by Callie Hart
It’s hard to accept, but it happens more often than you might think. Some problems are insurmountable, the chasm too wide, the cut too deep.
Alderman eventually shows up at the hospital, and I confront him over what he did. We are family, it seems. Real family, linked by blood via Jamie. His aunt was Jamie’s mother. This whole time, he’s known, and he never said a word. Dressed as always in a crisp, beautiful tailored suit, he stands by the window with his back to me, his shoulders tense, bearing my verbal attack in absolute silence. I curse him. I rage. I use every vile and cruel word I can think of, and it’s still not enough. I tell him that I hate him with every fiber of my being for ruining what I had with Dash, and he doesn’t make a sound. I don’t even know if he was responsible, anymore. I don’t know who to blame. Me? Dash? Alderman? Wren? Fitz? Kevin? Jason? My mother? I could close my eyes, throw a rock, and be hard pressed not to hit someone I could point a finger at.
But the blame game? It’s all so…pointless.
My new brother, who I still regard with a healthy amount of suspicion, has plenty to say on the matter. Jamie, who lives in New Mexico on some kind of compound, chews on a toothpick while telling me, “Love makes us all stupid, kiddo. We do the dumbest shit for the people we care about. We lie, we cheat, we steal.” He looks up at the ceiling, as if sifting through memories. “We kidnap. We murder. We commit fraud. We burn down federal buildings—”
“I think you’d better stop there, before you incriminate yourself any further.” I grab my crappy, ultra-lumpy hospital pillow, covering my face with it, and Jamie laughs.
He tugs at the pillow, confiscating it and gesturing for me to sit forward so that he can wedge it behind my back. “All I’m saying is that Mi—” He laughs under his breath. “Alderman did what he thought was best. Your little British boytoy did what he thought was best.” He raises his eyebrows, silencing me with a look before I can interrupt him. “You did what you thought was best. None of you wanted to hurt anyone. You all went about it ass-backwards, but your intentions were good. The question now becomes, how do you move past it? Do you want to move past it? Do you forgive, or do you hold onto the bullshit for the rest of eternity, suffering and feeling like crap because—”
“Alright, alright. You’ve made your point,” I groan. His eyes are nothing like mine. They’re striking, very blue, like chips of ice. His face shape is kind of similar to mine, though. And this is weird, but we wrinkle our noses the same way when we’re thinking. I’ve also discovered that, like me, Jamie is really good at math. Really good. Better than I could ever hope to be. His mind is a lightning-fast computer, processing the most difficult problems and solving them without pause. According to him, the problem I’m faced with doesn’t require an analytical mind, though.
“It’s simple. You’re being stubborn. And I can say that because we’re family now,” he says, lacing his fingers behind his head. He’s full of tattoos. Full of scars, too. My new half-brother has stories, I’m sure, but I’m still too shy around him to ask for them yet. Jamie doesn’t do shy, though. “Once you’ve gotten your shit together and graduated from that prison up there on the mountain, you’re gonna come stay with me for a while,” he says. “I’m gonna fill you in about our daddy dearest. But, for now, here are the cliff notes. Our father? Not a good dude.”
I already knew that. He lived in Grove Hill, for fuck’s sake. My whole life, he lived seven miles away, and he never came to see how my mother was doing once. He never even checked in with her to see if I was a boy or a girl. I have no interest in knowing much about him. But Jamie? I think I like Jamie. I will go and stay with him for a while once I’ve graduated. The other part? The getting my shit together part? I don’t know how possible that’s going to be.
I still have to see Dash every day. Graduation is months away. I’ll have spring break to get used to the idea of being around him again, sitting across from him in English, but none of it’s going to be easy.
Elodie visits me every day. She doesn’t tell me so, but I know she comes with Dash. It’s his handwriting I see on the Post-It Notes attached to the pieces of homework she brings in for me. Homework from the classes I share with him. Jamie flies back to New Mexico. Alderman, whose real name is Michael, I’ve learned, heads back to Seattle. I’m still not speaking to him, but I promise Jamie that I’ll call him eventually, when I’m less mad. Like that’s ever going to happen.
Finally, two weeks after the night I nearly bled out and died, the day arrives for me to move back to the academy. I’m so sick of hospital food, the same four walls closing in around me, and the monotony of life trapped in a bed, that I’m bouncing off the walls, waiting for Elodie to show up and drive me the five miles back to Wolf Hall. I’m equal parts anxiety and excitement when I see the car pulling into the hospital parking lot. Elodie still doesn’t have a car, so she promised to bring my Firebird down the mountain to collect me.
Cyndi, one of my favorite nurses, who used to flirt shamelessly with Jamie when he was here, helps me cart my bags around to the trunk. “Now. What did we talk about? No running. No lifting. No bending. No twisting—”
“No laughing. No breathing. No having fun of any kind.”
“Alright, smart ass.” She opens the trunk and places my bags inside. “I’m being serious. If you don’t wanna end up back here with internal bleeding—” The driver’s side door slams—Elodie getting out of the car to help. She’s too late, though. Cyndi’s taken care of business. She slams the trunk closed…
…and there stands Wren Jacobi.
He smirks, and a scream builds in the back of my throat. “No. No, thank you. Absolutely not!”
Wren sighs. “Chill, Mendoza. I came to make peace.”
“This isn’t who you were expecting?” Cyndi’s protective as hell over me. She knows all about Fitz, and the attack, and all manner of other things I’ve told her about Wolf Hall. She’s watched every single report about Fitz’s arrest on the local news stations. She glowers at Wren with open suspicion.
“Elodie had to take care of something,” Wren says, ignoring Cyndi. “She asked if I’d come collect you. I figured it would be a good opportunity to come and apologize.”
“Apologize?” An apology from Wren is an alien concept. I can’t wrap my head around it. “Tell Elodie I’ll wait until later, when she’s free.”
“You’ll be waiting a while. She went back to Tel Aviv to pack up the rest of her stuff. Won’t be back for a week.”
“Don’t worry, Carrie. I’ll drive you up to the school when my shift ends.” Cyndi scowls at Wren, popping open the trunk again, but Wren grins sardonically at her, slamming it closed again.
“Come on, Mendoza. Aren’t you even slightly intrigued by what I have to say?”
I fold my arms across my chest. “That’s always been your problem, hasn’t it? You’ve always placed way too much stock in what you have to say.”
He nods, looking off over his shoulder, squinting into the distance. “That’s potentially true. And I’m sorry for that.”
Speechless. I’m speechless.
My mouth opens, but nothing comes out.
Wren laughs nervously, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Come on. I’m serious. I want to make things right, Carina. Please…just get in the car.”
I’m a creative person. My imagination is second to none. I could never have conjured this into existence, though. Wren Jacobi: Contrite. Humble. Pleading.
“I think you’d better leave,” Cyndi says.
“Wait.” God, I am going to regret this. “I have a witness,” I snap at him. “Cyndi, if I don’t text and let you know that I’m okay in half an hour—”
Wren rolls his eyes. “Jesus Christ, and I thought Mercy had cornered the market on melodrama. I’m not gonna do anything to you, Mendoza.” He goes around the other side of the car and opens up the passenger side for me.
“Are you sure? I really don’t mind driving you later,” Cyndi says.
I roll my eyes a
s I carefully fold myself into the Firebird, wincing at the stab of pain that shoots through my abdomen when I lean back against the seat. “It’s okay. If anything, I might end up killing him by the time we reach the academy.”
Wren fist pumps. “That’s the spirit.”
The motherfucker doesn’t take me back to the academy. He stops halfway up the long, winding road and takes a left, pulling into the driveway of Riot House. He groans when I take out my phone and start tapping at the screen. “What are you doing, Mendoza?”
“Dialing 911.”
He swears under his breath, snatching the phone from me and locking the screen. “For fuck’s sake, chill the fuck out! Doesn’t the fact that I carried you through thick forest while almost bleeding out myself buy me any fucking brownie points? I just wanna talk.”
Trust him to bring that up. I am grateful to him for carrying me so far, when he was so badly hurt. Without a shadow of a doubt, I’d be dead if he hadn’t. I’m still figuring out how to process the fact that I owe my life to not one but two Riot House boys. That doesn’t mean that it’s okay for him to manipulate me like this, though. “Bullshit. You tricked me into coming here, so I wouldn’t have a choice but to see him.”
Wren knows exactly which him I’m referring to. He looks me in the eye, holding his hand up as if about to make a pledge. “He isn’t here, Mendoza. Pax is out, too. It’s just me. I swear it on my life.”
I snort. “You’ll have better luck convincing me if you swear on something that actually matters to me.”
“On Elodie, then,” he says. His face is very serious. I may hate the guy, but I do think he cares about Elodie. Loves her, even. I don’t think he’d ever swear something on her life and be lying.
I have no choice but to trust him.
He helps me into the house and gets me settled on the couch in the living room, and then goes into the kitchen to make me a cup of tea. Meanwhile, I try not to flinch at the memories of everything that’s happened here.
Wren returns, gingerly carrying an overly full cup of milky liquid, which he sets down on the coffee table in front of me. “I made it the English way,” he says awkwardly. “I figured—I don’t know. That was dumb. I can make a fresh one if you—”
“God, sit down and say what you want to say, Wren. You’re starting to freak me out.” This weird, antsy version of Jacobi is brand new to me, and I don’t know how the fuck to deal with him.
Wren collapses onto the armchair next to the couch. “Fine. I’m really sorry.”
I give him a hard look. “What for?”
“You’re not gonna make this easy, are you?”
“Would you?”
He closes his eyes, blowing out a long, weary breath. “Fair point. Okay. I wanted to apologize for not telling the cops about Fitz. And for being a shit to Mara. And,” He sighs heavily again, “I wanted to apologize for making things hard for you and Dash. I was so caught up in my own shit that I had no idea what was going on with him. I’ve been MIA for the past year. There are no excuses. I was a shitty friend.”
Wow. A year ago, Wren Jacobi would never have sat down and said this to me. He would rather have cut out his own tongue. It’s weird to see him like this, so open and honest, genuinely trying to make amends.
“What’s all of this for, Wren? Are you trying to get me on side, so I don’t cause problems for you and Elodie? ’Cause if that’s the case, then you don’t need to worry. I’m not interested in playing weird games and coming between people.”
He gives me a see-what-you-did-there smile. He doesn’t look impressed. “No. I want you to forgive Dash, for fuck’s sake. I don’t want one of my best friends to leave.”
Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold up a minute. “What do you mean, leave?”
Wren sits very still. I see the moment when it dawns on him—that I have no idea what he’s talking about. “He’s going home, Mendoza. He’s going back to England.”
56
DASH
Flying economy is wretched, but I don’t even bother trying to book a seat in business class. It’s last minute so there probably won’t be any spots left anyway, and even if there is, they’ll be three times their normal price. I’m hardly short on cash, especially now that I just sold the Maybach—a nice little fuck you to my father—but I plan on being careful with my money from here on out.
I’ve found a place to stay: a small two bedroom flat, less than a ten-minute walk from the college. Miraculously, I’ve already secured my place there. I have enough credits accrued to guarantee my entry, but I’ll still come back to New Hampshire to complete my exams anyway. Everything’s been discussed with Harcourt. She dug her heels in at first, but when I pointed out that she’d have one less Riot House boy to worry about, she quickly came around.
All that’s left to do is pack.
Uber drivers do not like bringing Wolf Hall students up the mountain. I had to enter a false destination into the app to trick someone into even picking me up. The guy who accepted my ride was furious when I changed the drop off location to Riot House. He starts cursing at the foot of the mountain and doesn’t stop until he pulls up in front of the dirt driveway that leads to the house.
“This is the best I can do,” he snaps. “This is a Prius not a goddamn four-by-four. I don’t go off-roading.”
“Fine by me.” The walk to the house takes mere minutes, but I drag my feet, stretching them out as best I can. When I go inside, all of this becomes real. My shit needs to go into boxes. The piano…urgh, Christ, what the hell am I going to do with the piano? I’m sure Wren will let me figure it out when I come back to sit my exams.
I kick my muddy shoes off in the hall. I can hear Wren somewhere, in the kitchen, I think, probably talking to Elodie on the phone, which is for the best. When I sat down and told him what I was planning earlier, he’d just stared at me blankly for a solid sixty seconds, then shook his head, emphatically said, “No,” got up, and walked out of the front door without another word. I don’t think he took the news well.
Upstairs, my room’s in disarray. Clothes everywhere. Sheet music scattered all over the bed. Books in piles. I only got so far, sorting through what I was going to keep and what I was going to chuck out before I had to drive the Maybach over to its new owner in Albany. Now, looking around, I wish I’d never started. I should have just left everything where it was and dealt with it all when I come back in a couple of months. There’s just so much—
The stairs creak. And then creak again. Wren needs a lesson in sneaking if he’s trying to creep up here to pounce on me. I sigh, about to swing my bedroom door closed, when I see him stepping onto the landing…with his arm around Carina Mendoza’s waist.
“What the fuck!”
She shouldn’t be climbing stairs. She shouldn’t be standing upright. She shouldn’t even be out of the hospital. She flinches in pain, trying to remove her arm from around Wren’s neck, and I’m there in a heartbeat—
Fuck.
It’s not my job to help her anymore. I drop my hands, feeling absolutely helpless. “What the hell’s going on?” I snarl at Wren. “If you took her from the hospital against medical—”
“Relax, man. She was discharged. She’s gonna be fine.”
“I am here, you know.” Carrie mumbles. “Jesus—Dash. Just—can you—” She puts one hand on my shoulder. “Help me into your room. Let’s get some privacy.”
She wants to go into my room. She’s here of her own volition. Wren didn’t kidnap her. I don’t know which part of this is more surprising. I clamp my mouth shut, supporting her, holding her carefully as I help her into my room. Wren grins, standing in the doorway; I take great pleasure in slamming the door closed in his face.
I’m already talking as I turn around. “This had nothing to do with me. I did not put him up to this—”
I stop.
Sitting on the edge of my bed, Carina is crying. She holds a hand to her side, mouth turned down, her shoulder shaking. At first, I think she’s in pain,
but then she looks up at me and says, “You can’t go.”
Oh.
So, she knows, then.
Of course she does. This is Wren’s big play. I told him I didn’t want Carrie to know until I was already on a flight back to London, but since when has that bastard ever listened to a word I’ve said? Sighing heavily, I grab the bench from by the piano and drag it so that I can sit down in front of her.
I look down at my hands. “There’s no point staying, Stella. I thought I could get through the next few months and then bail, but I…” I shake my head. “I’m a fucking mess. Everywhere I look, there are reminders of you. Even here, in this room…”
A hot pink flush rises in Carrie’s cheeks. I think her high color has more to do with what happened here between us than it does her tears. She swipes her hands at her face, sniffing. “Imagine how I felt, sleeping in the room that you gave me, where we were together so many times.”
“I know. And I’m so sorry for that. If I could change it, I would. I’d give anything to go back and re-do it all. I’d tell Alderman to go fuck himself. But before that, I’d tell Pax and Wren that I was with you. I’d tell everyone. I’d show you off to the entire fucking world, Stella. I was never ashamed of being with you. You know that wasn’t it, right?”
She sucks her bottom lip into her mouth, nodding slowly. “I know.”
“I just wanted everything to be easy.”
“Life’s never easy, Dash. No matter how you tackle it.” Carrie takes a second; I can tell that she’s trying to figure out what she wants to say next. “If I could go back and do everything differently, I’d tell you about what happened back in Grove Hill. I’d give you the whole truth. I wouldn’t hide anything from you. I’d push harder for us from the beginning. I wouldn’t have let anything come between us. Certainly not Alderman.” She looks rueful at this. “He shouldn’t have done what he did. I know he had my best interests at heart, but he actually wound up hurting me the most out of everyone.”