“Fuck it,” I say, and I chuck the phone on my bed. I grab the rest of what I’ll need—my wallet, an extra jacket—and toss them in a backpack, the former clinking against a lone can of spray paint that I must have forgotten to take out after some night of tagging. Swinging open the side door, it smashes into the garbage and recycling bins stacked against it.
“Oh, come on,” I grumble, finally shoving them out of the way but creating a ton of noise in the process.
I call a taxi and wait in the shadow of the house. When it finally arrives about ten minutes later, I give the driver the address and watch as Holloway House fades from my sight.
After what feels like hours, we roll into the Sunset. This is picturesque San Francisco: pastel houses with white stairways touching down to the street. As we get closer to Golden Gate Park, the houses give way to bakeries, yoga studios, and pizzerias. The bank on the corner stands next to a dentist’s office and a Jamba Juice.
Finally—Green Apple Books. My parents used to take me here almost weekly when I was a kid. The iconic green storefront looks unchanged from my memories. I pay the fare and step out, a rush of brisk wind greeting me like an old friend. Shivering, I go into the store and inhale the warm, welcoming scent of books. The orderly chaos of the bookstore’s endless stacks makes me want to forget why I’m here. I scan the aisles and when I spot Matthew’s unruly dark hair, adrenaline surges in my veins.
Peering around the corner, I pause a moment to see if he’s really alone. Matthew wouldn’t lie to you, I think. But the Wars have made me wary.
I clear my throat as I round the corner, and then pretend to browse through a book. We’re standing next to each other, both frozen.
“Hey,” I say quietly.
“Hey,” he replies.
More silence. I shift to let another customer by, and Matthew moves a little, too. A circle of bruised skin surrounds his eye.
“I’m so sorry,” I say. Matthew pretends to read the back of the book in his hands, emotionless. “How are you?”
“How do you think?” he says, setting the book back in its place. “They fucking beat me—”
“What else did you want me to do?” I fire back. “I meant what I said. If they’d found out the next Young Heron leader was there alone they would have done worse.”
He ignores it. “So?”
“So?”
“Val, for fuck’s sake. Are you joining TRUCE?”
“No,” I say.
“Then why am I here?” Matt says. “Look, I’m running out of time. The Herons keep asking me to do more senior shit. No one even asked about my black eye because they all figure I’m living up to Aaron’s reputation and fought someone.” He sighs. “They’re insane, and none of them are going to join. I even tried to get one of the new recruits, but he was too much like me. Nothing was going to make his parents prouder than being a Young Heron.”
I shake my head. “Your parents aren’t like that. They’d have let you say no.”
He chuckles. “You don’t know them. Why do you think we never had dinner with my parents, or hung out with them for more than a few minutes at a time? I wanted to keep you away from them.”
“Okay,” I say, racking my brain for any memory of us hanging out with his parents once we had started dating. Did they even know? “You don’t want to let go of TRUCE, which matters to you. And I won’t let go of Leo. So we’re at a stalemate.”
“You and me maybe, but we can figure this out,” he says. “Look … you—the Stags, and the Boars for that matter—are running out of time. Camille’s family is threatening to bring her home if she doesn’t get this alliance of yours under control. We found one Boar safe house, right? The next one might be yours, and if you’re with them, I won’t be able to help you.”
“Them being the Stags?”
“Them being criminals,” he replies sternly. “Jax has a rap sheet a page long. His second, too.”
“Micah—”
“Obin, yeah. Him. He’s been with Jax since day one. The moment either of them slips up, it’s years in prison. But—” His eyes go wide and Matthew grabs my hand, tugging me down. “Aure’s here.”
Fuck. “You said you’d come alone,” I whisper.
“I did, I promise. She must have followed me.”
I dash around to the next shelf over, watching the front entrance like a hawk. Sure enough, Aure strides in, hair in a sleek low ponytail. Matthew greets her loudly, drawing looks from the other patrons. Then they switch to whispers, but I make out enough words.
Orders. Permission. Rules. Phone.
My breath catches—Matthew would obviously have two phones like me, right? I do my best to look as calm as possible, all while eyeing the exit. There may be other Herons out there. I should have brought my gun. All I have is the stupid can of spray paint. I take it out anyway, remembering from some self-defense class that anything can be a weapon.
Deep breaths, I think. Jax wouldn’t panic, and neither can I.
Aure and Matthew keep talking. Aure says for them to go.
“I’m going to have to tell her,” she says.
“Hey, hey,” Matthew replies in a calm voice. I know that voice—it’s one he used to use with me. Then comes the sound—so unique and unmistakable that it makes me shatter on the spot.
Lips on lips.
Moments later, the two of them appear around the corner. His hand is in hers.
I crouch down farther, curling into a ball as if that will change what I’ve seen, as if I can change what I’ve finally realized—Matthew has been lying to me, about so much. That night on our birthday was him playing me, already working for the Herons like he’s sworn he’s not.
I swear I don’t make a sound.
But by some twist of fate Aure looks over her shoulder, and her eyes meet mine. She whirls, dropping Matthew’s hand. “What the fuck?”
Bursting from my crouch, I sidestep a low half-shelf of books and shove the thing over, toppling it. The heavy books thunder to the ground but Aure dodges it. I’m three steps from the exit when she grabs my hair, yanking me back, and I shriek.
“Stag bitch,” she says. “What the … fuck are you doing here?”
My answer is to lift my hand.
Shaking the can once and praying it’s enough, I spray brilliant cyan paint over my shoulder and straight into her face.
Aure screams but doesn’t let go. Suddenly Matthew’s there, too, and for a moment her grip falters. I take it—tearing away from them and the shouting patrons of my childhood bookstore.
Back on the street, I bolt straight down Sixth. Sprinting past figures on the sidewalk, I swing my backpack around and shove the spray can back inside. Keeping my face as low as I can manage, I scan the streets for any sign of the buses that I know frequent this section of town.
Finally I see one—two blocks ahead. Racing toward it, I spare a second to look behind me. No one seems to be following me, but that doesn’t mean no one is. I take my chances, hopping into the bus just as it starts to pull forward. I pay my fare and take a seat. My trembling fingers are stained cyan. That doesn’t stop me from putting my hands to my face as tears slip from my eyes.
Aure may not have put a bullet in me like she probably wanted, but she may as well have. Curling my arms tighter around myself, I silently scream into my hands. The movement of the bus rocks me as I crumple into nothing.
Matthew lied, about everything. He kept me from getting into the Herons. He lied when he said he still cared about me. Whatever we used to have between us is truly gone.
But my anger and hurt aren’t.
I get off at Glen Park and get onto a BART train, then call a taxi for the last leg home. It may not be enough to trick the Herons, but I’ll get back at them soon enough.
Sneaking back in the side door, I grab my Stag phone and go upstairs. Just explain where you were, I think. Then give Jax the phone.
But the kitchen and living room and Jax’s room are all quiet. Relief sweeps over m
e and I wash up. It takes a few scrubs for the paint to come off of my hands and from around my eyes, but even when the color is gone the shock isn’t.
It’s like I don’t know what to do with my body, my tired limbs. What is Matthew thinking right now? He hasn’t texted. Would he say he was sorry? Would he explain anything? Would he explain her?
When I finally hear the front door open, I head straight toward them. Nianna’s the first to see me.
“The hell happened to you?” she asks as she sheds her jacket. Jax steps inside a moment later and meets my eyes.
“I need to talk to you,” I say.
“Right now?”
“Yes. Please.”
Jax gives me a look like I’m a movie trailer that’s barely piqued his interest, but he tilts his head toward the basement anyway. When he shuts the door behind us, I pull out Matthew’s phone and hold it in my palm like an offering.
“What is this?” he asks.
“Matthew Weston gave it to me,” I say. “He sent it through my parents.” Okay, now the shitty part. “I-I’ve been talking to him. He wants me to join TRUCE.”
“How long have you been talking to him?”
“A few weeks. Since right after New Year’s.”
“Did you tell him anything about us?”
“No,” I say. “I swear. You can read the texts.” I motion to the phone again, and he takes it. “I should have given it to you right away, I know. But you wanted me to spy on them, and Matthew believes that only I have been using it. He wouldn’t suspect I’d give it to you.”
“You seem very sure,” Jax replies coolly.
“Matthew wouldn’t suspect this of me. I’m sure.”
Jax nods, saying nothing. I fill the silence with babbling. “I’m sorry, I know I should have given it to you sooner. I don’t know why I didn’t but I am now and I—”
“Shh,” he says, putting a finger to my lips. “This is good, Valentine. We can use this. Do the others know you have it?”
“No.”
“Okay. We’ll deal with this,” he says, putting the phone in his pocket. “Now, you want to tell me why you look like you haven’t slept in days?”
I answer dutifully, telling him how I left—again—to meet with Matthew. I tell him everything Matthew said, including his getting desperate. Skipping the part about the kiss, I recount what happened with Aure.
“Wait, you sprayed her in the eyes?”
“Yeah.”
“Shit,” he says. He starts laughing. “Jesus, Val. You could have blinded her or some shit.” From anyone else in any other situation, that would not be praise. But this is Jax, and blinding another human being is cause for celebration. “I’m so gonna mess with Camille about this. Saint-Helene was one of her best. She’s going to be pissed.”
“Good,” I say.
“You sound mad.”
“I am. I’m pissed. Matthew Weston is nothing but a liar to me now.” I am no longer Matthew’s by any definition, and he’s no longer mine.
Jax grins, his hazel eyes sparkling with what I can only guess is unmitigated satisfaction. “Theresa likes to say that grief will only soothe the pain.” He lifts my chin until I’m standing straighter, looking directly at him. “But anger gets you places.”
* * *
Jax goes through every text. I’m next to him on the couch, hands on my knees like he’s a teacher grading my test. He reviews the call log, eyes scanning back and forth.
“And there’s nothing else?” he asks coolly.
“No,” I reply. “Well, not in the phone. Matthew told me at the store that Camille’s going to lose her position if she doesn’t find us. That’s why the Boar safe house was raided. We’re next.”
Jax nods. “We lie low. I’ll tell Ty. First let’s tell the others.”
I ball my hand into a fist, pressing my fingernails into my palm. “Do we have to?”
“It’ll be all right,” he says.
He calls the group to the kitchen.
“What’s going on?” Micah asks, scratching the back of his head. Nianna’s eyebrows rise—she’s surprised he doesn’t know.
“I want to let you all in on something,” Jax says. He sets the phone on the table. Its screen reflects the lamp above, a flare of light on the black surface.
“Whose is that?” Mako asks. “That’s hella nicer than mine.”
“Valentine?” Jax says. “You wanna explain?”
I don’t have much of a choice. I clear my throat. “Matthew Weston gave me this phone. He sent it to my parents, and I got it from them. We’ve been talking for the past few weeks.” Nianna’s jaw drops. “I didn’t tell him anything about the Stags. Jax checked the texts and I swear on my brother’s memory I never revealed anything about the Stags’ plans.” I let that hang in the air a moment, reading their reactions. Today I found out that the Young Herons have been getting shit for our alliance with the Boars. They’re looking for us.”
“Which means no one leaves without my say-so,” Jax cuts in. “We’ll lay off our work with the Boars for now. Tagging’s fine, but nothing more. We’ll use the time to ride the wave of the reaction to the protest and flyers downtown. Boost it on social and see how it plays out.”
“You’re not usually one for waiting,” Nianna says, tightening the knot on her bandana.
“And I’m never one for stupidity,” Jax replies with a glare. “We lie low. That’s an order.”
19
The next week fades like the sea engulfed in fog. Jax and I meet whenever Matthew texts, but it’s the same thing: that he’s sorry. That he had to play along with the Herons, same way I’m playing along with the Stags. The last text stops me short.
“I’m not pretending,” I tell Jax as he hands me the phone to respond. Jax decided I should continue to respond so nothing looks suspicious.
“I know.” He sips a dark beer. “You giving me this is enough.”
I type my reply:
I saw what I did. You’ve been lying to me this whole time.
It doesn’t feel good to have Jax privy to this—my heartbreak making me feel like I’ve been hollowed out—but I let the betrayal win. Matthew has to be out of my life if I’m going to find Leo’s killer.
I hand the phone back to him and go.
Days tick by, but I stay focused. I stop wondering if Matthew’s texted back, or if Jax is responding as me. I go out and tag with the others whenever Jax lets us. I stop calling home. I work out even more, using the exertion to keep me grounded. Nianna even lets me join her for morning yoga, but only after I ask three or four times. Now that Matthew’s completely lost my attention, I’ve found it easier to bond with the Stags. I’m bolder, more forward with my attempts to click with them. So far, I think it’s working.
By the time February arrives, I’m a sharper shot and have more or less memorized all the faces in the binders. There’s one week of nothing but rain, keeping us indoors. Mako finds a deck of playing cards in one of the boxes downstairs. He, Kate, and I sit in a circle on the floor, our wineglasses nearby. After a couple rounds of Egyptian War, I offer to teach them a game called Hotel.
“So many rules,” Mako says, chuckling as I shuffle the cards after a practice round.
“It gets easier,” I say. “One or two rounds and it makes sense.”
“Why’s it called Hotel?” Kate asks.
“Technically it’s ‘Oh, Hell.’” I deal out the cards. “But we couldn’t say that around my brother, so we made it Hotel.”
Kate smiles. “Your kid brother played this? Dang. Babe, we gotta step it up.”
“Leo was really smart,” I say. “He could do almost all his homework by himself. After I nagged him, of course.”
“Dang, that’s a good kid,” Mako says. “I hated homework.”
I feel my chest begin to tighten. Kate shifts so she’s scooted closer to Mako’s chest. “I’m really sorry he died. How he did,” she says. “It’s not fair.”
I meet her eyes and wonder i
f she’s thinking about her mom. “No, it’s not.”
Nianna strides in from the kitchen, a sheen of sweat across her brow.
“Good workout?” I ask.
“Yeah,” she replies, voice breathy.
“That’s a cute top,” Kate says. “Nice color on you.”
Nianna looks down at the green workout shirt. Kate’s right—the verdant shade complements her skin tone. “Thanks, dude. Theresa sent it to me.”
“Ooh, what brand?” Kate raises her eyebrows. “Like, Prada gym clothes?”
“Didn’t recognize it.”
“Probably some fancy French label.”
“Knowing Theresa, probably. What are you guys playing?”
“Hotel,” I answer. “Wanna play?”
She opts to go shower instead, and the rest of us resume playing.
“Damn. I want to be Theresa,” Kate says, her eyes alight. “She’s, like, crazy rich. And beautiful.”
“Not as beautiful as you,” Mako chimes in, earning him a smile and playful smack from Kate.
“I guess she hasn’t been around in a while,” Kate goes on. “Nianna’s met her a few times, me and Mako just once. We’re overdue.”
Overdue. Like the devastating earthquake every geologist in California says is coming, but I keep that to myself. The way they all talk about Theresa puts me on edge, like it’s some royal visitation, but it makes me curious, too.
Nianna comes back out and sits with the rest of us. I deal her in, and we spend the rest of the afternoon bidding on rounds of cards and shouting at each other when we lose. I win the first two games easily, but Nianna gives me a run for my money on the third.
“Dammit,” Kate says as she throws her cards down. “I thought I was getting it.”
“It takes a bit of time,” I say reassuringly, but she’s already getting up. “And it’s just a game.”
“Whatever” is her reply. “I’m probably just too stupid to get it.”
“Hey,” says Mako, just as I say, “Kate, that’s not true.”
The door to her room slams, and I try and distract myself from the ugly pit in my stomach by gathering the cards back up. Mako goes after her and comes back a few minutes later, looking dejected as a kicked dog.
A Thousand Fires Page 19
