by Callie Rose
Finn’s lips practically curled back from his teeth in a snarl, and Cole’s face had taken on the eerily blank expression it got when he was trying to control strong emotions.
“But—” I sucked in a breath. My tears were drying on my cheeks; I hadn’t even bothered to wipe them away. “That’s fucking crazy. Something like that—she had to have been trying to kill me. There’s no way she could’ve thought that was just a prank. Could she?”
“There’s not a single thing I’d put past her at this point,” Mason said darkly. “And it doesn’t matter what she thought would happen. What did happen was that you almost died. If she’s responsible for this, I’ll fucking bury her.”
An uncomfortable feeling stirred in my gut. I couldn’t really argue with his sentiment, but it struck too close to home, making me wonder what he’d said about me back when he’d somehow held me responsible for my mother’s cruelty toward his.
God. Would it ever stop?
This vicious cycle of attack and revenge, attack and revenge?
Or was it a one-way ticket, and once you hopped on the train, the only way off was death?
“We don’t know if it was her. You don’t know,” I whispered. When Mason moved to open his mouth, I overrode him, straining to lift my head off the bed despite the twinge in my neck. “You don’t know. We’re sure she made those copies of my notebook, so if you want to go after her for anything, let it be that. But don’t eye-for-an-eye this until you know for sure.”
He stared at me, dozens of emotions filtering through his bright green eyes. His jaw was clenched so hard he was probably about to crack a tooth, but I shook my head, holding his gaze.
My neck was starting to ache, but I wouldn’t let this go until I was sure he’d heard me.
“I’m not trying to protect Adena, Mason. I could give two shits about her. This is about you.”
There was a darkness inside the beautiful, aristocratic boy. Maybe it had sprung into being when he’d found his mother after her suicide, or maybe it had existed in him for longer than that. But however long it’d been inside him, there were only so many times he could feed the monster before it took over and swallowed him whole.
And I refused to let that happen if I could help it.
I hated Adena, but I cared about Mason more.
Too much to let him wreck himself trying to bring her down—at least until we knew for sure.
“Fine.” He bit out the word like he hated the way it tasted on his tongue. Then he tipped his head back, drawing in a deep breath. “But it’s not over. She attacked us, and now she’s”—he pressed his lips together—“we think she’s attacked you. We can’t just let it slide.”
“We can start digging for shit on her family,” Finn threw in, glancing across me at Mason. “It’ll probably be hard to find, but we can try.”
“Yeah.” Mason’s hands softened around mine a little as some of the intense anger drained from his face, replaced by thoughtful focus. “If we—”
Philip walked back through the door at that moment, and the brown-haired boy’s jaw snapped shut. His expression turned carefully impassive, and he glanced over his shoulder at my grandfather before looking back at me.
I shook my head. I hadn’t mentioned the brake failure to Philip yet. I knew I probably should, but I worried about what it might do to his heart. He looked worse than he had when I’d first seen him after coming back to Roseland last semester.
If I’d thought he could help, I would’ve been more inclined to risk his reaction to the news, but if there was no evidence my brakes had been tampered with, it really just came down to my word against Adena’s. There would be nothing Philip could do about it, especially considering her family was even wealthier and more connected than the Hildebrands.
If we could find actual evidence of her actions or get her to confess somehow, then even her family name wouldn’t be enough to save her. But until then, it wasn’t worth it.
“Doctor Garrett will be back to check on you in a couple hours,” Philip intoned as he came to stand near my feet. He sounded a little winded, and I wonder how long he’d berated the doctor for. Had they been speaking this whole time?
A surge of warmth toward my grandpa rose in my chest as I looked up into his wan face. Doctor Garrett wasn’t an awful person, and I didn’t doubt his surgical skills, but his bedside manner was crap. And having someone in my corner go to bat for me when I was too distraught to say anything felt nice.
The Princes stayed by my side for several more hours, and Philip stayed too—he hadn’t gone home once since I’d come out of surgery, as far as I knew—and with my grandpa listening in, our conversation turned to other topics.
I was tired, still doped up on a strong medley of painkillers, and strung-out from crying, so I didn’t add a whole lot to what was being said.
But the sound of the Princes’ voices, each a slightly different pitch and tempo, filtered into my exhausted brain like the best kind of white noise. I felt my head lolling as my eyelids slipped closed, and as they did, Mason’s hands around mine tightened slightly—a wordless reassurance that they were all still here.
The next several days passed in a blur of nurses’ visits, tests, and checkups by Doctor Garrett. Having a steady dose of pain meds through an IV drip kept the worst of the pain at bay, although I could feel it more and more.
I felt stiff too, almost claustrophobic from laying down constantly for so long—not that I had the energy to get up and do much.
The Princes visited every day, and although I tried to question them about how things were at home, what the fallout from Adena’s photocopies and internet videos had been, what was happening, they stubbornly refused to talk about it. They made their visits about me and me alone, back-burnering their own shit to be there for me.
Which was sweet, but it didn’t make me worry less.
I knew Jacqueline had a particularly strong obsession with reputation and preserving her family name, but she couldn’t be the only person in Roseland who felt that way. And the information I’d gathered in my little black book had been stuff that could be damaging to the Princes’ families, not just the boys themselves.
The fact that Finn’s parents had essentially bought him a spot at Oak Park, the fact that Mason’s family had struggled with money problems, the fact that Elijah’s dad had done cocaine and Elijah had gone to rehab.
The fact that Cole’s dad regularly hit him.
All of those things went beyond just embarrassing or shaming the boys. It painted their families in a harsh, unpleasant light, and I couldn’t imagine any of them were having an easy time of it at home.
Every time I saw Cole, my gaze tracked over his face, searching for bruises or marks. His father had been bold, in a way, hitting his son in the face at all. But just because I couldn’t see any bruises now didn’t mean they weren’t there.
Or maybe, like my dad had from time to time, his father had stopped for a while. Which would only make it that much worse when he started again.
After five days in the hospital, Doctor Garrett gave me the all clear to be discharged. I was given a long list of care instructions for my leg and the stitches on my arm, side, and face, and Philip listened carefully as the doctor laid it all out. The Princes had insisted on being there too, and they listened as well—although there wasn’t a chance in hell I would be letting any of the guys sponge bathe me.
Then Philip drove me home with him. I could probably have tried to go back to the dorms, but I knew he would fight me on it. And truthfully, I wasn’t in good enough shape to be taking care of myself. My pain meds had been adjusted down to the point where I wasn’t quite so loopy and out of it, but I was still sluggish and weak.
He pushed me out of Roseland Medical in a wheelchair before relinquishing it back to the staff. Then he and his driver helped me into the back seat of the car before stowing my crutches on the floor of the large vehicle.
Philip sat beside me on the way back to the house, an
d maybe he could see the tension gathering in my body as we got closer, because he reached over and patted the knee of my good leg.
“We’ve got a room set up for you on the first floor. And the house staff will be able to get you anything you need.”
I nodded vaguely, flashing him a tired smile before turning to stare out the window. It wasn’t which room I stayed in that worried me, and it wasn’t the staff—it was going back to the house at all, living under my grandparents’ roof again.
It felt like moving backward in time, and I didn’t like it.
There were so many things in my past that I just wanted to leave there.
Jacqueline actually met us outside when we arrived, which surprised me. She didn’t speak as my grandpa gingerly helped me step out of the car and adjust my crutches, and she trailed several steps behind us as I worked my way up the front steps. Inside the house, she immediately started directing traffic, ordering the staff around with casual curtness as they made sure the spare bedroom at the back of the house on the first floor was ready for me.
Some care had obviously been taken to turn the room into an almost hospital-like setting. Bandages and all of my prescribed medicines were laid out on the dresser, and a bolster had been added to the bed, along with several pillows to prop me up even more. The bathroom had handrails installed in the shower and along the walls, and there were spare blankets draped over the chair in the corner.
It was smaller than the last room I’d stayed in here, but it felt cozier somehow.
I flashed a look at Jacqueline as she directed Avery, one of the staff members, to go heat up some soup. As the other woman turned to leave, my grandmother glanced over at me, and our gazes locked.
It was the first time she’d truly looked at me since I’d arrived.
Her body stilled, and for a few seconds, we just stared at each other across the expanse of the room. Then her lips tightened at the corners, and she blinked.
“Get some rest. You look—” Her voice broke off, her eyes going a little glassy. Then she turned and hustled Philip toward the door, adding over her shoulder, “Please, rest. I’ll have Avery bring you some lunch in a little while. She can help you with anything you need, but I’ll tell her not to disturb you if you’re sleeping.”
Then she closed the door softly behind them.
Gee, thanks, Grams.
I snorted a soft breath, shifting on the mattress. The bolster really helped, actually, and there was one for my leg too, to help keep it elevated. I arranged myself as best I could in a pile of pillows, then closed my eyes, letting the exhaustion that’d been tugging at me pull me under.
If Avery came back while I was sleeping, she followed my grandmother’s instructions and left me alone. When I opened my eyes again, it was dark out. I stared up at the ceiling until Philip knocked on the door and stepped into the room with a tray bearing food. He set it up for me before grabbing several pills from my collection of bottles on the dresser and handing them to me with a glass of water.
As I downed them, he sat on the edge of the bed, clearing his throat.
“I made several calls today, and I’ve found one of the best, most highly recommended rehabilitation specialists on the west coast. I know right now all you need is rest and care, but when the time comes, I’d like to bring him in to work with you. He can do private sessions with you as soon as Doctor Garrett gives you the go-ahead.”
The last pill I’d swallowed sat like a lump in my throat as I gazed at my grandfather. His blue eyes were sad and tired, but not as cloudy as I remembered them being so often before. Part of his recovery regimen after his stroke was supposed to include cutting out alcohol, but I had honestly wondered if he would do it.
I guess he did.
“Thank you… Grandpa.” The word felt foreign but not unpleasant on my tongue, like food from a country I’d never visited. “I—I would really like that.”
“Good.” He smiled at me, making the skin around his eyes crinkle. “Good. I’ll start making travel and accommodation arrangements now.”
“Thanks.”
I meant it. Even with the money the judge had released from my trust, I wasn’t swimming around in cash or anything. My dad’s health insurance from the power plant had covered some of my rehab the first time I’d hurt my legs, although the woman I’d worked with then definitely wasn’t the best or most highly recommended anything.
“Of course.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a slim black phone. “Here. It doesn’t have all your contacts in it, but I wanted you to have one. Keep it nearby, and text me if you need anything.”
I accepted the cell phone, resting it on the bed next to me. “Thanks.”
My old one must’ve been destroyed in the crash. I decided not to think too hard about what’d happened to it.
He sat with me in comfortable silence while I ate the soup and bread he’d brought, and I wondered if Jacqueline was eating dinner all alone at the massive table in their dining room. When I finished, he repeated what he’d done at the hospital, bending down to press a kiss to the top of my head before retrieving the tray. Then he made his way out the door, leaving me to fall asleep again.
That was the pattern I repeated for the next several days.
Wake up, eat, take pills, sleep.
Philip had hired a nurse to come by several times a day, so she helped me shower and change my bandages. Without meds being pumped directly into my veins, the pain of my injuries ebbed and spiked as I waited impatiently for my next dose.
My leg and ankle hurt the worst, but the abrasions and stitches in my skin were a constant, nagging discomfort. As I became less exhausted, sleeping got harder.
And most of all, I was bored.
Whoever had set up this room had mounted a TV on the wall across from the bed, and I had access to every channel I could possibly want. I binged a few rom-coms, but nothing really held my focus.
I felt antsy.
I wanted to move.
After three days back at the house, I couldn’t take it anymore. Doctor Garrett had stressed that rest was very important during the first few weeks, but he hadn’t put me on strict bed rest or anything. My pain meds were going strong, and I felt better than I had in a while, so I scooted to the edge of the bed and grabbed my crutches.
The pads at the top dug into my armpits, and the bruises and cuts along the side of my body flared with pain at the movement, but I maneuvered my way to the door and pulled it open.
I did half a lap around the first floor, nodding to Avery when she saw me coming around a corner. She gave me a half-smile back, but worry flickered in her eyes.
Probably wondering if she should rat me out to Jacqueline for being up and about.
I was passing through the large entry foyer when a thought occurred to me. There had been one reason I’d wanted to come back to this house—something I’d wanted to look at.
The wide staircase felt about as challenging as scaling Everest, but I used my crutches and my good leg to work my way slowly up the steps to the third floor.
By the time I reached it, I was shaking and panting, my whole body strained by the exertion. But my limping footsteps evened out on solid ground, and I made it down the hallway without falling. When I reached the picture I’d been looking for, I stopped and turned to stare at it.
I had stumbled upon this photograph when I’d gone snooping around the house during my first semester at Oak Park, and I’d been dying to look at it again—to see it through new eyes, knowing everything I knew now.
The first thing I noticed was Adam Pierce.
He was in the picture. I hadn’t noticed him the first time I’d seen it because I hadn’t known to look for him, but now that I knew his face, I recognized him easily. He stood near the back of the group, smiling at the camera. Next to him was a woman I recognized as Mason’s mom, then Mason’s father, Edward, and then my mom. I squinted, leaning closer to the picture as my gaze flicked back and forth between the two women.
They both looked so… happy. So full of life, so unconcerned. None of the ugliness of their futures seemed to hang over them. In that captured moment, those futures didn’t exist yet.
How did it all go so bad?
My gaze flicked down to the child held in my mother’s arms. She had chubby cheeks and wore a bright yellow dress, and the sight of it made my heart squeeze.
A little girl dressed in sunshine.
Mason had known me then. They all had. And that was how he’d described the memory of me once.
Keeping my crutches pinned beneath my arms, I reached up awkwardly to brush my fingertips over the image, as if touching it could somehow connect me to the people inside, could transport me back to the moment the picture was taken.
“You shouldn’t be up here.”
Jacqueline’s firm voice startled me, and the crutch on my left side slipped out from under me, clattering to the pristine wood floor with a loud noise.
“Shit,” I muttered, adjusting my grip on my other crutch to try to bend and pick it up.
But before I could reach it, my grandmother strode forward, lifting the metal apparatus and helping me secure it under my arm again. As I’d come to expect, she didn’t look directly at me as she worked, and her expression was cool and businesslike.
“You should be resting. And you shouldn’t be taking stairs.”
“Sorry,” I muttered, resisting the urge to ask her why she cared at all. Instead, I jerked my chin toward the photograph on the wall. “Who’s that guy? In the middle?”
Reluctantly, Jacqueline’s gaze moved to the image, her face unreadable. “Oh. That’s Adam Pierce. He became friends with your mother and her group of friends in college. He wasn’t a classmate of theirs at Oak Park. He came from… lower stock.”
My eyebrows flew up at her words. God, does she have any fucking idea how stuck up she sounds?
“You mean he was poor?”
“No.” She shook her head, pursing her lips. “He had money. But he was from newer money. Just a different caliber of person, that’s all.”
