“What about Lydia and Linus?”
“Your brother and sister have been informed and have begun to arrange the funeral.”
Lauren looked expectantly at Flynn. “Why does Olivia know these things before I do?”
“I thought it might be healthier for you to have a friend to rely on,” said Flynn, resting a hand on Olivia’s shoulders. “I know how close you and Olivia are. Which brings me to our next matter.”
“Which is what?”
“No one can deny that what you have done in aiding Nicole Costello has been a detriment to this society,” said Flynn. She crossed one leg over the other, her polished heels clicking together. “You could have singlehandedly destroyed the Raptors forever. Regardless, due to the situation at hand, we are willing to overlook your recent streak of poor choices. You may remain with the Raptors, but you are, in a sense, on probation.”
At once, Lauren opened her mouth, intending to reject Flynn’s offer in favor of abdicating her place with the Raptors entirely, but at the last second, she changed her mind. Without her father, Lauren had no one in her corner. Her mother and siblings had all been members of the society and benefited from their involvement with the Raptors, but ultimately, their connections had led them to move away from Waverly in order to pursue their own interests. Nicole was gone. Olivia had betrayed Lauren. And the other girls on the crew team that Lauren had grown close to had no idea that the society even existed. Essentially, Lauren was fighting to stay afloat all on her own. Even though it killed her to admit it, the safest option was to play along with Flynn’s game.
“What are the conditions of my probation?” asked Lauren, struggling to keep her voice level.
Flynn extracted another document from her file folder and slid it across the table to Lauren. “No society assignments for six months,” said Flynn as Lauren picked up the document to examine it. It was a contract outlining the terms of Lauren’s probationary period. At the bottom, there was a space for Lauren to sign her name.
“Fine,” agreed Lauren, relief flooding through her. A respite from pretending that she still loyally served the Raptors would be nice. “In case you’d forgotten, I’ve been trying to get out of society assignments this entire semester.”
Flynn ignored this piece of information. “Secondly, you will have no contact with Nicole Costello.”
“A given.”
“Thirdly, either Dashwood or Hastings will accompany you at all times.”
Lauren examined the line in the contract that clarified this condition before dropping the document on the table. “You’re kidding. You’re assigning me guard dogs?”
“Think of this as an opportunity to earn our trust back,” said Flynn. She leaned across the table. “Olivia and Holden are your friends, Lauren. Don’t forget that.”
Lauren looked up at her fellow Raptors. Holden was still covered in bruises, the result of invoking the wrath of both Wes and Nicole during two separate incidences. Olivia, on the other hand, remained physically flawless. She was everything the Raptors looked for in a woman: sophisticated, intelligent, and loyal. Even now, her inquisitive eyes seemed to plead silently with Lauren to accept Flynn’s terms. Lauren looked away.
“Fine,” she said as she snatched up the document again. “Anyone have a pen?”
Flynn took an expensive ballpoint pen from the inside pocket of her jacket and rolled it across the table. Lauren didn’t miss the expression of surprise on her aunt’s face as she uncapped the pen, scribbled her signature at the bottom of the contract, and slid both objects across the table.
“There,” said Lauren. She stood up, wiping the last of her tears on the back of her sweater sleeve. “Now, for the love of God, let me see the light of day.”
Olivia and Holden looked at Flynn, awaiting her instructions.
“Go,” said Flynn, dismissing the trio with a wave of her hand. “Enjoy yourselves. Lauren, I’ll let you know when your mother arrives in town.”
As Lauren led the way out of the meeting room, she clasped Olivia and Holden to her either side.
“I’m starving,” she declared. “Brunch is on you two.”
29
An hour later, Lauren sat across from Holden and Olivia at a table laden with french toast, eggs, sausage, bacon, and several stacks of pancakes. She had picked her favorite brunch space, a small but bustling restaurant just a few blocks from the Waverly campus, and ordered everything, including a few mimosas with the help of Olivia’s driver’s license. It was not an inexpensive restaurant, and she knew she was being petty, but as she polished off a cup of granola and started in on her second stack of pancakes, she realized the tiny hint of satisfaction that she felt at wasting Holden and Olivia’s pocket money wasn’t enough to chase away her grief.
Her father was dead. Every few minutes, that fact would circle back to the front of her brain. Her chest would tighten, and her eyes would fill, and her stomach would attempt to revolt, but then Lauren would look up at the people across the table from her and remember that she couldn’t fall apart no matter how much she wanted to. This was the second death on Lauren’s hands. She inwardly blamed herself for both her father and George O’Connor. After all, if she hadn’t decided to embark on the path of righteousness and attempt to take the Raptors down, none of this would’ve happened. But now that she had, there was no turning back.
What she needed was a plan. Playing nice with the Raptors and luring them into a false sense of security would only take her so far, and in the end, was there a point to Lauren’s coup if she didn’t follow through? As she inhaled a glass of orange juice, the gears in her head whirred, filing through her list of options as she tried to concoct some kind of strategy.
“Mighty hungry today, aren’t you, Lockwood?” grumbled Holden.
A spray of strawberry jam splattered against the sleeve of his shirt as Lauren “accidentally” dropped the knife she was using to spread it across her toast. “Holden, have you no sympathy?” she said. “My father just died. If I want to eat my feelings, I will.”
Holden’s upper lip twitched as Lauren shoved as much of the frosted toast into her mouth as she possibly could. Olivia, her own plate clean and waiting to be retrieved by a server at the edge of the table, leaned forward to address Lauren.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” she asked, keeping her voice low as though afraid to further instigate Lauren’s appetite. “After all that has happened with your dad and Nicole, you actually don’t seem to be too upset. It’s okay to fall apart a little. We’re here for you.”
Lauren dropped her toast. “Olivia, of all people, what gives you the right to psychoanalyze me? If you had wanted to help me, you would’ve let me go when Wickes got that text from my aunt. Did you actually buy that little speech she gave to me? You think she’s really on my side? My aunt is deranged. All she wants is the power that being the head of the Raptors brings to her.”
Both Holden and Lauren cast nervous glances around the busy restaurant at the mention of the society. It wasn’t talked about in broad daylight, and if it was, there was a specific, previously agreed upon vocabulary that was employed to keep curious ears in the dark. Lauren’s nonchalance was a threat to the society, and it was this sort of behavior that the Morrigan had expected of Holden and Olivia to stanch as soon as possible.
“Oh, relax,” said Lauren, finally shoving her plate away from her. She stretched up and over the back of her chair, her belly expanding toward the table. As she looked down at its bloat, she felt suddenly wistful for a normal college experience. She wanted the stereotypical stress load of fourteen credit hours, endless final exams, and Waverly’s next crew competition. Instead, she had the responsibility of the Raptors, a dead father, and the constant threat of her wavering sanity.
Without waiting for Holden and Olivia, Lauren pushed herself away from the table, stood up, and began weaving through the other patrons of the restaurant on her way to the front door. Behind her, she could hear her fellow Raptors hastily
attempting to settle the check. If she knew them as well as she thought she did, Holden would stubbornly pay for his meal only, and Olivia would leave a big enough bill to cover everything else, including a generous tip for their server. When it came to the children of the blue-bloods on Waverly campus, there were two types: the selfish and the selfless. Lauren had always known that Holden fell into the former classification, but when it came to Olivia lately, Lauren had been having a hard time categorizing her.
Once outside, Lauren donned her designer trench coat, turned up the collar against the wind, and walked to the park just across the road. She settled herself on a bench to people watch as she waited for Holden and Olivia. She wasn’t stupid enough to run off without them, but they certainly deserved to stew for a few minutes.
Lauren smiled sadly as she watched a little boy play peek-a-boo with his father around a nearby fountain. A puppy ran by Lauren’s feet, chasing a startled squirrel, followed shortly by the puppy’s harried owner. To Lauren’s left, a tall man in a rugged, black police jacket leaned casually against the trunk of a tree. He’d pulled a winter hat low over his features and tucked his chin into the collar of his jacket.
Lauren stared. The man caught her eye, lifting his face for her to see. She didn’t recognize him, not physically at least, but his brutally broken nose clued her in on his identity. While maintaining eye contact with him, she jerked her head in the direction of the restaurant.
He glanced over. Holden and Olivia had emerged, searching for Lauren. When they spotted her across the street, they waved and began to jog in her direction. The man looked back at Lauren, nodded once, then pushed himself away from the tree trunk. Lauren watched out of the corner of her eye as he strolled down a side street.
“Trying to give us the slip?” growled Holden as he reached Lauren’s bench.
“Trying to enjoy the day, Hastings,” she replied, fluttering her eyelashes. “Besides, I know better than to challenge your clearly superior level of intellect. How would I ever be able to escape from you? I bow down in your presence.”
Holden sneered at her, shoving his gloved hands in the pocket of his coat and turning away. Olivia, to Lauren’s surprise, suppressed amused sniggers. Lauren stood up, leading Olivia and Holden away from the park.
“Uh, where are we going?” asked Holden, trudging along behind the girls.
“I need a dress for the funeral,” Lauren informed in. “My favorite boutique is down this way.”
“I have a class in half an hour,” protested Holden. “I need to get back to campus.”
Lauren spun on her heel to face him. “I’m sorry, Holden. Am I inconveniencing you? Because as I recall, you’ve been assigned to babysit me, and I would hate for Olivia to have to report your insubordination to the Morrigan. Isn’t that right, Ollie?”
Olivia seemed to be having a difficult time restraining a grin. “Sure is, Lo.”
“Fuck me,” groaned Holden, giving in.
“No thanks,” replied Lauren coldly.
Holden glared at her then made a gesture for her to lead the way. Lauren obliged and turned down a side street. It was a narrow road—for deliveries probably—and just wide enough for one car to pass. The buildings on either side prevented the sun from illuminating the sidewalk, but even so, Lauren spotted the tall man from a few minutes earlier propped up against the brick wall. As the trio approached him, Lauren fought to keep her stance casual and her shoulders relaxed.
At first, nothing happened. The man didn’t even glance up as Lauren, Olivia, and Holden passed by him. Then Lauren heard his boots move against the pavement.
In a split second, the man trapped Holden into a headlock, dragging him toward a red pickup truck parked on the curb at the end of the side street. As Holden let out a garbled yell, Lauren grabbed Olivia’s hand.
“Run!” she ordered, yanking Olivia away from the conflict, back toward the direction they had come from.
Olivia obeyed without question, sprinting alongside Lauren. When they stumbled out into the sunshine of the park, they glanced over their shoulders to see what had become of Holden, but the red pickup truck at the far end of the side street had already vanished.
I had hoped that by the time I had finished my shower and rifled through Natasha’s closet for something to wear, Wes would have come to his senses, made a U-turn, and headed back to the farmhouse. But more than three hours later, I was still sitting on the steps of the front porch, absentmindedly stroking the border collie as she lounged beside me and waiting for the red truck to return.
Natasha emerged from the house, carrying a wool blanket. She draped it around my shoulders before settling on the step next to me.
“You should come inside,” she said. “It’s freezing out here, and the last thing you need is to catch a cold. Believe me, it’s one thing to be emotionally miserable. You don’t want to be physically miserable as well.”
I drew the blanket more tightly around myself. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Nicole, I can only explain why I left you so many times.”
“No, it’s not that.” An engine rumbled, and my heart leapt, but it was only a passing hatchback on the dirt road at the end of the drive. “How are you okay with what Henry did? I mean, he hid everything from you, and you seem fine with it.”
Natasha leaned back on the palms of her hands, tilting her face up toward the sunlight, before she answered. “I’m not exactly fine,” she admitted. “But I would be a hypocrite to castigate Henry for the same crimes that I’ve committed.”
“What do you mean?”
“From the very first day that Henry and I met, I’ve lied to him,” she replied. It was conversational. There was no remorse or regret in her tone. “I believed that I was doing the right thing. So did he. Now that everything’s out in the open, it’s no wonder we were attracted to each other. Essentially, we were both struggling with keeping huge secrets. Maybe we subconsciously bonded over that.”
I rested my chin on my knees, peering down the drive.
“But I get the feeling you aren’t asking because you’re interested in mine and Henry’s relationship,” Natasha went on. “What are you thinking about?”
I took a deep breath. “I’ve just been thinking about Wes, you know? He doesn’t deserve any of this. It doesn’t have to do with him. And yet, between the two of us, he’s been hurt the most.”
“How long have you and Wes been together?”
“About nine years.”
“It shows.” Natasha nodded knowingly. She tapped my left ring finger, which was absent of adornment. “Never married?”
“He wants to,” I said, tucking my hands away into the warmth of the blanket. “But it never felt right to me.”
“Wes didn’t feel right?”
“No, no!” I replied hastily. “Just the concept of marriage, I guess. I told him that I wanted to finish my degree before we got married, but it was just an excuse. Marriage didn’t seem to hold any kind of real merit to me. After all, I’ve never witnessed a successful one.”
“I see,” said Natasha. “Well, if it’s any consolation, I don’t think Wes blames you one bit for the things that have happened to him. If anything, he hasn’t even considered it. All he cares about is keeping you safe, which is probably why he peeled out of here like a bat out of hell.”
“I suppose.”
Natasha scooted closer to me. Then, tentatively, she rested one arm across my shoulders. I remained stiff, unsure of what to do, before relaxing into it. We sat quietly for a moment longer, listening to the wind whistle through the bare branches of the trees that lined the long driveway.
“Can I ask you a question?” said Natasha, rubbing my shoulder to warm me up.
“I guess I owe you that.”
“Do you remember anything about me?”
It wasn’t a question that I had been expecting, but Natasha had delivered it in a quiet, unsteady voice, so I answered as kindly as possible.
“I remember that y
ou always used to smell like vanilla and mint,” I recalled. It was true. Earlier, when I had opened Natasha’s closet to find something to wear, the memory of her scent had hit me like a ton of bricks. “That hasn’t changed,” I went on. “I also remember that you used to read Goodnight Moon to me.”
Natasha laughed, but it wasn’t enough to veil her subtle sniffle. “That book was the only thing that would get you to stop crying.”
“I kept the copy you left with me,” I told her. “It’s on the bookshelf at my apartment.”
“Thank you.”
“Can I ask you another question?” I asked.
“Sure.”
“What happened with you and Catherine Flynn?”
I knew it was a terrible transition. Natasha had opened up to me, and I had taken advantage of it. It was clear in the way she recoiled from me, her arm falling from my shoulders. Her face turned stony, and she clasped her hands together so tightly that her knuckles whitened.
“Did Henry put you up to this?”
“No.”
The lie was obvious, but even if Henry hadn’t mentioned that Natasha seemed to have some kind of lingering connection to Flynn, I would have asked anyway. The rivalry between them had fueled a thirty-year-long war. It was a natural line of questioning.
“I have no idea why Henry would have told you that I still speak to Catherine,” said Natasha. She hoisted herself up from the porch steps. “That woman is made of poison. Don’t ask me about her again.”
“Wait—”
She made to go inside, but as she reached for the screen door, it squeaked open, and Henry emerged, his heavy work boots clunking across the porch.
“Got a call from Bill,” he reported, staring out at the dirt road. “Told me he saw some kid driving my truck and asked if he should call the cops. I told him go ahead.”
I swiveled around. “You what?”
Henry chuckled. “I’m kidding, darling. Just wanted to let you know that he’s on his way back. Should be pulling into the drive any moment now. Can’t wait to see what he got up to.”
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