by Vivi Barnes
No words come out of my mouth. What can I say? Liv has been in therapy? The thought of the only person I’ve ever come close to loving sobbing in a therapist’s office, having to relive all the shit I was responsible for putting her through, stabs over and over at my heart. I was right—I should’ve stayed far away and let her live her life.
Brownlow’s eyes relax, now that he sees I’m giving in. He puts his hand on my shoulder. “I’m sure you’re not trying to cause trouble for her, Jack. But Olivia has only just started relaxing into her life and making new friends—normal kids who want the same things she does. She wants a normal life. She needs this. Surely you can understand if you really care about her, which I can only hope that you do. Leave her alone.”
I nod. What else can I do? As I step out the door and it shuts tight behind me, I know Brownlow is right. I shouldn’t have come here. It’s not what is best for her or for me. Not for the first time, I wish I’d never met Liv. Everything about her wormed its way into my heart and soul and mind, and I’m worse off for it.
I climb onto my Ducati, staring at the Infiniti in front of me. I should go back to Briarcreek and leave her alone. But I know that I can’t. The card Liv got from Richmond—it’s not from me, but it is from someone. Same with the bracelet. A stalker. And if the bracelet is the same one that was purchased with our house money, it has something to do with me. I care about her too much to let Brownlow stop me.
My phone buzzes with a text. Thinking it’s Sam or Nancy asking if I went AWOL or something, I’m shocked to see it’s from Liv. Meet me at Latte Café on First in 30.
Smiling slightly, I ask her to bring the bracelet, then start the engine and pull the helmet over my head.
Carlton Brownlow, you don’t know Liv like you think you do.
Chapter Eleven
LIV
I stare out the window as Jack’s Ducati pulls away. Emerson said it’d take her fifteen minutes to get here. I just need to stay put until then so my grandfather isn’t suspicious. Thankfully, Mrs. Bedwin told me Jack was here before Grandfather could stop her. From my hidden vantage point upstairs, I was only able to hear part of the conversation, and my heart ached for the way my grandfather talked to him. It’s my fault he’s here, after that crazy call I made to him. I should’ve called him back last night instead of letting him drive all the way to Norfolk. But despite everything, the fact that he’s here sends pinpricks of electricity pulsing through my bloodstream.
Minutes later, I see Emerson pull into the driveway and park. I head downstairs as she makes a point of loudly greeting Terrence and Mrs. Bedwin. Grandfather comes out of his study, full of smiles for Emerson where he had only glares for Jack.
“Hey,” I call to her, my voice as bright as I can get it.
“What are you girls up to today?” my grandfather asks as I walk toward them. His eyes are tightened slightly—nervous, if I had to guess. I have to be very careful here. Not too cheerful-looking. Nothing that makes me look like I’m doing anything other than dreadful homework.
I hold up my backpack. “Studying, remember? We have a test on Tuesday, plus a ton of homework.”
Emerson sighs. “I know, right? Mr. Lennox gives more homework than any other teacher. I thought in anatomy and physiology we’d just be dissecting animals and stuff. I should’ve signed up for something like macroeconomics instead.”
Her face droops dramatically. Overact much? I glance at Grandfather to see if he’s suspicious, but he’s smiling.
“You never know when you might need any of these classes, so don’t be too regretful,” he says. “Plenty of time to learn macroeconomics.”
She nods. “I just don’t know how learning about a cat’s intestines is going to make me a better lawyer, but whatever.”
Grandfather nods approvingly. Clearly, Emerson going to law school ranks high on his list. I’m sure if Jack were headed to an Ivy League law school, Grandfather would be more accepting of him, too.
We chat all the way to Emerson’s car about our homework assignments—which we don’t have—until the car doors shut. Then she turns to me, her face mirroring her excitement.
“Spill.”
“I need you to drop me off at the Latte Café on First Street.”
“Why?”
“I’m meeting someone there.”
“Who?” She folds her arms when I don’t answer, one eyebrow raised. “This is where you confide in your friend, Liv. What is going on?”
She’s not going to relent, and I’m actually glad about that. “The guy from Richmond. He came here, but my grandfather chased him away before I could talk to him.” Her jaw drops. “It’s not a big deal,” I add quickly. “I just want to see what he wants, that’s all.”
“That’s all?” she squeals, lightly punching my shoulder. “Wait, did you find out if the card is from him?”
I shake my head. “But I know it’s not. He wouldn’t do that. I left him a message about it, and he’s here to talk. Nothing more.”
“Nothing more,” she repeats, rolling her eyes. “Okay. I’ll take you there, but I’m getting a good look at him before I leave you, okay? Want to make sure I’m not dropping you off with some criminal.”
My answering laugh is weak. If only she knew she was going to do exactly that.
Ten minutes later, we pull into the parking lot in front of Latte Café, right next to a very familiar-looking black Ducati.
“Nice bike,” Emerson murmurs as she steps out of the car, holding her door carefully so as not to hit it.
“It’s his.”
She whistles through her teeth. “Well, what are we waiting for?” She gestures toward the door.
I take a breath and step stiffly toward the entrance. This is Jack, I tell myself. You know him better than anyone.
The café isn’t large—just a few tables and a long counter near the window. As soon as we step inside, my eyes immediately land on him. He’s sitting on a stool at the counter, watching me, his helmet propped on one leg. His blond hair is a bit shorter than before, still curling up slightly at the bottom. It’s the only gentle thing about him. Everything else—the leather jacket and black boots, the hard look that seems permanently etched on his face—makes him look kind of dangerous. No wonder my grandfather freaked out.
No wonder my pounding heart won’t let me breathe.
“Holy crap,” Emerson whispers next to me.
My plan for when I saw him was to tell him thanks for coming but that he didn’t really need to and that I could handle this.
It was a good plan, in theory.
I make my way to him, numb to everything around me. I’m completely lost in the swirls of green and hazel in his eyes, which soften as I get closer to him. As before, when he came to see me with Sam and all the horrors of my life flashed in my mind, memories rise to the surface. This time they’re different. Memories of kissing at the waterfall, clutching his waist as we fly down the road on his bike, the trust in his eyes as he told me his real name. The moment he said he loved me. I reach out at the same time he does, the tips of our fingers barely touching.
But out of the corner of my eye, I see movement—a gray-haired man leaning forward to look at what I’m doing with interest. It’s Mr. Tate, one of my grandfather’s associates. I jerk my hand away and turn around, bumping into Emerson. “Go to the counter and order,” I whisper to her. She nods and I follow her to the register. She orders lattes for both of us. I wonder now if my acting all weird is going to cause Mr. Tate to ask more questions, which he’ll undoubtedly pose to my grandfather. If I had casually hugged Jack, he probably would’ve just assumed I had seen a friend and not thought anything of it. Stupid, stupid.
“Are you okay?” Emerson asks me quietly as we wait for our drinks. She takes my hand. “You’re trembling.”
“That man over there behind Jack is someone who works with my grandfather. If he says anything to him, I’m screwed.”
“I could pretend to go kiss Jack or something,” she suggests. “Make
it like he’s my boyfriend. I mean, I know it’d be a stretch, but I’d suffer through it.”
“The way I acted when I saw him, I’m sure Mr. Tate’s already figured it out.”
Emerson glances over my shoulder. “That is one seriously hot guy, Liv. But I don’t know about leaving you with him. He looks kind of intense. Like he’s going to seduce you and then steal all your money.”
She chuckles, but her laughter fades as she looks at me. “Are you okay? You look sick.”
I nod, my throat tight.
She looks from me to Jack and back again, frowning. “Maybe I shouldn’t leave you with him.”
“No, I’m okay. Really.” I take the latte from the barista and sip on it, noticing with relief that Mr. Tate is stepping out of the café. I watch as he gets into his Mercedes, only breathing again when he drives away. “Thanks for bringing me here, Em.”
“Uh-huh.” She follows me as I walk toward the door, letting my gaze catch Jack’s briefly before I walk out into the cool air. When the door closes behind me, Emerson takes hold of my shoulders. “Listen—I know I don’t know what’s going on here, but if you don’t text me twice in the next hour, I’m sending the police after you, okay?”
“Em!”
“I mean it,” she says fiercely. “You’re my best friend, and I can’t let anything happen to you.”
“I’ll be okay. I promise.” I smile at her, grateful for her concern. “But thanks.”
She nods shortly and gets in her car, glaring at Jack as he steps out of the coffee shop. She holds up two fingers, then pulls away. As silly as the idea is of me sending her two texts while I’m with Jack, the thought that she cares that much makes me grateful.
“What was that about?” Jack asks as I toss my cup in the trash and zip up my jacket.
“She wants me to text her twice in the next hour to prove you’re not a serial killer. She suspects something’s up with you.”
“Criminals all look the same, I guess.”
I decide to ignore that. I follow him to his bike and climb behind him as he starts the engine, wrapping my arms around his waist and leaning against him. The familiar leather and spice fills my lungs and every empty space in my body. He hands me his helmet—always more concerned for my safety than for his. The familiar thrill of being on his bike pulses through me as he turns out of the parking lot, speeding up when he gets onto the highway.
Jack and Liv and the open road—and it feels like coming home.
Chapter Twelve
JACK
I used to believe there was nothing in this world that was worth living for more than money, until I met Liv. When I left her on her balcony eight months ago, I thought for sure that I’d be able to move on, but she’s haunted every thought and filled my dreams at night. I can’t let go of those memories any more than I can stop my heart. But now, with her arms wrapped around me as we fly down the road, it’s like I’m alive again. I know it’s short-lived, but I almost don’t care.
Once we get several miles from the café, I pull over at a quiet Mexican restaurant and we find a booth in the back. She sits across from me, and for a while neither of us speak. I want to take her hands, but it’s important that I make as little contact as I can—for her sake as well as mine.
“It’s warm in here,” she says, shrugging off her coat after the server takes our order. “So how’ve you been?”
“Good. You?”
“Pretty good. School, homework, fun stuff like that.” Her eyes move around the restaurant. Nervous. “So you’re still at Monroe Street?” she asks quietly, and I have a feeling she’s asking about more than just the location.
“We’re at a different house now.”
Her eyes flicker slightly, maybe disappointed in my response. “Oh, yeah, Sam mentioned it.” She purses her lips for a moment, then adds, “Sam also said Maggie is living there now?”
I nod. “Her house closed down after Bill died, so a few of them are living with us. I’m not back together with her or anything,” I tell her when her forehead puckers.
“Oh, I know,” she says, waving her hand and blushing. “It’s fine. Just weird, I guess. Are you still doing—you know—?”
“Nancy made us stop.”
“But have you really?”
She sighs when I don’t answer. Regardless of the guilt that occasionally pricks at my gut, I don’t really plan on stopping. Not yet.
“I’m not here so you can judge me,” I tell her, a little sharper than I intend.
“I’m not judging you,” she says quietly. “I just…I can’t go back into that world again.”
“Nobody’s asking you to.” I flick at a sugar packet lying on the table. Just because I’m here, she assumes I’m trying to pull her back into the business. She doesn’t trust me. Although, I have to admit, the kick-ass way Liv could hack into pretty much anything was what drew me to her in the first place.
Maybe hacking was all we had in common. A love for the game. Not to mention the fact that we both had royally screwed-up childhoods. Maybe it was never really love at all. I mean, if I really loved her, I would’ve given it all up for her, right?
The server brings some chips and salsa. Neither of us touches them.
“Jack,” Liv says softly. I wonder if she’s aware how it feels to me when she says my name like that, a velvet hammer striking at the bitter wall around my heart. Her fingers touch the top of my hand, and I automatically flip it over to hold them. “What are we doing here?” she asks. “I mean, really. Why did you come back?”
My eyes stay fixed to the chip basket. I know what she wants me to say, but I can’t. Releasing her hand, I mentally distance myself from Jack and become cool, professional Z. “Show me the card,” I tell her.
She draws her hands back, frowning. “Sure.” She opens her backpack to pull out a red envelope. The card inside has a cheesy picture of a boy kissing a girl under an umbrella and a poem with a hand-drawn heart around the last word: Forever.
“This was sent with it.” She pushes a picture of her sitting across from her grandfather in a restaurant. She tells me all the other things that have happened since Valentine’s Day, including rose petals in her locked car and a rose on her pillow. Some jerkoff actually broke into her room.
“You need to call the cops,” I tell her, my eyes still focused on the photo. It’s all I can do to keep my anger under control when I really just want to track the guy down myself and beat the shit out of him.
“I was thinking it might be someone playing a prank.”
“You don’t believe that, though, do you?” I look up at her. She shrugs, pretending to be okay when I know she’s not. Either she really is scared of calling the cops—which isn’t unusual for someone who’s been in the foster care system—or she’s afraid of what her grandfather would say.
She flicks a sugar packet at me. “I don’t want to overreact and call the police for nothing.”
For nothing? “If it happens again, you should. Do you have the bracelet with you?”
She pulls it out of her bag, handing it to me in its box. “I looked up the initials from the box. It’s from Abbott & Peterson’s Jewelers in Richmond,” she says, her eyes on mine.
“I know. Someone hijacked the debit card for our emergency house account and used it to buy a couple bracelets at that store. Micah’s working on hacking into the security cameras, so hopefully soon we’ll—”
“Already done,” she says.
“What?”
Her lips twitch at the corners. “I hacked in last night and found the video footage. It was a man wearing a hoodie.” She reaches over to press my gaping jaw up with a finger, her eyes dancing. “Don’t look so shocked. I know how to hack, too, if you remember.”
I do remember, and it’s all I can do to not climb across this table and kiss the hell out of her. It reminds me of the first time she visited Monroe Street with me and won the hacking challenge against Jose. And the time she bested me—
I tighte
n my fists and release them a couple of times to regain some control over myself. “So could you see his face?”
“No. It was hard to see because the quality was so bad and the guy was wearing a hood. He looked like he was waving at someone right before he went off camera, so I think there might’ve been someone else with him. I tried to find other camera angles but there weren’t any that showed them.” She tilts her head. “Why would someone send the bracelet to me if they stole the money from you to buy it? That’s too weird to be coincidence.”
“Agreed. It’s got to be someone connected to both of us.”
She frowns, the little line between her eyes creasing as she thinks about that. I remember kissing that crease.
Focus, Jack.
“One of Bill’s people?” she asks. She bites at her lip as she waits for me to answer that one. I’m sure it freaks her out just as much as me to think someone in Bill’s organization could be stalking her.
“Nancy said they disbanded after Bill died. But there’s this guy Frank who’s come by the house a couple of times. Just to talk to Nancy, though. He doesn’t stick around. He was Bill’s driver.”
Her face is frozen as she stares at me. “The guy who was driving Bill’s car that time—” She doesn’t finish the rest of the sentence.
“I’m sure it’s not him doing this,” I tell her in a calm voice, though I’m not sure myself. It makes too much sense.
“But if it is, he knows where my grandfather lives, remember? He drove us there after Bill kidnapped me so I could break into my grandfather’s account. What if he thinks it’d be easy money to come after me again?”
Her voice is higher now, scared. I want so badly to move over to her and hold her. I drive my fists into the vinyl seat, trying to stay firmly on this side of the line.
“Think about it,” I tell her. “If it was Frank, why would he go through the trouble of skimming our account when he could do the same from someone who’d be less likely to track him? It doesn’t make sense.”
She nods, her eyes clinging to mine almost desperately. Her expression tortures me. If it wasn’t for you, she wouldn’t be worrying about Bill’s gang in the first place.
