“You!” Dad slurs, swaying on his feet as he points his finger at me. “Want to tell me why I have some message on my cell about a fight at school?”
Mom’s gaze bounces between us, and she looks torn, not knowing who to question first. Dad takes the indecision away. “Spit it out, Blaire. What trouble have you gotten into this time?”
His hurtful comment stings, as if I was a regular troublemaker or something, but I swallow back the bile flooding my mouth and explain what went down. As I talk, Dad scoffs and snorts, half-slouched against the counter, looking like he’s struggling to stay on his feet.
“Fucking hell, Blaire. We’re not even here a week!” I jump as he roars at me. “What the hell is wrong with you children? First Ethan, and now you!”
“Archie!” Mom hops up, glowering at Dad. “It’s hardly comparable, and you’re drunk.”
“So fucking what!” He throws his hands in the air. “That changes nothing. We’re still fucked, Mir. We moved all this way, and Ethan’s crimes are still following us.”
“What do you mean?” I look between both my parents. “Has something happened I don’t know about?”
“Let me see.” Dad drops down into the chair beside me with a heavy thud, reeking like a brewery. “Your mom’s already had to change her cell number, again, because some asshole got hold of her new one and was harassing her. I didn’t get the job at Johns Hopkins because that asshole who made a false complaint against me has ensured I won’t practice medicine ever again, and my once sweet girl is already fighting at her new school.” He slumps headfirst onto the table. “I think that about sums it up.” A beat later, he lifts his head. “Oh, and my dead son is still a monster. Let’s not forget about that.”
“Stop it, Archie.” Mom is sobbing now. “Don’t call him that.”
“Why the hell not?!” The words rip from Dad’s chest, but they could’ve been birthed from his splintered soul. “Why the hell not, Miranda!” His voice lowers, and he leans over the table, pain etched across his face as he pleads with Mom. “Have you forgotten what he did?”
“Of course not, but that wasn’t him. That wasn’t our Ethan.” Tears are spilling down her cheeks as she tries to defend my twin.
“He did it, Miranda. We’ve all seen the footage. It was him.” Dad slumps back down in the chair, and an ache spreads across my chest as tears leak out of his eyes.
It’s not the first time Dad’s broken down in recent months, but it always floors me when it happens. I hate seeing Mom cry too, but there’s something so heart-wrenchingly agonizing about watching a strong, proud man like my father dissolve before my eyes. I’ve been watching it for months now, helpless to do anything to stop it, knowing that time has come and gone.
A sob tears from his chest. “We can’t keep deluding ourselves, Miranda. Our son did it. He’s guilty as sin. Ethan shot all those kids dead. Deprived all those families of their children. Turned us into villains along with him. And if that doesn’t make our son a monster, then I don’t know what else to call him.”
Chapter Seven
Dad is passed out on the couch, snoring his head off, in a haze of stale alcoholic fumes, when I get up the following morning, and a new layer of guilt adds to the existing pile. It’s my fault my parents ended up in another humdinger of an argument last night, but I fail to see how I could’ve prevented it. If it wasn’t the fight at school, it would’ve been some other trigger. It seems like my parents can’t go longer than twenty-four hours before coming to blows over Ethan and the shit he’s left behind.
Mom has her head in her hands, quietly sobbing, when I enter the kitchen. The sight of her shoulders shaking as she cries kills me. “I’m sorry, Mom,” I whisper, tentatively hugging her.
She lifts her head, pinning me with bloodshot eyes. “Why did those girls pick on you, Blaire? Have they figured out who you really are? Is this the story of our lives from now on? We keep running from town to town as soon as people find out?” She grabs hold of my waist, sobbing into my chest. “I can’t handle it anymore. Your father is no help. He’s depressed, and I don’t have the energy to pull him out of it. It’s not going to get any better.”
She pulls back, sniffling as she swipes under her eyes with the back of her sleeve. “How could Ethan do this? How could he walk into that school and shoot those boys and girls dead in cold blood? Didn’t he think about what he was doing? Or give any consideration to how this would affect those left behind? Did he expect to die too, and, what, he was okay with that? I don’t understand. It makes no sense. Why, Blaire?”
She stands, placing her hands on my shoulders as she rains questions down on me: questions she’s already asked a hundred times or more. “Why did he do it? You must know! You were his twin. You two shared everything. Why, Blaire? Why did my sweet boy turn into a killer?” She shakes me, tears streaming down her face, and my heart ruptures straight down the middle.
“Mom, please,” I croak as the familiar weight starts pressing down on my chest. “Please don’t do this. I’m struggling with this as much as you are.”
She wraps her arms around herself, shaking her head. “I don’t think I have the strength to do this anymore.” A strangled sob rips from her mouth as she shuffles toward the door. “I just can’t. I’m going back to bed.”
I stare at the empty doorway for ages after Mom retreats to her bedroom in a sort of numbed aware state. I don’t think it’s going to get any better. I don’t think this is something anyone gets over. Ever. Eventually I move, ghosting around the kitchen as I pour coffee and fix myself some breakfast. I try to force some toast down my throat, but it’s futile. My head churns with the usual thoughts, and I know I need to get out of here before I have a meltdown.
Changing into running pants and a top, I pull on my sneakers, clip my iPhone to the waistband of my pants, and strap my water bottle on my arm. I pop the buds in my ear before leaving the house and press play on the music app. It’s practically arctic outside as I set off running, and I wonder if I’ll ever get used to the colder weather here. While temps cool down in the winter in Arizona, and it can turn icy at night, it’s not even close to this level. I never thought I’d miss the humid heat back home, but I do. I’d happily trade the icy cold for cloying humidity any day.
I head in the opposite direction of town, moving farther into the less than desirable parts of Kentsville, sprinting past neglected homes and overgrown parks, vacant, vandalized stores, and an overcrowded trailer park that looks like it hasn’t seen any upgrade since the sixties.
But I don’t pay much attention to my surroundings, trapped in my corroded mind despite the music thumping in my ears and my repetitive inner mantra pleading for some respite from my destructive thoughts. Running is usually a great distraction, and it’s the only thing that helped keep me sane in the aftermath of the shooting and the public vitriol hurled at my family.
It’s not that I don’t understand. I do. And my heart breaks for their families. They should not have had to endure that. If we’re saddled with a life sentence, then they are too. What Ethan did was beyond reprehensible. It doesn’t matter who they were, what history existed; those four boys and three girls did not deserve to be killed in cold blood, gunned down in front of their classmates. I don’t blame people for the things they’ve said about my twin. In their shoes, with the facts as they apparently seem, I would probably say the same.
But they don’t know the full picture. And it doesn’t make any difference now. It won’t change how they feel about my brother or my family.
To others, Ethan Simpson will always be a monster.
And my heart aches at the injustice of it all.
I understand the need to lash out, to require some place to vent all the grief and frustration, but the abuse my parents and I have had to deal with crosses a line. We weren’t the ones who did the shooting, and we had no clue Ethan was planning that, yet we’re the one
s paying the price. Both my parents were forced out of their jobs. Thanks to a completely unfounded malicious allegation, my dad is unlikely to ever work as a doctor again, even though it was proven he was innocent. It doesn’t matter; his reputation is tarnished. And we’re virtually penniless, unable to sell our house or the land my parents were building our new home on. No one wants to live in the house where a mass murderer lived.
I didn’t return to Amber Springs Academy after the shooting—there was no way I could— but I still needed to graduate, so I enrolled in the local public school thinking I wouldn’t face so much hostility there, but I was sorely mistaken. Even now, I shudder as I recall the months of torture I endured before we left town. Whispered taunts, unhelpfully, resurrect in my mind, and a piercing pain shoots across my chest.
My feet pound the sidewalk as I ramp up the pace, pushing my limbs to extremes, with sweat beading on my brow, determined to outrun my demons.
I feel for the families of the victims. I honestly do. There isn’t a day goes by when I don’t think about their suffering, but at least they are allowed to grieve. We were denied that, and it still hurts.
Some days I hate Ethan. Hate him for the decisions he made. And for leaving me alone.
But most of all, I just miss him.
He was the best brother a girl could ever hope for. What he did doesn’t take away from that. It’s not a sentiment I share with anyone, for obvious reasons, but in my heart, in my soul, I still love my brother, and I always will. This whole situation is so messed up that there are times when I even feel guilty for admitting that to myself.
How fucked up is that?
Deep down, I know I’ll never be able to truly move on in life until I’ve come to terms with my brother’s loss and all the associated implications of his actions. At least here, with hundreds of miles separating us from the past, I know I have a chance at achieving that. I’m not strong enough yet to face it, but one day, hopefully, I will be.
“You really shouldn’t be running out here alone,” a gruff voice says from behind, and I scream, my heart rate accelerating to coronary-inducing territory. “Relax, it’s only me,” Axel says, appearing on my right-hand side as he jogs with me.
“You almost gave me a heart attack,” I pant, struggling to recalibrate my breathing.
“And you’ve just proved my point. I could’ve been anyone sneaking up on you. You can’t run these streets unaware, Blaire. It’s not safe. Even in daylight.”
“I know self-defense,” I protest even if I agree he’s right.
“I’ve heard, but that will only get you so far. Not allowing someone to grab you in the first place is your best defensive move.”
“I know. It’s just I have a lot on my mind, and I got distracted.”
He doesn’t reply, shooting me a penetrating stare, one of his specialties. My eyes roam over his crumpled running shorts and top. The tats on his arms are clearly visible under the short-sleeved top, trailing the length of both arms and halfway down one hand. The designs are intricate, and I wonder if they have any special meaning.
If he notices my ogling, he doesn’t call me out on it, and we both run in silence, matching strides with relative ease. After a couple beats, he clears his throat. “I know a place that’s safe to run. I’ll show you if you want.”
“Now?” I ask, unstrapping my water bottle and bringing it to my lips.
He nods, veering right and ducking down a narrow alley. I trail a little way behind him as I guzzle my water. When I’m done, I quicken my pace and catch up to him. We sprint down a few more side streets, crossing into more respectable residential areas, and after navigating a few roads, he leads me into a small park at the far side of the residential sector.
Tall trees tower over us as we run along the main path, rimmed with neat shrubbery, and down onto the edge of a small lake. Several houses lap the lake on the other side with lawns and docking bays facing out onto the water. A bunch of kids are playing by the water’s edge, and a couple of older men are sitting in foldable deck chairs with fishing rods clutched between their thighs.
“This is a good place to run as there are plenty of people around during the day, and at night, it’s well-lit and monitored by a private security firm employed by those residents to protect their property,” Axel says, pointing at the lavish houses the other side of the lake.
“That’s good to know,” I huff out.
“You should still get a ride here though or …” He trails off, and I stare curiously at him.
“Or what?” I prod as we run.
He shrugs, refusing to look at me, and I’m forced to quell my inquisitive mind.
We run for a couple miles, along the path that borders the lake, keeping a steady consistent pace, and even though we’re not talking, it’s companionable. I’ve never run with anyone before, and I didn’t think I’d like it. But I like running with Axel.
Or maybe I just like him. Period. He has that whole moody, brooding, mysterious vibe thing going on that is seriously attractive.
“Let’s stop here.” Axel doesn’t ask. He tells me. Usually, it drives me bananas when someone tells me what to do, but I kinda like it when he does.
I’m seriously starting to worry about myself where Axel is concerned.
With his tats and piercings, scruff on his chin, his deep voice, intense mannerisms, and the whole bad boy aura, he’s as far removed from the type of guy I usually go for as you can get. Cam was my only serious boyfriend, and while he was dark-haired too, he was the classically handsome, clean-cut, all-American boy you take home to meet the parents. Axel is the type you want to hide in a closet and do dirty shit with.
My cheeks flare up as I drop down onto the ground alongside him. Thank God, he doesn’t have a hotline to my mind, or things would get awkward real quick. I pull my knees up to my chest and wrap my arms around my legs, staring out at the calm, crystal-clear water. Distant voices tickle my eardrums, and the faint chirruping of birds is the only other sound around. “I like it here. It’s very peaceful,” I admit, rolling up the sleeves of my shirt, wishing I’d worn a tank and brought my hoodie instead. The top adheres to the sweat on my back, clinging to me like a second skin.
“Yeah. It is.”
I tilt my head to the side, looking at him. “How long have you been running?”
“A couple years.” He picks up a stone and lets it loose. We both watch as it soars through the air and then lowers to the water, bouncing over the surface four times before disappearing. Angling his head, Axel locks eyes with me, and I momentarily forget how to breathe. His eyes are the most startling shade of gray-blue and I’d challenge anyone to look away when Axel ensnares you in his gaze. I imagine it’s akin to being hypnotized. “And you?” he asks.
It takes me a few seconds to de-fog my brain and remember what we were discussing.
“I’ve only been running four months.”
His brow lifts ever so slightly. “You’re a natural. Not many girls could keep pace with me.”
I shrug, as if I’m immune to his compliment. “I’ve long legs.” And an abundance of inner demons pushing me to my limits.
“I noticed.” His voice is deep and gravelly, and it sends shivers cascading up and down my spine. How he manages to load so much into such a small statement speaks of real skill. I’m betting Axel Thorp could get any girl he wanted with one of those looks or a few simple words from his mouth, spoken in that panty-melting tone of his. I’m practically liquefying into a puddle at his side and he’s barely even spoken to me today. But Axel doesn’t need words to make an impression. He has this indescribable presence. An intoxicating magnetism that’s almost impossible to resist. An allure that reels you in whether you realize it or not.
Electricity crackles in the space between us as we stare at one another. My chest heaves, and his eyes lower to my breasts, lingering for a fraction too lo
ng. My nipples instantly harden, and I’m praying he can’t see through my flimsy top. He raises his eyes slowly, in tandem with the lifting of his arm as he reaches out, tucking some loose strands of hair behind my ears. My skin ignites in the place where his fingers brush against my cheek, and I can’t recall ever having such a visceral reaction to any guy. His hand lingers on one cheek, and my breath falters in my chest again.
“I see you, you know,” he adds quietly. “I see what you try so hard to hide.”
Panic swells inside me, and I’m not fast enough to disguise it.
He grips my chin, forcing my gaze to remain locked on his. “Don’t do that. Don’t feel embarrassed. There’s no reason to.”
If he really saw inside me, if he really knew the kind of person I am, he wouldn’t say that. So, I guess my secret’s safe after all. But I’d like to know what he thinks he sees. “What do you see?” I whisper.
He leans into me, and we’re so close we’re almost touching. There’s only a tiny gap separating our bodies, and his warm breath steals over me when he speaks, hypnotizing me all over again. “I see a beautiful girl in so much pain she can hardly breathe,” he rasps quietly.
I stare into his eyes, recognizing a kindred spirit. “And I think Skeet was right,” I supply. “You only see those things because they exist inside you too.”
Slowly, reluctantly, he nods while winding his hand around the back of my neck. “I think you might be dangerous for my health, Blaire,” he says, staring at my mouth.
“I already know you’re dangerous for mine,” I whisper back.
Chapter Eight
I really thought Axel was going to kiss me, but he retracted into his shell after our intense talk, and we ran all the way home without speaking. But it wasn’t uncomfortable. Being around a guy like Axel should make me uncomfortable, but I’m weirdly reassured in his presence. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in this life, it’s that there’s no point trying to figure out the whys, so I don’t expend any energy trying to work him out. I’m just going to go with the flow, and at least, he distracted me from all thoughts of Ethan and the shooting.
Surviving Amber Springs: A Stand-Alone Contemporary Romance Page 6