by Rose, Callie
“I’m sorry you had to find out from fucking Savannah,” he mutters, a growl in his voice.
“She told me if I don’t leave her alone and do whatever she wants, she’ll spread it all over school.” I finally pull back a little as I say that, guilt twisting in my gut at the thought that Savannah might go after him to get to me. “I told her I’d do whatever she wants,” I add quickly.
Lincoln blinks down at me, his amber eyes unreadable. Then he shakes his head.
“No, you won’t.”
“Yes.” I tighten my arms around him. “I will. Linc, this could be really bad if it gets out. Your dad has spent months negotiating with this woman to try to keep her quiet. And Savannah could make sure pretty much all of Fox Hill finds out.”
He shrugs. “Then let her.”
I swallow. What?
What he’s saying doesn’t make any sense.
Maybe he can read my thoughts on my face, because Lincoln shakes his head again.
“It’s not what I want to have happen, Low. But I’m not letting you throw yourself on Savannah’s altar to protect my father. He’s a grown man. He made his own shitty decisions, and he’ll live with the shitty consequences if he has to.” He lifts one hand to run his fingers down the side of my face, tracing the line of my jaw. “I’m on your side. I choose you.”
Tears burn the backs of my eyes, but I blink them away so I can see him clearly, trying to read his face. “But… he’s your dad.”
“Yeah.” Linc nods. “And I love him—although sometimes I hate him too. But I don’t have to protect him from this. When he slept with those fucking housekeepers, he wasn’t protecting me or my mom. When he knocked one of them up, he wasn’t taking care of us. He was doing what he wanted, for himself.”
His gaze softens, his eyes warming as some of the pain bleeds out of them. “He got himself into this mess because he didn’t choose Audrey. When he had a choice between her and someone else, he didn’t choose her. But I don’t want to be like him, Low. I choose you. And I’ll keep choosing you.”
Holy fuck.
His face blurs in my vision as the tears I was blinking back spill out anyway. He wipes away the drops as they fall, brushing his thumbs over my cheeks.
“I’ve had shitty examples of relationships,” Linc continues. His voice is soft. Open. Raw. “I guess you have too, with your dad splitting before you were even born. But I don’t want that. I want ours to be stronger than that.”
“Me too.”
My heart surges in my chest as my fingers glide up the back of his neck, sliding through the soft strands of his hair. He’s so fucking beautiful, hard edges covering a softness that not everyone gets to see.
“Do you think it can be?” I murmur. “Even if it’s shared? Even if it’s between all five of us?”
“Hey.” A flicker of anger lights in his eyes, but I know it’s not directed at me. It’s directed outward at the world, a protective sort of anger. “No one gets to tell us what ‘we’ should look like. No one gets to decide that but us.”
I grin, biting my lip. “Yeah. You’re right. I like that.”
A smile blooms on his face. It’s different than any smile I’ve ever seen him wear before, and I swear I feel it in my heart like it’s physically connected to me.
“Good.” He traces the line of my cheekbone with his knuckle. “I want you, Harlow. I choose you. And watching my best friends fall for you? It makes me fall harder right along with them.”
Then he drops his head and kisses me, and the whole world disappears.
13
The week moves by at the speed of a slug inching its way across a rock.
I was tempted to find Savannah immediately after my conversation with Lincoln and tell her she could go fuck herself. But even though he was adamant about me not going along with her petty games just to protect his dad, it seems stupid to start an all-out war with her. We’ve got more than enough shit to deal with right now as it is; I don’t need to add to our problems.
So instead, I just do what I can to ignore the redheaded bitch and stay out of her way.
Scott Parsons calls me on Wednesday with an update on mom’s trial preparations. He sounds upbeat, but nothing he says gives me any confidence that it’s actually going well. So either he’s just being overly optimistic, or he’s so clueless that he truly believes he’s kicking ass at this.
On Thursday, the twins and I drop River back off at his place after school as usual. It snowed again, and the fresh blanket of white makes the world look pristine and untouched.
“I think this is the one thing I like about winter,” I say absently, gazing out the window at Dax pulls up the drive to their house.
“What’s that?” He glances over at me.
“Fresh snow. It’s like a new start, a blank canvas. It’s pretty.” Then I snort under my breath. “As long as I don’t have to drive in it.”
Chase laughs as we roll into the garage and Dax cuts the engine. “Yeah, you and snow and cars don’t mix.”
We all pile out and head into the house. I’m thinking about what homework I need to get done to keep from falling even further behind, but we’re interrupted on the way to the stairs by the twins’ mom, Evelyn.
“Boys,” she calls, stepping out of the large living room. “We’re having a dinner party tonight, so I’ll need you downstairs at six o’clock sharp. Dinner will be served at seven.” Her gaze flicks to me. “You’re welcome to join us too, Harlow.”
“Um, okay.”
That wasn’t at all what I wanted to spend my evening doing, but it seems very unwise to reject the offer of a woman whose house I’m currently crashing at. The twins’ parents have been amazingly blasé about me staying here, but I don’t want to get on their bad sides.
“Wonderful.” She beams, looking a little Stepford wife-ish in her bland excitement. “Dress will be semi-formal.”
“Uh, okay.”
She returns to the living room as the three of us head upstairs. As we walk down the hall toward our bedrooms, I shoot a glance at Chase. “Not that I’m complaining, but why on earth would she want me there?”
He rolls his eyes. “Probably so she can show you off just like us. We’ll go down at six, and she’ll brag to all of her friends about what schools we got accepted into and what honors we’ve gotten this year.”
“And she wants to brag about me too?”
“Well, not brag, per se,” Dax throws in. “More like make herself look good by flaunting how she’s taken you in.”
“Oh, she took me in?” I arch a brow.
“As far as all her friends probably think, yeah.” He chuckles. “It’s just another game they play for social standing. Pretty much everyone in their circle knows about your mom and about Iris’s death. But most of them consider you an innocent victim in all of this, so it’ll make my mom look good to say she’s taking care of you.”
“Wow. Okay.”
I pull a face. As if I didn’t already feel enough like an animal in a zoo, now I’ll probably have people staring at me all night with sympathetic looks on their faces.
We have a bit of time before dinner, so the three of us crash in the large rec room downstairs and do homework, sprawled together on the couch in comfortable silence. At five, I go upstairs to shower and change, opting for a dress and leggings since I’m not quite sure what “semi-formal” means in this context.
I meet the guys outside my room, and we go down together. Guests start to arrive at a little after six, and they’re ushered into a large ballroom by the house staff. It’s such a familiar scene that it’s giving me acute déjà vu, and I have to shake off memories of helping mom greet guests at the Black house.
This won’t be quite as big of a gathering as those cocktail parties though. The Lauders’ dining room table is huge, big enough to comfortably seat thirty people, but that’s a far cry from the guest list at the Black family parties.
Lincoln and River’s parents are invited, and the boys com
e with them. Audrey and Samuel won’t even look at each other. I remember how they used to act all lovey-dovey in public, even if they’d just had a massive fight—but I guess the days of pretending are pretty much over.
I find Linc and squeeze his hand as the adults all head over to the bar, which is being manned by one of the house staff.
“You okay?”
He nods. “Yeah. At least they both care about their reputations enough to act civil around other people. It’s not—”
But I never get to find out what it isn’t. Before Lincoln can finish that thought, his gaze flicks to something behind me, and his whole body stiffens.
“Fuck,” he mutters.
I turn around, and my stomach clenches.
Fuck is right.
Judge Hollowell is walking across the room, arm outstretched to boisterously greet another dinner party attendee. His smile is broad and open, and when he reaches the man, they shake hands and clap each other on the shoulder before heading to the bar together, deep in conversation already.
Shit. Shit. I should’ve known he’d be here. I should’ve asked.
I could’ve pretended to be sick, turned down Mrs. Lauder’s invitation, and spent the entire evening locked away in my room. Maybe I can still do that. I can slip away and have Dax or Chase make my excuses for me.
But before I can move, Hollowell’s gaze flicks around the room, stopping when it lands on me. He looks a little surprised, but then he smiles and dips his head in a small nod of greeting.
I stretch my lips into a stiff smile and nod back.
“Goddammit. We didn’t know he’d be here, Low. I swear.”
As Dax speaks, he and the other three boys gather around me in a tight knot, like they’re trying to physically protect me from the judge.
Shit. This could go downhill so fucking fast.
We’re all on edge, and it’s hard enough for me to keep my cool around this man. Four protective boys are going to have an even harder time—especially if I’m here. I can already feel them puffing up around me, aggression and anger making their bodies tense.
“I—I think I have to bail on dinner,” I mutter to the twins, restraining myself from glancing over at Hollowell again as I speak. “This isn’t a good idea.”
“Agreed.” Dax’s jaw muscle jump. “I’ll tell mom you’re sick. She’ll be mad, but she won’t drag you back down here if she thinks you’re liable to barf on someone.”
“Okay.” I nod, panic making the motion choppy and fast. “Will you guys be okay down here by yourselves?”
“Yeah, we’ll manage,” Chase says. “We’ll stay out of his way. He’s got no reason to talk to us, so hopefully he’ll keep his distance.”
He glances toward the gaggle of adults on the far side of the room, his expression bored and disinterested. He’s a pretty bad poker player, but he can bluff well when he has to.
I nod, cast one more look at the four boys, then turn and bolt for the door. Evelyn glances at me with annoyance as I go, but I don’t slow down, leaving the twins to deal with her.
Another well-dressed couple and their daughter are being ushered into the house as I head up the broad stairway on the left to the second floor. When I reach the guest room I’m staying in, I shut the door behind me and lean against it, willing my heart to beat slower.
I stay there for several long minutes, anticipating a knock at any second as Evelyn demands that I return to her damn dinner party.
But it doesn’t come.
Slowly, I peel myself away from the door and cross the room to sit on the bed. The house is so big and spread out that even though thirty people are talking and laughing downstairs, I can’t hear any of it. It’s eerie, like I’m in some kind of ghost house, quiet and abandoned.
Time seems to slow to a crawl, and I curl up on the bench seat by the window and crack open a textbook, but I can’t stop looking over at the clock.
6:15.
6:30.
7:00.
They’re all sitting down for dinner now, having spent an hour schmoozing and drinking. My stomach feels like it’s folding in on itself as I wonder if the guys have been able to keep their shit together, to keep their hatred and mistrust of Hollowell hidden.
It doesn’t help that I haven’t actually eaten dinner. It feels like there’s nothing in my stomach but churning acid, and it’s only getting worse. I think longingly of the days when Mom’s little apartment was right around the corner from me in the Black house, and I could walk over and have dinner with her without ever having to set foot downstairs.
But there’s no food up here. I don’t even have a damn granola bar in my backpack.
At seven-thirty, I decide everyone must be settled in at the dining room table. I don’t know the Lauders’ cook as well as I knew Gwen, but I’ve seen her in the kitchen from time to time when I was hanging out with the guys. She’s an older woman who dotes on the two boys like they’re her own sons—at least someone around here does—and she’s always been friendly with me. I bet if I pop into the kitchen, she’ll take pity on me and give me something to eat.
My footsteps are light as I pad down the hall. I’m still wearing the dress I put on for dinner, but my feet are bare. I glance over the railing as I near the stairs, but I don’t see anyone in the foyer. On the way to the kitchen, I pass near enough to the dining room to pick up the hum of voices, but I’m careful to take the route that keeps me from seeing anyone inside the room—and vice versa.
Inside the large kitchen, Caroline is in her zone, working hard to make sure the diners’ next course is perfect, but she points me in the direction of some leftover hors d’oeuvres I can grab.
I load up a napkin with several bite-sized sandwiches, then hurry back toward my room. As I round the corner back into the foyer, I stub my toe on the molding that lines the walls of the room where they meet the floor. One of the sandwiches falls from my napkin, and I let out a low curse, sucking in a pained breath as I bend to pick it up.
“I thought you weren’t feeling well.”
The voice behind me brings me up short. I hesitate, my muscles going so tight that I practically crush the food I still have gathered in my napkin.
Judge Hollowell’s tone is mildly curious, and when I look back over my shoulder, he’s got his head cocked, watching me with interest.
“I—I’m not. I just thought maybe something little would settle my stomach.”
I grab the fallen sandwich off the floor and put it on top of the others, not even bothering to brush it off. The floors here are so clean I could probably eat off of them, and besides, I’m not sure I’ll be able to eat anything at all anymore. Fear has turned my stomach into a block of cement.
“Ah.” He nods. “That makes sense. I usually do saltines and ginger ale whenever I get sick. It helps.”
“Yeah.” I hold my little napkin bundle in both hands, trying to subtly back away from him. I want to end this conversation as quickly as possible. I want to flee.
“How’s your mom been doing?” Hollowell asks, taking a step forward that’s a lot bigger than the one I just took back.
“Good. I think,” I hedge. “I haven’t been able to visit her too often because of school. But I think things are going okay.”
Hollowell nods, seeming to consider that. A strange light shines in his hazel eyes as he cocks his head. “Huh. ‘Okay.’ And you’re satisfied with that?”
My lungs expand too quickly inside my chest, pressing against my ribs painfully. What the fuck does he mean?
“Well,” I stammer, “no, but—”
“You wouldn’t rather have her found entirely innocent? Get her off scot-free? Prove someone else did it?”
I can’t move. I can’t speak.
We’re far enough away from the dining room here that I can’t hear the thrum of voices, which means no one inside of it can hear us either.
We’re alone.
Hollowell takes another step toward me, his presence invading my space, fi
lling up my senses. Something in his tone shifts as he gazes down at me, his expression blank and unreadable.
“What do you want to talk to Detective Dunagan about, Harlow? Why did you call him?”
14
Oh, fuck.
He knows.
I don’t know how he found out. Maybe Summer ratted on us, or maybe Dunagan mentioned my call to one of the cops Judge Hollowell has in his back pocket.
At the moment though, the how doesn’t matter. All that matters is that he knows.
Hollowell is still standing in front of me, his body too close to mine, his gaze steady. He’s waiting for a response, waiting to see if I’ll try to bluff again or admit the truth.
“I just wanted to ask him some questions about Mom’s case,” I say thickly, my tongue feeling too big for my mouth.
A little smile creeps across the judge’s face, as if he expected me to say that. As if he’s been waiting for it.
“Now, that’s not true, is it? You wanted to tell him a few things about the case.” He pauses for a beat. “About me.”
I don’t answer. I don’t know what to say. There’s nothing I can say, no lie he’ll believe.
Because he knows.
And it turns out I don’t need to say anything. Hollowell takes my silence as the admission it is and nods thoughtfully. He glances over his shoulder to make sure no one is nearby, then reaches for my arm and tugs me around the corner into the foyer, even farther away from the dining room.
I jump at the contact, at the horrible feeling of his long fingers wrapped around my arm. But before I can jerk away, he releases me, holding up his hands as if to assure me he won’t hurt me.
Not that I believe that for one damn second.
“Harlow.” His voice is soft, even, and straightforward. “Your mom is going to be convicted. It’s an unavoidable fact at this point. But not all sentences are created equal. If you stop poking your nose where it doesn’t belong, if you keep your mouth shut and don’t tell Dunagan anything, I can pull some strings and make sure she gets a reduced sentence. Involuntary vehicular manslaughter. She’ll be out in five years, tops—maybe less with good behavior. She’s young. She’ll still have her whole life ahead of her.”
