by Vivi Barnes
“Yeah. I— With the bracelet and, well, stuff, I just wasn’t sure.”
“You said your grandfather gave you the bracelet.”
“He said he didn’t. I don’t know—I’m so confused. I should’ve asked Theo if he gave me the bracelet, too.” And the rose on my pillow.
“He’d probably be dumb enough to give you an expensive bracelet,” Emerson says, huffing. “Dude doesn’t know you at all.”
Hopefully I can get through the rest of Valentine’s Day without any more “gifts,” but I have a feeling that’s wishful thinking. As I get closer to my car, I can see that I’m right. Four thick flower stems without their flowers attached lay like dolls without a head on the hood of my Infiniti. What the actual hell? I look over at Theo, but he’s already driving away. Seems like if it were him, he’d be standing there, waiting to see my reaction.
Maybe I shouldn’t have refused the mace my grandfather tried to get me to carry.
“Who did that?” Emerson says, clutching at my arm.
“Someone who thinks he’s being funny, I guess.” Which rules out Jack—he’s too serious to play practical jokes. I know he wouldn’t do something like this. I gingerly pick each stem from the hood and toss it to the ground.
“Funny? If this is Theo, I’m going to kill him,” she says.
I yank open the door to the car, inhaling so sharply I’m sure I just froze my lungs. “I found the rest of the roses.” Emerson rushes to my side.
“Liv, this is the creepiest thing I’ve ever seen,” she says, her voice shaky as she stares at the white rose petals on my seat.
I almost tell her it’s not the creepiest thing I’ve ever seen, but I’m not going there. This is bad enough without bringing up my past. I take a deep breath. It’s just someone pulling a prank. Like stupid Theo.
“Should we call the police?” she asks.
“To say what? Someone put roses in my car on Valentine’s Day?”
“Well, at least you should lock your car door from now on.”
I stare at her. “But I did lock it.” Except for when I’m at home parked behind Grandfather’s gates, I always lock my car, even if I’m just running into the gas station for a soda. It’s become a habit to press the lock button, even more than once to make sure. I run my hand along the window frame, but it doesn’t look like someone tried to force it open.
Someone unlocked my car.
Which would leave the only person who has a key—my grandfather, which is about a zillion to one chance—or someone else who might know how to break into cars without leaving a mark. I look quickly around the parking lot, but there are only students climbing into their BMWs and Maseratis to head home. No Ducati. And I can’t even tell if the trembling inside my body is from fear or disappointment.
“Are you okay?” Emerson reaches out to grasp my arm. “You look like you’re going to pass out or something.”
“I’m fine,” I tell her, my voice anything but fine. “I’d better go.”
“Maybe you should let me drive you home.”
I smile at her, trying to look sincerely unaffected. “It’s okay. I’m just a little freaked out. Maybe you can call Kade and ask him to tell Theo to back off?”
“Hell yeah I will. This is ridiculous.” She glances at my car. “Let me at least help get that crap off your seat.” She sets her bag down, walking around the door to scoop the petals out to the ground. She steps on them, turning her boot heel to grind them into the pavement. “Dumbass Theo,” she mutters. She looks up at me. “Text me later, okay?”
I nod as she hesitates, her gaze moving back to the ground, to the petals lying on their bare stems. “Actually, can you call me when you get home? I just want to make sure you’re safe.”
Safe is never a word I’d have used to describe my situation until I came to live with my grandfather. Now apparently that’s not even a sure thing. “Yeah, I will.”
As soon as I slide into the car, I pull out my cell phone. Should I text Jack? Maybe he’s gone off the deep end or something. I need to rule him out and move on. But if it wasn’t him, texting him would be a really bad idea.
Instead, I scroll down to the one other Monroe Street connection programmed in my phone. My fingers fly over the keys, and I press send before I can think twice about the text.
Then I start the car and head home, rolling down the windows to let the cold air blast away the heavy stench of roses.
Chapter Four
JACK
Nancy tells everyone at dinner about the money stolen from our emergency account. Tells us we need to cut back on our spending. I know she’s disputed the charge and will get the money back. This is just an excuse she’s using to tell everyone to stop living off our reserves and get real jobs. But we don’t need to flip burgers to make money—we had the perfect job before. We can do it again.
I follow her to her office after the meeting. “So I was thinking, maybe we could start the business again. Small scale, I mean. Just a few hits,” I add as she shakes her head firmly.
“I told you. With Bill gone we have a chance to start fresh. Everyone else is willing to try, so why aren’t you?”
“Everyone is willing to try? Yeah, did you see their faces tonight? Have you seen anyone go out and get a real job?”
“Z—”
“And I certainly don’t see Maggie getting a job, do you? Or Jen either, as lazy as she is,” I add.
“That’s enough,” she says firmly. “Maggie has her issues. I’m working with her on those. You and Jen have been at each other’s throats for a year now, and that’s a year too long for me.”
“Her problem, not mine.” Ever since I broke up with her a year ago, Jen jumps at any chance she can get to take me down. The only time it’ll get resolved is when one of us moves out.
Nancy keeps her sympathetic but firm gaze on me. I try a different approach. “Nancy, I know we need the money—”
Maybe it’s the way I emphasized “know” that makes her eyes narrow. She holds a hand up, her palm flat. “Keep your eyes on your own bank account, Z. The house is my business, and you’re only on the accounts as a precaution. You have enough to worry about with graduation right around the corner.” Her expression softens. “I know you worry about us. Don’t. An honest job may not make as much money, but it won’t get you arrested or killed.”
There’s nothing I can say to change her mind. I get it—knowing how much she loves us. In her mind, hacking will ultimately land one of us in jail. In her mind, she is saving us.
But we never asked to be saved.
I head out of the office, but right before I reach the stairs someone grabs the collar of my shirt and yanks me backward. I swing around, ready to clock the idiot, when I come face-to-face with Sam.
“What is your problem?” I ask, glaring at her.
“Why don’t you tell me?” she asks. Sam takes any chance she can to poke at me these days. The happy-go-lucky, sometimes irritatingly optimistic partner in crime I knew before is gone. These days she’s annoyed at everything. She blames me for our situation, I know. She’s pretty clear about that. She doesn’t care that Liv drove us off that bridge because Bill was going to kill us or how evil he was. All she thinks about is our life before he died. Our money, the luxury of Monroe Street, the time when we didn’t have as many kids in the house.
Obviously, I can relate to that.
Sam wags her phone in front of my face. “You cut off all ties with her, huh?”
I grab the phone from her and stare at the text from a 757 area code. There’s only one person I know in that Norfolk area code.
Hey Sam it’s Liv. I got some roses and jewelry—did Z send me anything for Valentine’s Day?
“Sending her roses, huh, Romeo? I thought you were going to leave her alone.”
The first text I see from her in eight months, and it’s about someone sending her shit. Someone who’s not me. What, is she trying to show me she’s got a rich boyfriend now? Is this her way of telli
ng me she’s moved on? I’d expected that after eight months, but I didn’t expect her to throw it in my face. I clench my jaw and hand the phone back to Sam.
I turn around and head toward the front door, stopping to grab my leather jacket and keys. “Where are you going?” Sam calls out, but I don’t turn around. All I know is I need to get out of here. Now.
By the time I get back to the house, it’s been at least two hours and all I’ve managed to accomplish is near-hypothermia. Still, I feel better. That’s the best thing about having a bike. The faster I go, the harder the wind beats away my stress.
A black truck sits in the driveway where I usually park, and a man in a fedora is climbing into it—Frank, a man I only knew as Bill Sykes’s driver. He came around a couple of times to talk to Nancy after Bill died, but I haven’t seen him lately. I assumed he’d split. His eyes catch mine as I wait for him to move his truck, and for a second his expressionless gaze stays on me. I wonder if he thinks about Bill when he sees me, about the fact that his employer died because of us. Though he drove the car when Bill kidnapped Liv and forced her to try to hack her grandfather’s account, he wasn’t with us when Liv drove Bill’s car into the river. I’m not even sure if he knows what happened. As far as I’m concerned, Bill’s life was fair game as soon as he kidnapped Liv.
Nancy is at the window when I walk in. “Are you okay?” she turns and asks.
“Yeah,” I say, trying to keep my teeth from chattering. “Why was Frank here?”
She shakes her head, her gaze returning to the window. “Just had a few questions about things.”
“Things?”
“Bill’s death left everyone in the dark. I think a lot of us were floundering there for a while. Do you want me to make you something hot?”
“No, thanks.”
“Z,” Nancy says as I walk away.
“Yeah?”
“Are we okay?”
“Sure.” I flash her a smile. I never can stay mad at Nancy.
I head upstairs and take a long, hot shower, grateful to have one of the few rooms in the house with a private bath. And a private room, for that matter. It’s a big house, but nowhere near what we had before. And when there are this many kids in the house, it’s good to have a room to escape to.
Wrapping a towel around myself, I walk back into my room. Jesus. Maggie is sitting on my bed, her eyes wide at the sight of my half-naked body. So much for the private room. I move to my closet quickly and grab a T-shirt and jeans. “I’m tired, Maggie. This isn’t a good time.” Not that it’s ever a good time for what she wants from me. The line between me showing kindness and something more is too fine for Maggie.
Her eyes are fixed to my body, the heat in them too apparent. Great. She isn’t going anywhere soon.
“Fine, you can stay here. I’ll go somewhere else.” I step into the bathroom to quickly slip on my clothes and then leave before she can say anything. It’s my room, and I can’t even crash if I want to. I head down to the office instead and lie back on the soft leather couch, closing my eyes.
It’s Valentine’s Day, and I didn’t send anything to Liv. Someone did, though. But isn’t that the reason I left her on that balcony? So she could have a real life with real family and friends and non-criminal guys to send her flowers? She deserves nothing less.
I choke on the thought. The idea of her with another guy is a knife to the heart. It’s been eight months—has she really moved on? Forgotten what we had? I need to know for sure, and the longer I wait, the higher the probability that I’ll chicken out. I pull up the weather on my phone. It’s going to be frigid tomorrow. So much for taking the Ducati for a long ride. I text Sam: Can I borrow your car tomorrow?
To which the immediate response is a bunch of swearing. I go back upstairs and stop at her room, rapping on the door several times before she finally yanks it open.
“May I come in?” I ask politely.
She opens the door wider and steps back. “I am not giving you my car. Go ask Nancy or bother someone else.”
“There isn’t anyone else, and I don’t want to ask Nancy. I just want to keep this between us.”
That grabs her attention. She leans back on her desk and stares at me hard. “What? That you want to drive up to see your girlfriend?”
“Listen, I just want to see if she’s okay. I—I need to know if there’s—”
I can’t even say it. Me, the guy who’s not affected by anything, is scared shitless of seeing Liv. I can say this is what I want for her all day long, but it doesn’t change the fact that I don’t want to know that she’s found someone else, some normal, decent guy who gives her the attention she deserves.
“If you care about her that much, why haven’t you called her before now? Face it, she’s moved on. You should, too, and stop sending her stuff.”
She’s right, of course. Staying here, I thought I could help my family with the fallout from the post-Bill days, and that I’d join Liv soon after. I didn’t. I’m sure that’ll be the first thing she thinks of when she sees me. A jerk of a guy who chose his life of crime over her.
I take a deep breath. “I didn’t send her anything. I need to see if she’s okay, that’s all. And then we can both move on. Please.”
I think it’s the fact that I actually said “please” that makes her face soften. It’s not a word I say much. She nods. “Okay. But only if I can come with you.” I start to tell her no, but she holds up a hand. “Otherwise you can go to Nancy and beg her for her car.”
“Why do you want to come?”
She shrugs. “I want to see what Liv’s up to these days.”
“This isn’t research on a new target.”
“Shut up. I want to see that she’s okay, too. I liked her, remember?”
I have suspicions about her true motivation, but it’s not like I can argue with her. Now that Sam is officially with Cameron, another hacker in the house who’s loved her since he first joined our team, she’s on this mission to hook up everyone else. “Fine,” I tell her.
“Don’t worry, I’ll turn around when you guys start making out.”
Ignoring that, I turn to walk out. “Be ready at ten,” I tell her over my shoulder. When I get to my room, I’m glad to see Maggie isn’t there anymore. I lock my door and lie down on my bed. Tomorrow I’ll see Liv and know for sure. This may be it, and she may blow me off, but at least I’ll know. Regardless of what Sam thinks, there will be no making out. I’d be surprised if Liv doesn’t throw something at me, like a fist.
And I wouldn’t blame her, either.
Chapter Five
LIV
The whole way home from school, I can’t get the roses and bracelet out of my head. Was Theo responsible? Or was Jack? Sam never texted me back, so I don’t know. Was he trying to be romantic for Valentine’s Day? But if so, why would he cut off the petals and put the stems on the hood of my car? The questions circle around and around in my brain until they’re one big muddled mess, leaving me no closer than I was to solving this creepy mystery.
As soon as I get home, I head up to my room to do my homework. But it’s hard to memorize Shakespeare when Jack’s face won’t stay out of my mind. I almost even hear him saying the lines. Strangely, the persona of Hamlet fits Jack, which is more than a little disturbing.
Mrs. Bedwin taps on my door to remind me of my dinner date with my grandfather. “He got caught up in a work crisis, so he said he’ll have to meet you at the restaurant. James will be ready to leave in an hour.”
I nod and set aside my homework so I can get dressed. I usually prefer to eat at home, but tonight I’m glad to have something to distract me.
Picking up my brush, I glance at the photo of my mother sitting on my dresser, her dark hair pulled up in her usual French twist. When I first came to live here, I’d stop and stare for the longest time at the pictures of her that lined the hallway, fascinated. The only picture I’d had of her before was the tiny one in my locket. But here, there are pictures taken at
the beach, in front of a Broadway theater with her parents, in her school play, even at a professional studio. I’d take a mirror and compare my reflection with her image, wondering what features we share. Some are easy—we have the same wavy hair, the same color and shape of eyes. But there are quite a few differences—my mouth is wider, my lips fuller, and I have this tiny dimple in my chin that shows up when I grin. My skin is paler than hers, and my ears stick out a little farther. I’m not quite as slender as she was, either. And in the photos as well as from everything I’ve heard, it’s clear my mother was the life of the party, always with a big grin or mouth open in a laugh, and everyone staring at her like she’s the most amazing person. Whereas I’d rather fade into a crowd than shine.
So many unanswered questions when I look at my reflection in the mirror now. More than I ever considered before moving here. How much like my father do I appear? Is there anything Grandfather sees when he looks at me that reminds him of the guy who took his only child away from him? Even though I know I shouldn’t worry about him sending me back to foster care, there’s still a part of me that worries I won’t live up to his expectations, or that he’ll just write me off as being just like my father.
I sweep my hair into a French twist, apply a little makeup, and slip into the long, flowing mint-green dress that I’d bought just for this occasion. My grandfather is the type of person who appreciates a more classic look, so when we go to restaurants or shows, my clothes are always as impeccable as his.
Mrs. Bedwin breaks into the biggest grin as I walk down the staircase.
“Oh, sweetie, you look absolutely beautiful.” An exaggeration, in my opinion, but her sincerity touches me. She lifts a hand to my hair when I reach her. “You look lovely with your hair up.”
“I look like my mother, right?” I ask, unfortunately sounding more eager than I intended.
“Yes, you do.” Mrs. Bedwin tilts her head, frowning slightly. “You know, you are your own person, Olivia. Be yourself. That’s all anyone wants from you.”
She pulls me into an embrace. Mrs. Bedwin isn’t blood-related to me—she’s part of Grandfather’s staff—but in so many ways I feel a bond with her that I’ve never had with anyone. She makes me think of what it would be like to have an aunt—supportive, kind, one who offers advice but doesn’t nag you constantly to take it.
