by Ivy Fox
“It was because of Addison. I’m sure of it,” she retorts bitterly, the name of Reid’s sister spilling from her lips, putting a bad taste in her mouth.
“As much as I want to agree with you, I don’t think Addison is at fault here. My father was a grown-ass man who took advantage of her when she was really young. When my mom was still alive and Addison and Reid would stay over at our place, I saw how Claire doted on them both. She was just doing what she thought was right to protect her daughter. And I told you before, I don’t blame her for killing my father. The world is a better place without him. The woman deserves a fucking medal as far as I’m concerned. The only thing that I’m pissed about is that she threw Rome under the bus to save her own skin.”
Maya continues to pick at her sandwich, looking like she no longer has much of an appetite.
“You don’t know Addison like I do. She’s a manipulator. I’m sure she painted herself like a victim, and her poor mother was the one who paid the price for Addison’s mind games.”
My head falls back in a cackle, gaining another shush from the authoritarian librarian.
“Oh, I know just how manipulative Addison is. I saw her toy with Rome’s heartstrings for years before he caught her with her pants down. Literally.”
“Reid doesn’t, though. He loves ‘Addy’,” Maya grumbles, going as far as using bunny ears sarcastically as quotations when using Reid’s nickname for his sister.
“Of course, he does. Just because she is a grade-A bitch, doesn’t mean her brother would love her any less. But what’s this really all about, Maya? Do you think she’s going to influence Reid to break up with you?”
Her nose crinkles, pushing her sandwich away.
“I’m not sure where Reid’s head is anymore. One minute he’s hot, the next he’s cold. He hasn’t responded to any of my texts in days. I don’t know what to think anymore.”
I throw my arm over her shoulder and pull her into a side hug.
“I’m sorry you’re going through this, Maya.”
“Yeah, me too.” She sighs, staring at her sandwich. “I’m sorry you’re having a hard time, too.”
“So am I,” I relent, pulling away and picking at the wrapper on my water bottle.
“Have either one of them tried to talk to you at all?”
I shake my head despondently.
“Not even a text,” I reply, saddened. “But I guess that’s to be expected. We all need some space to figure things out.”
“I’m still not sure there is much to figure out. You love them, and they love you as well as each other. It’s pretty simple math.”
“Love is never simple. There are plenty of scars we need to heal. Plenty of things still left unsaid, and the things that have been said left quite a mark. One we’re still trying to wrap our heads around.”
“I get that,” she mumbles, growing quiet beside me.
“Maya… how… how…”
“Is Saint doing?” She finishes the question for me. “Coping. Dealing. Aside from bringing me to school and taking me home every day, he’s been a little AWOL lately. I know he’s picked up a few more shifts at the garage. I think it’s just so he can keep himself busy, so he doesn’t have any free time to think. His mom is worried about him, though. She and his aunt invited me over for dinner the other day, and I got the definite impression they wanted me to help them fill in the blanks on what was going on with him. Maggie also went on and on about how Chad was having a rough go of it, too. That his parents watch him like a hawk, afraid he’ll hurt himself.”
“What?” I croak, suddenly feeling like the rug has been pulled out from under me.
“Oh, no, don’t worry. By the way Maggie explained it, she thinks they are just being overzealous since they’ve never seen Chad this way. You know Chad. He’s always so bubbly and happy all the time. It’s normal for his parents to be freaked out now that he’s all dark and moody. Although he’s handling it better than I ever could. To have your heart broken, not by one person but by two, it’s bound to sting.”
“That it does.”
“Yeah, I know. Love sucks.”
“It does, doesn’t it?” I sigh, depressed.
“Big time. Do you think it’ll ever get better?” she asks, looking to me for advice, even though I’m the last person she should seek out to give an opinion on the subject. I’m a total hot mess in the love department.
“I don’t know,” I tell her truthfully. “But I think so. Or at least I hope it does. Take my brothers and Holland, for example. They went through the wringer, suffered more blows and devastation than most people will ever come across in one lifetime. But now, look at them? They have finally found peace with the only girl they ever loved. So maybe some love stories do have happy endings, even if it takes a while to get there.”
“I like that,” she says, her eyes twinkling with hope.
“Yeah, me too.”
“One question. Your brothers and Holland still fucking like bunnies?”
“Maya!” I cough in laughter.
“So that’s a yes.” She laughs.
“It’s only been a couple of days since they’ve been reunited, so it’s to be expected that they’re all over each other.” I giggle. “But I sure hope they get it all out of their system before spring break.”
“Doubt it. My advice—stay in your room. Otherwise, you might see things that will scar you for life. I mean, can you imagine going to the kitchen for a midnight snack and then come face to face with one of your brother’s junk? Or in Holland’s case, three dicks?”
“Maya!” I laugh hysterically, the librarian shushing us to settle down.
I stare at the girl sitting at my side and wonder how no one else sees what an amazing girl she is. Funny, feisty, and has no qualms in telling you like it is. Outside this library, Maya does her best to go unnoticed by all, but since I’ve been spending time with her, I’ve realized that she isn’t the meek little mouse she pretends to be outside these walls. I can definitely see how Reid fell for her charms. I’m just still on the fence if she should have fallen for his.
“God. Why couldn’t Holland be Reid’s sister instead of Addison’s?” she continues on, unaware of the thoughts running through my head. “That was another revelation I never saw coming, and I want to be a writer for a living, for crying out loud. I should have seen that plot twist miles away.”
“I don’t think anyone saw that one coming, honey.” I laugh. “I’m just glad Addison put her grudges aside long enough to do the right thing and give Holland her kidney. I shudder to think what could have happened if she hadn’t.”
“That wasn’t Addison’s doing.” Maya narrows her eyes at me. “That was all Reid.”
“You think?”
“I’m positive. He was the one who wore her down. And knowing Addison like I do, soon enough she’ll throw it in his face and ask for something in return.”
I maul at my bottom lip and think about that scenario for a moment. That does sound more like Addison’s MO. Her doing something out of the kindness of her black heart just never sat well with me. Now, using her supposed selflessness for her own gain is right up Addison’s alley. I just hope whatever it is doesn’t hurt the girl who’s been the one friend I’ve come to rely on most recently. The world has been so cruel to her already. Anything more would just be heartbreaking. I push those thoughts away, not wanting to attract more craziness in our already chaotic existence.
“How about a toast?” I ask instead, raising my bottle of water up to Maya’s.
“Okay, I’m game. What should we toast to?”
“A drama-free life.”
“Oh, I like the sound of that.” She giggles, raising her bottle to nudge mine.
Yeah, I like the sound of that, too.
And now with Rome home and Holland healthy, maybe we can all start to look forward to better days. They have to be just around the corner. I’m sure of it.
I spoke
too soon.
Chapter 23
Elle
Detective Gomez remains oddly silent as the FBI agent, Jack McCarthy, continues to shatter my world into a million little pieces. When they initially entered my home, wanting to interrogate Lawrence, my first instinct was to pick up the phone and call our lawyers, the Coens. Rome ordered me not to move a muscle, intrigued at what the NYPD and the FBI could possibly want with our life-long butler.
But neither one of us could have possibly predicted what would come out of the casual interrogation.
Rape.
Blackmail.
Embezzlement.
Money laundering.
And worst of all, murder.
Under my father’s orders, Vivienne killed my mother.
And then he manipulated Lawrence into killing Holland’s father, too.
So much blood on their hands. So much destruction. They left Holland without a father, who loved her dearly, and they left my brothers and me without the only parent who truly cared for us. To them, no life was worth sparing. If anyone got in their way, then they were dealt with by any means necessary. Or, in Carmen’s case, abused until all that was left was an empty, hollow shell.
I always knew my father was a monster.
But to this extreme? Not even I could fathom such evil.
He let me believe my mother had killed herself to escape him. He let me believe that she preferred death over fighting for her children. But that’s not what truly happened. After she learned that her bastard of a husband had been sexually abusing Henry’s granddaughter, Carmen, for years, my mother had gained enough strength to leave him, and she was going to take us with her. She was about to destroy him, show the whole world who the real Judge Malcolm Grayson was. But my mother made one fatal mistake in her well-constructed plan, and that was trusting Vivienne West. Someone she considered a friend but, in reality, was the person who would ensure her untimely death.
“I have to go.” I sob, wiping the silent tears from my eyes.
“Elle,” Rome calls out, getting up from his seat to stop me.
“No, Roman. I need to leave,” I tell him between sobs.
My gaze then falls on Holland’s broken expression, and it kills me that my father stole so much from her.
So much from both of us.
He not only ruined our childhood but hers too.
How can she ever forgive us?
“I’m so sorry, Snow. I’m so sorry.” My voice cracks in agony as I run out of the living room.
“Elle!” Asher shouts out, running after me and grabbing me by the wrist.
“Please, just let me be alone for a minute,” I beg, trying to shake his grip off me. “I need to get out of this stifling house, Ash, or I’ll suffocate. I can’t be here. I can’t listen to another horror they tell us.” I point at the detectives still sitting in our living room, the evidence of my father’s evildoings all spread out for us to gawk at.
Asher’s expression is just as torn as I feel.
I guess learning that your father is not only a blackmailing thief but also a rapist and a murderer is a hard pill to swallow. I think no amount of time will be enough to process such villainous behaviors.
Asher’s hazel gaze is filled with the same misery I feel, his tears provoking my own.
“Please, Ash. Let me go.”
He bows his head, releasing his grip on me, and I take full advantage of this one mercy to run out of the manor as fast as I can.
When I step outside, the cool spring wind hits my face, wiping the remaining tears away. The city is busy and alive at this hour, a complete contrast to how I feel.
She didn’t leave me.
He took her away from me!
They both did!
I spent so much time blaming my mother for what I thought was her suicide. I villainized her for her weakness and lack of motherly love when the true monster that stole her light was living under my own roof all along. Shame and desolation assault me at once, making it hard for me to breathe.
So, I walk.
I walk until the streets no longer look familiar to me. Until the sun threatens to go down, and I shiver in the cold March breeze. Sense and logic tell me that I should turn back before I get even more lost, but the thought of returning to the same home that housed so much evil and harbored all that pain has me feeling sick to my stomach.
He tried to rape Holland.
He raped sweet, defenseless Carmen for years.
Oh, my God. He probably raped my mom, too.
Unable to contain it, I lean against a wall and hurl all the contents in my stomach. People pass me by in disgust as I wipe my mouth with my forearm, unable to care about their squeamish outcries. I push away from the wall and continue to walk my way—to lord knows where—needing to put as much distance as I can between me and the house of horrors I’ve lived in all my life.
My legs and feet hurt from walking, but it’s preferable to the pain my heart is being consumed by. My phone continues to vibrate in my hand. It’s the only thing I took with me when I fled from my home, and that’s just because my finger was ready to dial the Coens in case we needed them. One quick glance at my screen, and I see a slew of text messages from my brothers, all worried about me, all asking me where I am. I can’t call them back. Not now, anyway. They’ll want me to return home, and that’s the last place I can ever be.
My knees threaten to buckle when I come across one text from Holland.
I love you, Elle. I’m sorry, too. Come home.
My fingers tremble as I text her back.
I can’t. Not yet.
Biting my knuckles to keep my sobs at bay, I manically take in my surroundings. The busy bodegas and street vendors are all animatedly going about their business, while people coming back from their day jobs pass me by, completely oblivious to the ugliness this world has to offer.
But there is someone who knows just how cruel the world works.
With my phone in my hand, I dial the one person that can help me now.
“Elle?” Maya asks, surprised by my call. “Is everything all right?”
No.
Nothing is alright.
“I need a favor, Maya.”
“Of course. What do you need?”
“An address.”
Once she’s texted me the address I need, I hail a cab. Twenty minutes later, we arrive at my destination, the cab driver asking me twice if this is really the neighborhood where I want to be dropped off. It’s drab, with tall brown buildings that look like they should have been condemned years ago.
“Yes, it is. Thank you.”
“Your funeral,” he retorts before driving away.
My forehead wrinkles at his ominous remark. Shivering in my yellow spaghetti-strap dress—that looked cute on me this morning but now makes me feel like I stick out like a sore thumb—I follow the loud sounds of engines running. The spring air continues to bite my bare legs as I enter the garage, where burly men in blue coveralls laugh and sing along with the radio. Their carefree attitude twists my stomach into knots, wondering if I’ll ever be like that again.
Doubtful.
They haven’t noticed me yet, as my gaze scours the area searching for him.
“You lost, sweetheart?” asks a broad-shouldered man who looks more like a biker than a mechanic, furrowing his bushy brows as he takes me in.
I shake my head, rubbing my hands over my arms.
“Are you sure about that?”
I nod.
“Hmm. Okay. Where’s your car then, sweetheart?” he questions, looking behind me onto the street, searching for a vehicle to repair.
“I don’t have a car. I’m actually here to see someone.”
“Is that so? Who are you here to see?”
And as his question leaves his lips, my gaze lands on Saint, pushing himself out from under a car, his coveralls smeared with oil stains.
“Him,” I point ou
t, feeling the first breath of relief fill my lungs.
I don’t even wait for the man to let me in, hurrying my steps to where Saint is. He’s cleaning his hands with an old rag when he spots me.
“Princess?” he blurts out in astonishment at seeing me here, dropping the rag and rushing toward me.
I fling myself into his arms and hold on for dear life. My whole body shivers as he tightens his hold, pulling me so close that all I breathe into my lungs is his scent mixed with oil, rubber, and secondhand smoke. I still haven’t said a word when the man that greeted me at the garage’s entrance walks over to us.
“I think it’s best you clock out early today, Santiago. Your girl shouldn’t be in a place like this.”
I feel Saint nod and reluctantly pull away from our embrace, so he can look at me.
“I’m going to take you home.”
I shake my head, nervously grasping at his lapel.
“No. I can’t.”
His pierced tongue rolls over his front teeth, his hesitant gaze fixed with mine.
“I can’t, Saint. Don’t make me,” I repeat, my eyes starting to water.
He gives me a clipped nod.
“I’ll clock out now, boss. Just going to grab my stuff.”
Saint then pulls me by the hand, ushering me to the back of the garage, and I follow him willingly, needing someone else to guide me through my misery. When we get inside what looks like a locker room, he gently sits me down on a stool and opens a locker. He takes out his belongings and hands me his black hoodie.
“You need to put this on, okay?” he says patiently, his black eyes soft like a moonless sky.
I do as he says, pulling the hoodie over my head and feeling instantly warm and comforted by his scent. Saint presses a tender kiss to my forehead before pulling me back on my feet. With his hand entwined in mine, we zig-zag through the open area filled with cars and curious mechanics.
“I’ll make the hours up tomorrow, boss,” Saint explains to the man that greeted me just a couple of minutes ago.
“No need. Take a few days off and take care of your woman there. Come back when you’re all sorted. Family comes first.”
