sent me messages, then flowers, and finally, intimate, sexy lingerie.
We’re burdened with the knowledge that the men in Thistle Cove seem to get away with everything, including murder. That there are no boundaries. Not even the sacred one like a relationship with a friend’s daughter.
Who are these men? Why are they so powerful and bold?
I obsess over it, day in and day out. Watching Coach Chandler lean against the wall outside his office talking to the girls at school. A wolf in our midst. More than once I see Alice smile at him as she walks down the hall.
While I obsess, Ezra seems lost. I can’t coax him out. Not to the gym. Not to the storage closet between classes. Not for a late-night ride on his motorcycle. He’s quiet, deep in thought. I don’t blame him. Finding out your father is part of an elaborate predatorial system—a legitimate one if you’re of age, an illegal one if you’re not.
Rose wasn’t of age.
Fortunately, there is one event that draws him out of his funk. The state championship ring ceremony. It’s held in the city—actually in the ballroom of a five-star hotel. Thistle Cove isn’t the only school getting their state rings—there are different divisions—six in all. I learn all of this while sitting at a table in the back corner with Ozzy. We’re officially here as Valhalla staff, Mr. Russell giving us special passes to attend. The team, including Ezra and Finn, are up near the stage. Their families are a table back.
“I had no idea people could talk so much about football,” I mutter, cutting into my not-five-star chicken dinner. I can’t help but keep an eye on the Thistle Cove Three, as I’ve started to call them; Waller, Chandler, and Baxter. They’re as close to the stage as possible, all smiles and smug expressions.
“They’re in their element,” Ozzy says. He shifts his tie, a reminder that he’s definitely not in his element. He looks adorable, even in his discomfort.
“The alumni are probably one step from an orgasm just being here again.”
Ozzy chokes on his water and makes a face. “You have to stop saying things like that.”
“I can’t. It’s obvious they get off on shit like this, basking in the glow of their adoring fans. They’re so…repulsive.”
It’s especially hard here, where they’re treated like some kind of royalty. They’re liars, cheats, perverts, and possibly murderers. There’s no way I can view them as anything else, but in this world they’re heroes. One-time-boys turned successful men. I glance at my boys across the room, hoping I don’t lose them to the same mentality.
“Finn and Ezra aren’t like them,” Ozzy says, reading my mind. “Finn, he’s driven and loves the game, but he’s also not into the power play. He works hard for his success and doesn’t want to step on others to get it. Ezra? I get the feeling he just wants the hell away from anything that has to do with his dad.”
“And what about you, Ozzy Drake? What do you want?”
His blue eyes sweep over me and his hand skims my knee. “Other than you, I’m not sure.”
It’s not true. Ozzy’s going to write the next great American novel, or create the next start-up, or break out as an incredible journalist. He downplays his interests, preferring to be quiet and keep them to himself, but I have no doubt that he’ll be brilliant regardless of what he does.
We finish our dinner and gorge ourselves on dessert—sticky, sweet, chocolate mousse. There’s a break before the actual ring presentation and Ezra and Finn walk over to our table. Finn’s fingers graze the back of my neck before he takes the empty seat next to me, sending a delicious chill down my spine.
“Bored yet?” he asks.
“Listening to people drone on about statistics and college commitments?” I ask with a grin. “No. Never.�
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He squeezes my knee under the table. “You’re a good sport.”
“Hey, I’m here on official business.” I hold up the camera and scan the room. That’s when I notice Mr. Waller. He crosses the room to shake hands with someone from another school—not a coach or player. The players and coaches all wear matching coats and ties, silver and blue, a small crest on the pocket of their jackets. It must be one of the dads.
“What school is that?” I ask.
Ozzy shrugs. Ezra, who is more quiet than normal says, “Sparrowood Academy.”
“You mean that rich-kid boarding south down south?” Finn asks.
I frown. The name sounds vaguely familiar, but if they aren’t in our division, we wouldn’t cross paths much.
“Near Kingston,” Ezra adds, leaning his elbows on the table. “My dad has been threatening to send me there for years.”
I blink. “Seriously? He threatened to send you to boarding school?”
“All the time. Once, two years ago, he even dragged me down there for an admission interview.” He smirked. “Bunch of spoiled brats. God, if you think the popular kids at Thistle Cove are bad…that place is filled with assholes. My dad is friendly with this one kid’s father—Luke is the kid’s name. Fenway. Fucking prick. From what I understand he assaulted some girl, got the shit beat out of him and then expelled. His dad contacted my dad about a lawsuit he was attempting to file against the school.”
“Jesus, I thought Thistle Cove was bad.”
“Sounds like there you have to watch your back with the students,” I say, “not just a rogue football coach.” I look at Ezra. “What happened at the interview?”
“I intentionally blew the interview. My father was furious and embarrassed, but he never did it again.”
I glance over at the Sparrowood team in their perfectly fitting blazers and pressed pants. It’s not my style, but I can only imagine Ezra with his dark looks and wicked smile strutting around campus dressed like that. He would have been thoroughly corrupted. I look over at Mr. Baxter, grinning big, ring flashing on his finger. That was probably his plan—just a different sort of corruption than what Ezra had been up to before.
I catch his eye and say, “Well, I’m glad you got out of that one. We never would have had the chance to reconnect.”
He shrugs, distant and a little flat. I’m worried about him, but I know it’s better not to pressure him.
Ozzy nods and Finn fist bumps him on the shoulder. I feel a strange well of emotion. Things have been strange and tense with Ezra since we went to the apartment, but I’m just glad he’s here. I stand and move to the other side of the table. “Let me get a picture of you guys.”
Ozzy starts to move—he’s not a player—but I wave him back in. “You stay. I want one of the three of you.”
The boys arrange themselves in that awkward-boy sort of way. Half-smirks, puffed out chests, three different shades of eyes that make me burn under their gaze.
I snap the picture right before the squeal of the microphone from the stage gets everyone’s attention.
“If everyone will take your seats, we will begin the ring ceremony,” the state athletic director announces.
I smile at Finn and Ezra and they head back to the table. Ozzy and I split up, getting different angles for the stage so that we can take pictures for the yearbook. The ceremony is long—tedious. School after school of high-performing jocks, their testosterone running high. When they get to Thistle Cove, Ezra and Finn both look proud as their names are called, crossing the stage, and receiving the dark blue box holding their ring.
They aren’t the only ones.
The Thistle Cove Three shake their hands and clap their backs when they return to the table, then whisper whatever accolades into their ears. I don’t like it, but now they’re part of the club. A club with levels of toxicity and depravity.
“There’s a difference,” Ozzy says, finding me behind a column as I check the photos.
I frown. “What are you talking about?”
“Even with the hardware, they aren’t like those men.” I raise an eyebrow, and he continues, “they have you, and me, and we’re here to keep each other on the right track.”
Ozzy Drake, the boy that always knows how to say the right thing. We’re tucked away from the crowd and he pulls me close, kissing me softly. We part and I look back toward the table, watching Ezra as he keeps his distance from his father. I don’t worry so much that Ezra will be like his father, but the lengths he’ll go to not to be like him?
That may scare me more.
16
Ezra
The weight of the ring doesn’t help the feeling of off-balance that I’ve grown accustomed to. I should feel like a champion. I won this award—earned it, with literal blood, sweat, and tears, but it doesn’t feel right.
While my friends continued on with school and prepping for final exams, while Finn proudly wore his ring, I’d spent the last few days trying to reconcile my father with the Sugar Daddy, BD. In some ways it made perfect sense. In others, I couldn’t make the puzzle pieces connect. So while they’re all headed to a party at Dave Reynold’s tonight—I’ve got a plan to find out the truth.
The best place to start is in my father’s office.
There’s no doubt he had some kind of connection to Rose, and I have zero guilt entering the room, rounding the desk, and rolling out his black leather chair. I feel nothing as I rummage through the drawers of his desk while he’s down at the club with Chandler and Waller. It’s a monthly ritual—the second Saturday of the month. He comes home reeking of booze and cigars. Sometimes perfume.
I wonder how many times he came home where I’d assumed he’d been with another older woman, but he’d really been with Rose. Were there obvious signs that I missed during the times our families got together? The trips out on the boat always seemed benign, but in all honesty, I may have been distracted. Rose was hot, but she was Finn’s girl. Juliette, cute but venomous. She barely looked my way.
If something was going down between my dad and Rose, I missed it. To be fair, she and Chandler kept it discreet. I can’t see my dad making any slip-ups.
Except for one thing.
My dad is a notorious packrat, and he keeps everything important in the drawers of his desk. If there’s a paper trail of any kind, it’ll be in here.
I pull open the file drawer and start flipping through. Each one is neatly labeled, probably by some secretary. Insurance, bills, mortgage, boat, marina…it goes on and on. I open the one labeled bills, hoping to find something connecting him back to the East Point Suites, but there isn’t anything. It’s just the basics; cable, electricity, security… I shove it back in and pull the drawer out as far as it will go. In the very back, tucked against the wood is a single envelope. Across the front is the name Ezra, in a woman’s script.
I dip my fingers inside and frown. It’s a piece of paper—with flowers along the edges.
“Ez, I’m glad you didn’t show up tonight. It’s the sign I’ve needed that this should end. It already ended years ago, rightfully. A stupid, impulsive, one-night stand isn’t enough to ruin the lives that we’ve built. Courtney is pregnant. You’re building a family—a life. Both of us would be idiots to risk what we have to reclaim a little bit of the past. I could never live with myself if this came out, and you know he’d never forgive you.”
I stare at my mother’s name. Courtney. Any surprise that he cheated on her while she was pregnant, presumably with me, fails to come.
I flip over the note, but there’s nothing else. No signature. No date. I read it, again. He was supposed to show up somewhere to meet this woman, presumably a married woman. It’s typical that my dad wouldn’t just try to destroy one family, but two.
Asshole.
I take a photo of the note with my phone and put it back where I found it. I search another drawer but there’s nothing else. He’s a packrat but not a fool. I’m almost surprised he left that note for evidence.
“You’re home early.”
“Brice had some fundraising event in the city, and Jason could only meet for drinks.” He crosses the threshold. “Looking for something?”
“Just came down to check on the printer. I had an essay to print.” I lie.
“For the University application?”
Shit. “No. Homework.”
He frowns. “Did you turn it in?”
“Not yet.”
“The deadline is in a week. I’m not sure why you insist on pushing everything to the last possible moment.”
“I don’t know, Dad,” I say, running my hand through my hair. “I’ll get to it.”
He eyes me. “You look like shit. Did you go out last night after the ceremony?”
We’d barely spoken on the ride back from the city, and I’d gone straight to my room when we got home.
I laugh. “A good father wouldn’t have to ask that.”
“Watch your tone—"
“Whatever.”
I stand and push the chair back hard enough that it hits the cabinet. A picture frame tips over and lands with a clatter. I walk around the desk and he grabs my arm. There was a time when my dad was bigger than me, but not now. We’re eye to eye and I’ve put on weight. I’ve fast. And there’s a flicker in his eye that says he knows it, too.
He releases me and sighs. “I know you don’t believe it, but I’m trying my best here.”
“I’ve seen your best, Dad, this isn’t it.”
“I get it. I was absent a lot. I work too much. Fuck, I play too much. I tried turning that around this fall and it’s still not enough.”