That’s when it finally hits me, that thing I didn’t want to put a name to.
Parrish … was right.
When he told me that Tess was never going to let me go, he wasn’t just baiting me into an argument or trying to piss me off. No, instead he was delivering a simple truth.
I see it now, reflected in her gaze, in the stiff stance of her shoulders and the tremble of her hands, the fear that she carefully tucks away behind an exasperated expression.
Tess will never, ever let me go. Until I turn eighteen, I’m stuck here. Stuck in Washington state in this horrible suburb full of entitled, rich assholes. Stuck in that nauseating glass and cement box they call a home.
Stuck with a lying snake like Parrish Vanguard as a stepbrother.
“You knew perfectly well that I was in your car,” I growl back at him, surprised by the menace in my own voice. I’ve never been one to start feuds with others. In general, I get along with everybody. There’s usually some thread, no matter how small, that you can find with another human in order to create a connection.
But not here.
Not with him.
“Prove it,” Parrish retorts as Tess holds up both hands, palms out.
“That is enough, you two,” she snaps as Paul gives his son a sharp look. “You’re both grounded for the next two weeks.”
My mouth drops open as Parrish grits his teeth, turning a monstrous look on me, like this is somehow my fault that he lied and got Tess upset. If he’d just told her the truth, that I was at the school the whole time, this wouldn’t be happening.
I wouldn’t have had the worst start to my first day on campus, and Tess wouldn’t be slowly recovering from what looks like a PTSD reaction to finding me missing.
You have some responsibility in this, Dakota, I tell myself, but it doesn’t matter. Not right now. Not when I’m so mad at Parrish that I could spit. Not when I’m now dreading my first day of school at Whitehall more than ever.
“And you can hand over your car keys,” Paul continues as Parrish turns a stricken look in his father’s direction. “I’ll drive it home, and you can earn it back over the next two weeks by doing some work at my office.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Parrish snaps, and I raise both brows. Uh-oh. He throws a hand out toward me accusingly. “This girl—this stranger shows up—and suddenly my life is a living hell?”
“This stranger is my daughter,” Tess says, and any small spike of pleasure I feel at hearing her defend me is obliterated by the look of agony on Parrish’s face. “Like it or not, you two are family now.”
“We are not family,” Parrish growls back, his gold-flecked eyes turning my way again. He’s hurt. By what or who, I’m not sure, but the look of devastation on his face is staggering. “Never will be. Send her back to New York. She wants to go back anyway. She’ll never be happy here. She showed up wanting to hate us all.”
He turns on his heel and storms off, leaving the four of us in the empty hallway. The classroom door slams behind him, echoing ominously in the sudden silence.
Frankly, if I spoke to my grandparents back home the way Parrish speaks to Tess and Paul, I’d have received far worse punishment than two weeks grounding and a brief hiatus from my car.
I almost smile thinking of the punishments that Grandma and Grandpa would cook up: scrubbing the chicken coop, taking my phone away, stealing the power cord from my TV and PlayStation. Oh, they’d have made me wear grandma’s old brown shoes to school for two weeks. I’d be tasked with dinner prep for the whole family every day for a month.
In the end, I can’t make myself smile because I’m too sad, too lonely to do anything but stand there.
“I apologize again for my dramatics, Ms. Miyamoto.” Tess glances my way and tries to force a smile. “We could tour the school together while we’re here?” she queries as Paul checks his Apple Watch and fists Parrish’s keys against his palm.
“I’ll be off now. I’m already missing my first patient of the day.” He gives Tess a kiss on the cheek and offers me a tight smile on the way out. I notice that his gaze lingers a bit on my shirt, and I briefly remember Delphine’s warning from this morning. Heh.
“I think I’d rather go …” I almost say home, but I don’t have a home anymore, now do I? I have a fancy multimillion-dollar house that I live in. Across the country, a home waits in New York state that will never be mine again.
My stomach roils and I fight back a rush of tears.
“Understandable,” Ms. Miyamoto says, giving me an empathetic smile. “We’ll see you on the twenty-eighth then.” She hands me my schedule and then heads back down the hallway.
Standing there alone with Tess, it’s my own personal version of hell.
“I’m sorry if I embarrassed you,” Tess says finally. “But you can’t just run off like that. I don’t know how those people raised you but—”
The look I turn on her is nothing short of murderous. She notices and redirects the conversation.
“I’m not totally unreasonable,” she tries as I turn and head in the direction she came from, assuming there’s some sort of exit this way. “All you had to do was tell me where you were going.”
“Parrish had his phone,” I reply tiredly, “but he chose to lie to you and leave me shoeless and alone in the parking garage.” Tess’ eyes drop to the red heels on my feet and both of her perfect eyebrows go up in question. I decide some things are best left a mystery and neglect to fill in the blanks.
She doesn’t respond, and we make the drive back to the house in silence. The only backdrop to our combined suffering is an audiobook that I realize is Tess’ newest release, the one I didn’t read because it came out two days after I met her for the first time.
There’s just something about knowing how she is in person that makes me not want to read her books anymore. It’s probably like that with most authors, huh?
I do my best to shut out the narrator’s voice, closing my eyes as we approach the gates to the house and the still sizable crowd of reporters.
As soon as the garage door closes behind us, I’m out of the car and into the house, heading straight up to my room and slamming the door behind me.
It isn’t long before my pillow is wet with tears and I’m feeling so sorry for myself that I get nauseous.
My phone is right where I left it on the nightstand, so I grab it and ignore the disturbing number of notifications waiting for me. Every influencer worth their salt wants me on their YouTube channel or their Instagram feed, wants me to appear on TikTok for them or do an interview.
I ignore all of it and dial up Maxine. She declines the video chat and texts me instead.
In class right now with the she-devil professor. Call you later!
And then I’m left to drift, lying there on my back and staring at the ceiling. When Tess knocks later, I pretend to be asleep.
Saturday, and my coffee meeting with Maxine cannot come quickly enough.
Parrish clearly blames me for his grounding and the loss of his car. Fortunately, all that means is that he avoids me and refuses to have even the most basic of conversations.
“Pass the orange juice,” is met with a glare and the juice is only passed when either Paul or Tess is present and watching. Kimber joins in the fun, going so far as to purposely bump into me in the hall as if I’m a ghost. She doesn’t apologize, and I don’t ask her to. Frankly, she could drop dead for all I care.
The younger kids—Ben, Amelia, and Henry—aren’t so bad though. And they don’t deserve to be punished or ostracized for anything that’s happened, so I spend the next week playing with them, helping with their homework, or reading to them at night.
Actually, the only—and I mean only—good thing about this nightmare is getting three new siblings that don’t hate my guts.
Oh, and grounding at the Vanguard household doesn’t appear to extend to Chasm. He comes over every day after school and stays through dinner. The following Friday, he doesn’t leave, an
d I’m forced to listen to him and Parrish laughing their asses off every time I enter or leave the living room and kitchen area.
Early Saturday, I wake up and get dressed, heading to Tess’ office where she’s working on a typewriter.
A typewriter.
No offense or anything but only pretentious assholes use typewriters. I just stare at her back, dreading this moment, dreading what I’ll be forced to do if she tells me no.
I knock on the doorjamb and lean my shoulder against it. Tess holds up a single finger and then taps out a few more words before turning around with a smile.
She beams as she looks me over, like I’m the be-all, end-all to her happiness.
That’s a lot of pressure to put on somebody you barely know.
“Decide to take me up on my offer to go furniture shopping?” she asks, a tremor of excitement in her voice that she tries to hide. Uh-oh. If that’s her expectation for this meeting, she’s going to be sorely disappointed.
You aren’t giving this a real shot, Dakota, I tell myself, but it hurts too much to try. And I’m so emotionally drained, I can barely breathe through the tears sometimes. I never expected to feel this lonely, to feel this disconnected from Sally and Nevaeh, to miss home so bad that I get dizzy thinking about it. Shit, I knew it would be hard, but not this hard.
“Actually, I was wondering if we couldn’t give my grandparents the money to send the rest of my things over?”
There’s a long pause where Tess waffles between being pleased that I’m looking to make a more permanent stand here—not by choice—and irritated that I’ve called the Banks family my grandparents.
“Yes, of course, honey. I’ll shoot them an email tonight and send the money in the morning.”
A slight smile plays over my lips, but not because of Tess. Because my grandparents are highly unlikely to check their emails anytime soon.
“I could call them?” I suggest, hope burgeoning in my chest. If I called from Tess’ phone, they might answer.
“Honey,” Tess begins, letting her voice trail off. She looks so … Seattle, dressed in an expensive dress shirt paired with Birkenstocks. Her makeup is flawless, the lake stretched out and shimmering outside her office window. There’s this ‘outdoor chic’ look that everyone in the Pacific Northwest seems to be obsessed with. Like, they wear hiking boots or expensive Fjallraven outdoor gear whether they’re going on a hike or not. Just to be fair, they do seem disturbingly obsessed with hikes, coffee shops, and telling everyone who wants to listen how much they hate people from California.
“Then you’ll have to call them. My grandparents are old school; they check their emails once a week and they ignore texts.” I focus on my breathing, struggling to keep the anger and resentment from my voice. Instead of letting me talk to my family to ease the transition, Tess has forbidden me from them. Does she even recognize how cruel that is?
“I can do that,” Tess agrees reluctantly, looking me over. “You look nice today.”
My stomach clenches tight as I consider how to approach this moment. I can’t tell Tess about Maxine or she’ll definitely prevent me from going. But I also can’t run out on her again. The look on her face … I can’t trigger a grieving mother’s PTSD, not even if she’s among my least favorite people in the world right now.
My heart sinks. I’d hoped Tess’ compassion—and obvious guilt—would win out over her jealousy, and that I might be able to convince her to let me see Maxine. But after that reaction to my suggestion about a phone call to my grandparents?
It’s clearly not happening.
“Thanks,” I breathe, and then I turn and head down the hall before the tears can start falling.
“Somebody die, Little Sister?” Chasm asks, leaning against the wall in the hallway with no shirt on. His arms are crossed over his chest, his smile tinted with mischief.
He’s undeniably pretty to look at, but his inked arms and edgy haircut aren’t enough to make up for that rotten personality of his. He may as well be The Prince of Sloths’ personal knight in shining armor, always coming to Parrish’s rescue. Also, he says things to me in Korean that I don’t understand but that—because I am a K-drama freak after all—get the gist of. None of the things he says to me are polite, that much I know whether I speak the language or not.
The only thing Kimber wants to talk about besides TikTok trends is Chasm. Apparently, he’s half Korean, lived in Seoul with his grandmother for the first nine years of his life, and then was shipped over to the US to live with his dad. The way Kimber puts it, his father is basically a sociopath or something. Guess that’s why Chasm’s always hanging out here.
You’d think—you’d think—that our shared past—that is, living with one family in one place and then losing it all to live somewhere else with someone else—would give us some sort of connection. Instead, all this guy has given me is a cocky shell instead of a personality. He behaves like a bodyguard, like he’s Parrish’s only protection against the world. I know absolutely nothing about him other than straight facts and wistful sighs delivered by Kimber. Since it’s the only thing she’ll speak to me about without scowling or insulting me, I listen.
I stop walking, watching as Chasm moves into Parrish’s bedroom and cracks the window, climbs onto the roof, and starts to smoke a cigarette.
The sound of the shower going in the attached bathroom answers the question of where Parrish might be. I decide to take Chasm’s query as an invitation and climb out onto the roof beside him.
He looks surprised but offers up the pack of cigarettes anyway. I wave them away.
“I don’t smoke,” I tell him with a shrug, and he cocks a dark brow.
“Oh, I’ll bet you don’t,” he says with a sharp laugh. Goose bumps pebble across my skin at the sound. Guys that laugh like that … I’d be better off with the cigarettes in regard to my health. “Bet you put on cheesy song and dance routines to warn your classmates against the dangers of nicotine.”
He snorts and glances up at the ascending parade of luxury homes that dot the hill. I still can’t for the life of me understand why Parrish wouldn’t want the room across the hall, with a view of the water. Maybe he can’t swim? Or has a crippling fear of sharks?
The thought makes me smile, makes him seem more human somehow.
Clearly that means it’s bullshit; he isn’t human. He’s a fucking demon dredged up from the pits of my own personal hell.
“I don’t judge people for smoking,” I tell Chasm, glancing over to find his brilliant amber eyes staring back at me. They’re so bright they look gold in the early morning light. “Actually, I think many of today’s anti-smoking laws are a violation of our constitutional rights.”
Chasm frowns, like I’ve surprised him—and not in a good way—and turns back to the houses above us.
“I’m supposed to have coffee with my sister today,” I say, unsure why I’m even bothering. Chasm and Parrish have made no moves to welcome me here. Then again, I highly doubt Chasm’s about to go running off to tattle to Tess. I may as well spill my guts. It isn’t like I’ve got anyone else to talk to here. “My real sister,” I add before he gets a chance to ask. “Pretty sure Kimber would rather throw boiling water in my face than gossip over a latte.”
“But you’re grounded,” Chasm fills in, smiling to himself as he studies the series of retaining walls that make up the backyard. Back home, we had apple and plum trees, a row of raspberry bushes and a garden surrounded by deer fencing. The woods were a natural fence, offering privacy but letting in dappled sunshine. I miss it so much that my heart seizes in my chest.
“That, and part of the plea deal that Tess offered my grandparents in exchange for their daughter’s guilty-time-served verdict was that we have no contact for a year.”
I choke on the words and look away so that Chasm won’t see the deep melancholy etched into my face. He doesn’t need anymore ammo. Parrish most definitely doesn’t need anymore ammo. He seems to know exactly how to hit me where it hurt
s already.
“I’ll drive you,” Chasm offers, still smoking his cigarette and leaning back on one hand, legs stretched out in front of him. The tops of his bare feet are inked, too. It’s very clearly Parrish’s work. I can see it in every perfect stroke of black, every white highlight.
Despite what I said to his face, I actually do admire his work. But, like with Tess’ books, it’s a bit hard to appreciate the art when the artist is an asshole.
“You’d drive me?” I scoff, giving Chasm a onceover. “Why?” I can barely keep the skepticism from my voice. Nothing in life is free. And if it sounds too good to be true, it probably is. I do enjoy a good idiom.
I narrow my eyes as Chasm laughs and stabs his cigarette against the roof shingles to put it out.
“Chalk it up to natural curiosity,” he says, leaning far too close and smelling like tobacco and mint gum. I lean back because his face—and naked chest—are far too close for comfort. “Oh, and don’t tell Parrish or I’ll lie like hell about it,” he adds as he pulls back and climbs in the window. He offers out a hand and I take it, letting him pull me back inside. “Meet me downstairs in twenty.”
Chasm moves over to Parrish’s bedroom door, waiting for me to leave before he slams it shut.
I’m perplexed as hell, but too desperate to see Maxine to argue about it. This could be my only chance to see my sister for a while. Weirdly enough, my hand tingles in all the places he touched it. With a huff, I rub at the offending flesh and frown before turning away.
There’s a TV in my room, one that was there when I moved in. It’s mounted to the wall above the utilitarian dresser that has so much chrome, it looks like it belongs in a spaceship. I turn it on and crank the volume, leaving Uncanny Counter to blast into the room. Tess is unlikely to bother me for the duration of her workday. Once she’s sat down to write, she only emerges for lunch and is usually so far inside her own head that she mumbles plot points as she putters around the kitchen. I might find it endearing if I weren’t so angry with her.
Stolen Crush Page 8
