by Megyn Ward
“You don’t know that,” I tell her, sitting back in my seat so I can pull my hand from underneath hers. “You don’t know anything about me.”
“I know that I’ve never regretted helping you,” she tells me, tilting her head a little as she studies my face. “I also know that without Jane’s meddling, I probably never would have.”
“I don’t understand,” I tell her, my face crumpling into a frown.
“Jane’s the reason I came to see you on my own—the day after…” She trails off because our first meeting was unpleasant for us both. “She read your file and asked me to help you.” She gives me a pained smile. “She also made it clear that refusing to do so would make me a hypocritical coward.”
“Jane asked you to help me?” I shake my head, unable to grasp what she’s telling me. “I don’t—why would she do that?”
“She did—she told me that if I didn’t think you were dangerous that it was my job to get you out of Brighton. That you deserved my help and that if I didn’t give it to you, then it made me a coward.” Now she smiles, not so much at me as at the memory or getting a lecture in morality from her teenage daughter. “And she was right. She made me promise to help you, and I made her promise not to breathe another word about it. Told her she could never ask me what the outcome of your case was and that she was grounded. After she went to bed, I sat down with your case file and saw that she was right—that you deserved my help,” Catherine says with a small smile. “As for why… that’s a question you’d have to ask her.”
“My father murdered eleven women.” I don’t know why I say it. Why it’s so important that I remind her of something I’ve spent most of my adult life trying to forget. “Single mothers. You were a single mother. You shouldn’t have—” Something heavy settles on my chest, and I have to look away from her just so I can take a breath. “I didn’t deserve your help, or hers.”
“Your father killed twelve women,” she says, angling her face into my line of sight. “You lost your mother, Logan—your father did that. He killed those women, not you. He took your mother from you. That isn’t something you should be punished for.”
I make myself look at her. Force myself to nod. Push my mouth into a flat, grim parody of a smile. “You’re right,” I tell her, even though saying to feels like a lie.
Fifteen
Jane
We’re halfway through the giant bowl of stovetop popcorn I made before she asks me.
“So…” Silver says, shoveling a handful of popcorn into her mouth like she’s starving. “Want to tell me what the hell happened yesterday?”
“With Delilah?” I say, playing dumb, even though I know that’s not what she’s asking me about. “I dunno.” I give her a dopey shrug. “She just—”
“I’m not asking you about my sister,” she says, using her mom voice on me. “I want to know what happened with you and Logan.”
“Logan?” I say it like I’ve never heard the name in my entire life. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You are a horrible liar, Jane,” she says, shaking her head at me. “You know that, right? Like, you’re bad at it.”
“Am not,” I mutter at her while I lean across the couch and swipe the popcorn bowl off her lap to settle it onto my own. “Your face is bad at it.”
She laughs at my lame attempt at insulting her before leaning over the side of the sofa arm to peer into the bassinette to make sure the baby is still sleeping. “Okay, let’s recap then, shall we?” she says, straightening herself from her hunch to aim a pair of narrowed silver eyes in my direction. “You called Logan Matthew, which obviously freaked him out, and then when he left, you chased him out of the room like it was on fire.” When I don’t offer her an explanation for my weird behavior, she sighs and rolls her eyes. “Why, Jane?” she asks, enunciating each word like I might be having a hard time understanding her. “Why did you call Tobias’s brother Matthew?”
“I thought he looked like a guy I went to high school with,” I say, sticking with the same story I told Logan yesterday when he had me pinned against the door. “I was wrong.”
“Mmm hmm,” she says, giving me a flat smile that tells me she knows I’m full of shit. “And the reason you chased him out of the room?”
“He was going to find a vending machine.” I say it to the bowl of popcorn in my lap while I pick through it. “I wanted him to get me some gummy bears,” I say, telling her the lie I’ve been practicing in my head since I found Noah on my doorstep an hour ago.
She’s right.
I’m really bad at lying.
“And your request for gummy bears required an intervention by security?”
Shit.
Before I can launch into a long-winded and most likely ridiculous explanation for why security had to be called on Logan and me, there’s a knock on the door.
Saved by the bell.
“I’ll get it,” I say, jumping up from my seat so fast, Silver has to lunge across the couch to save the popcorn bowl from dumping all over the floor. “Sorry.” I wince at her over my shoulder as I scramble for the door. “It’s probably the grocery del—” I pull the door open to aim a huge grin at my savior only to feel like I’ve suddenly been dropped down a rabbit hole.
It’s not the grocery delivery guy.
It’s Logan.
Sixteen
Logan
I should’ve gone home.
As soon as I left Jane’s mother’s house, I should’ve gone home, packed my shit, and left.
I have it down to a science.
Throw my collection of stupid cat T-shirts and thrift store jeans into a duffle. Pack my laptops and hard drives into my backpack. Toss all the perishables in the fridge into the trash and stuff next month’s rent into an envelope. Drop the trash down the shoot and hand the envelope to the apathetic slumlord on my way out.
When I decide it’s time to leave, I can get it done in twenty minutes flat. It’s one of the reasons I choose shitty apartment buildings with barely functional plumbing. Because when you bounce at the drop of a hat, no one cares—shit, they expect it.
The weird, nerdy guy in 3-E moved out without notice.
Big fucking deal.
And if Jase hadn’t shown up on my doorstep yesterday afternoon, that’s exactly what I would’ve done. I’d already be gone. On a bus to Arizona or Nebraska.
Anywhere but here.
Literally anywhere.
Instead, I’m here, standing on my brother’s doorstep, staring at the reason I should be running in the first place.
Things are not breaking my way.
“My brother here?” I say, forcing my gaze away from her face to survey the apartment behind her. “I need to—”
“Logan?”
I crane my neck a bit to see further into the apartment to watch Silver bend over a bassinette next to the couch. “Hey,” I say while she lifts a squirming, blanket-wrapped bundle to her chest. “Is Tob here?”
“No,” Silver tells me while she carries the baby back to the couch and settles in. “He took Noah to pick up a pizza for lunch. He should be back any minute. Why are you still standing in the hall?” She laughs and shakes her head at me as she adjusts the baby in her arms. “Come in—Jane, let him—”
“No.” I say it too fast. It comes out too harsh, and I try to temper my refusal with a smile. “I don’t want to intrude,” I tell her while I risk a quick look in Jane’s direction. She’s still standing in the doorway, blocking my entry. Still staring at me like she’s waiting for me to sprout horns or a second head. “I was just in the neighborhood. Thought I’d stop by.” Lie. I was nowhere near the neighborhood, and I came here for a very specific purpose.
To tell Tobias I’m leaving Boston.
I know what I said. What I promised Gray and even though we both knew it was a lie when I said it, I meant it because I at least owe it to him to try.
But that was before.
Before Jane pushed her way into my l
ife and decided to mess it all up.
“Intrude? Seriously, since when do you care about intruding?” Silver says, rolling her eyes at me. “Get in here. We were just—”
Forcing myself to focus on Jane, I can’t help the clench in my gut when I look at her. Delicate, heart-shaped face tipped upward. Soft green gaze aimed at my face. Light brown hair falling into her eyes. I have an insane and completely inappropriate urge to push it away from her face so I can see more of it. Can’t help but remember what it was like to push myself against her. How her body felt pressed against mine. I was angry yesterday. At her for knowing things about me she shouldn’t. At myself, because things were spinning out of control and I couldn’t get a handle on them. I’m still angry. Still dangerous, and that means I have no business here. No business wanting to touch her. “Tell my brother I stopped by,” I tell her before jogging my gaze back up to find Silver watching us with a frown. “I can’t stay. I’ll try to stop by tomorrow.” Another lie. I have no intention of coming back here. After I say it, I take a step back and turn away from the door to retrace my steps down the hall. I’m not more than a half a dozen away from the door before I hear it slam closed behind me.
“Wait.”
A few seconds later, a brown-hair blur in yoga pants darts past me to plant itself in my path.
Jesus.
“I don’t—” Shaking my head, I re-route my escape, trying to move around her, but she anticipates the move and blocks me a second time.
“Please—” She shifts her shoulders, making it impossible for me to shoot around her. “Will you just let me—”
“You don’t listen very well, do you?” I growl it at her. “I thought I made myself clear—stay away from me,” I tell her, trying to sidestep her again. Again, she plants herself in my way.
“I’m sorry.” She blurts it out, hands held up in front of her like she expects me to try to dart past her again. “About yesterday. I didn’t mean to—” She drops her hands and blushes when she realizes they’re pressed against my chest. “I was cagey and rude—” Taking a deep breath she, pushes her hair out of her face with a frustrated huff. “I was really rude and I’m sorry but I really did make a promise. I promised—”
“Your mom.” I finish it for her even though I’m not 100% sure that’s what she’s going to say. “You promised your mom.” I say it quietly. “She was my Guardian ad Litem when I was a minor, and you were a nosy teenage girl who read my file because no one ever taught her to respect boundaries.”
I expect her to be insulted. Angry. Start sputtering excuses at me. She doesn’t. All she does is stare at me with those wide green eyes and breathe.
And it pisses me off.
“The A stands for Austen,” I tell her, leaning into her space to whisper it like I’m telling her a secret. “You were born on August 10th, 1992. Graduated high school in 2010 and went to NYU on a partial scholarship. You graduated in 2014 at the top of your class with a BA in business administration. Afterward, you were head-hunted by a few management firms for fast-track positions. Instead of diving in, you considered law school for a hot second, probably because of your mom but in the end, you moved home—my guess is so you could help Silver with Noah and be the kind of support system for her that your mother never had—and took a string of shitty jobs that were easy to walk away from when she needed you, before landing on the administrative assistant position with Patrick and Declan’s company. Even though you’re wildly over-qualified, you stay because they pay you well and because they’re family-focused and you respect that and can undoubtedly use it to your advantage when it suits you.” The last of my monologue is pure speculation, but from the stricken look on her face, I hit the nail on the head.
“How…” She shakes her head at me, swallowing the rest of her question when it gets stuck in her throat. “How did you—”
“You know everything there is to know about me, Jane,” I say, telling her why instead of how. “You read my confidential case notes when we were kids, and after yesterday, you undoubtedly spent the night Googling my father and scaring the shit out of yourself, reading about all the fucked up shit he did to his victims and wondering the same thing everyone else does. If I helped him. If I know where he buried them. If I turned out to be some sort of stab-happy psychopath, just like him. Am I going to snap someday and start murdering women—single mothers like Silver. Like your mom.” I lean away from her and give her the fuck you smirk I perfected in Brighton to hide the fact that I’m barely hanging on. She’s pale now. Shaking and scared shitless. Maybe she didn’t Google my dad yesterday, but she will now.
Next time I run into Jane Halstead, she’ll have a head full of nightmares, and she’ll run, screaming, in the opposite direction. She’ll leave me alone. She’ll stay away from me, and even though I suddenly realize that it’s the last thing I want, I force myself to finish it. Keep talking, keep scaring her, so I can end this thing between us, once and for all. Down the hall, the elevator lets out a cheery ding, and I jog my glare past her to catch sight of a delivery guy with a flat cart full of groceries trying to muscle it out of the car before the doors shut on him.
“So, now we’re even. You know everything there is to know about me, and now, I know everything there is to know about you too.”
This time, when I move to skirt my way around her toward the elevator at the end of the hall, Jane moves out of my way like she can’t wait to see me go.
Seventeen
Jane
I didn’t sleep last night.
After putting away the groceries that the delivery guy finally dropped off, I picked jalapeños off my pizza and helped Silver open and write thank you notes for the mountain of baby gifts on her kitchen table while sending a steady stream of phone calls from my mother straight to voicemail. All variations of the same message:
Jane, it’s Mom. Logan Bright came to see me today. He told me what happened at the hospital. I’m not mad, but we need to talk about it. He seemed understanding, but if he decides to file a formal complaint, I could be in big trouble. I could be disbarred. Please call me back.
I don’t call her back, mostly because I’m a coward but also a little bit because I’m still in shock over what happened this afternoon. The things Logan said to me. The way he looked at me when he said them.
He was trying to scare me.
And it worked.
By the time he was finished with me, I was scared shitless, but not for the reasons he intended. That’s not why I didn’t sleep. I didn’t sleep because I can’t stop thinking about him.
Logan.
Not the things he said to me but why he would say them. Why he would work so hard to make me afraid of him. Why he decided to keep Emmett as his middle name when he changed everything else about himself. How I’m going to get him to understand that what happened wasn’t my mother’s fault and that if he wants to be angry at someone, take it out on someone, it should be me.
What it would feel like if he kissed me.
Mostly, I lay awake all night wondering how I’m going to get Logan to listen to me, let alone kiss me when he’s made it perfectly clear that he wants absolutely nothing to do with me.
Trust me, I understand how insane it is. The guy spent the better part of ten minutes doing his level best to scare some sense into me—twice—and instead of letting it sink in, I just shake it off and try to figure out a way to ask for more.
