Distraction: An underground kings novel

by Aurora Rose Reynolds

  Pulling out the envelope from my bag, I hold it out to her but keep it in my grasp as I tell her quietly, “This is it, Morgan. I can’t do this again. I won’t do this again, so if you go back on your word this time, we’re done.”

  “I know,” she whispers, taking the envelope from me. “As soon as it’s done, I’ll call you and tell you where I am.”

  “Sure,” I agree, not really believing her, but hoping she’s being honest all the same.

  “Promise.” She holds her pinky out to me. Feeling tears fill my eyes, I place my pinky around hers and hold her eyes. Releasing me, she gets out of the car quickly without saying another word. I wait there for a few minutes until she and Amy are long gone then pull out of the parking spot and head toward downtown, praying Sven will understand why I had to help her.

  “You didn’t call,” Sven informs me in a tone I’ve never heard from him before as I push through the threshold into his office.

  I take him in as he sits at his desk with a pen in his hand and his head bent toward a paper before him, but his eyes don’t lift to meet mine, not even as I close the door and mutter, “I know, I—”

  “Did you know this morning you were going to go meet up with your sister?” he asks, cutting me off before I can finish my sentence.

  “I did,” I tell him truthfully, freezing in place when his eyes finally lift to meet mine.

  “I’m so fucking mad at you right now,” he whispers, and I sink into the chair in front of him, at a loss for words. I knew he would be mad, but this is more than mad, and more than pissed. The warmth he normally holds in his eyes for me is gone, and in its place is a completely blank look, one that scares me more than his anger.

  “I know,” I agree, feeling my lip tremble.

  “My mom almost killed my dad, and then she tried to kill me,” he says, stunning me. My body stills completely; everything in me stops. I swear even my blood ceases pumping through my veins. I have asked Sven more times than I can count about his parents and his family, but he has always changed the subject, never giving anything away. I thought that maybe he lost them and it was still too painful for him to talk about. I never, ever would have thought he went through something like that.

  “I—”

  “She was schizophrenic. I was a kid, so I didn’t know, but my dad did. She was taking medication for it, to keep it in check, but then one day she quit taking her meds, started tossing them in the garbage, convinced that my dad was trying to kill her. She would show up at my school and flip out, or flip out at the house and call the police, tell them that my dad or I were trying to kill her. He knew she had a problem, but he was in denial about it. He convinced himself that she had it under control once and could get it back under control if he helped her.

  “I would avoid being home with her. I couldn’t even be in the same room with her without feeling like I was going to piss myself, because I was so afraid she would freak—something she did often.”

  “I’m so sorry, honey,” I whisper, but I don’t even think he hears me as he continues on, the blank, distant look in his eyes never changing.

  “I didn’t know until later, until it was too late, that a multitude of doctors told my dad that my mom needed to be placed somewhere she could get help. He didn’t listen to them, thought that if he loved her enough he could love her through her issues, but that’s the thing. You can’t love someone through shit like that. Sometimes people are beyond help. My dad found out the hard way, when my mom stabbed him twelve times in the chest while he slept next to her.”

  Covering my mouth with my hand, I feel a sob crawl up the back of my throat and tears stream silently from my eyes.

  “I woke up that night thinking someone was in the house. I didn’t know the sounds I heard weren’t someone breaking in, but my mom hacking away at my dad’s chest. When I made it to their room, the door was cracked, and I saw my mom standing over my dad, covered in blood.”

  “Please stop,” I whisper, feeling like he’s punishing me with his words. The thought of Sven as a small boy witnessing something so gruesome kills me. I hate that for him. I hate he went through something like that. And I hate more that this is the time he’s choosing to share this with me.

  “How many times have you helped your sister, stood by her, bailed her out?” he asks, tilting his head to study me. Swallowing through the pain, I shake my head. Our stories are not the same, not even close. “How many?” he repeats on a rumble.

  “It’s not the same, honey,” I whisper gently. I really want to go to him to wrap my arms around him, but his body is so solid I know he doesn’t want that, not at all, not from me.

  “You lied to me. Standing in my arms, you fucking lied to me.”

  Okay, that cut deep, not that it wasn’t true. It was, but…

  Dropping my eyes from his, I pull in a few deep gulps of air. I would do it again and again; I will always run to help my sister, because I remember there was a time she would have done the same for me I know that deep in my gut.

  Hearing my phone ring in my bag, I cringe at the loud sound.

  “Leave it,” He snarls, and I bite back the tears I feel gathering in my eyes and pull my cell out of my bag.

  Unknown Caller is on the screen, and I know, just know it’s Morgan. Sliding my finger across the screen, I ignore Sven’s curse and answer with a quiet, “Hello.”

  “It’s done. Can you come get me? I need to get somewhere safe tonight.”

  “Where, when?” I rush out, standing.

  “I’ll meet you at the Galleria Mall. I’ll have Amy drop me there—fifteen, twenty minutes tops.”

  “‘Kay.” I hang up, dropping my phone back in my bag, and look at Sven. The blank look is gone, replaced with rage.

  “I need to pick Morgan up. She’s going into rehab,” I tell him, expecting him to look surprised or relieved, but his expression doesn’t change.

  “You do this…” He shakes his head and rips a hand through his hair. “That’s it, Maggie.”

  I cringe at the sound of his tone and feel my heart split in two, not only from the look in his eyes, but the amount of finality in his words as he spits them at me. “I have to help her,” I whisper through the pain the tears in my throat are causing as I swallow them down.

  “She’s going to end up getting you killed. Do you not see that?” he yells, standing, causing the chair he was sitting on to slide back and hit the wall behind him with so much force that the window rattles.

  “Sven.” I shake my head as my body begins to shake.

  “No! Her or me, Maggie, you choose.”

  “You can’t ask that of me,” I tell him, lifting my hand toward him as I take a step in his direction around the desk. His eyes drop to my hand and he takes a step back.

  “Make your choice.”

  “What?” I breathe as nausea and anxiety fill my stomach.

  “Make your choice,” he roars, and I stumble back a step while my heart shatters.

  “That’s not love, Sven. You asking that of me is not love,” I tell him quietly. Then I turn on my heels, run from his office and down the stairs, passing Lane, who’s eyes lift toward Sven’s office, looking pissed as they come back to me. I’m not crying now, but I feel the tears building in my chest and I know…I know I don’t have long before I break down.

  “Maggie!” Eva yells, rushing toward me from behind the bar when she spots me.

  “Sorry,” I whisper, running past her.

  “Slow down, girl,” Teo says, stopping me with his large hand wrapped around my arm as soon as I pass through the outside door.

  “I need to go,” I cry, attempting to wrench my arm from his grasp.

  “What’s going on?” He frowns, studying my face.

  “Let me go, Teo, please,” I beg, feeling desperate. I want to cry. I want to scream, but more than anything, I want to get away.

  “Let’s go inside,” he says gently.

  “Let me go,” I repeat, and his hand loosens and I’m a
ble to get free. Running to my car, I get in then lock the doors. I don’t think anyone is following me, but I can’t risk anyone trying to stop me, not again. Putting my car in reverse, I hit the gas then slam on the brakes, causing the car to jerk and my body to slide forward in my seat. Putting the car in drive, I press the gas then swerve to miss Sven, who is standing at the entrance for the parking lot. I don’t even look as I pull out onto the road. I just say a prayer there isn’t a car coming and that I don’t die.

  When I reach the mall, Morgan is standing out front with a backpack on the ground at her feet. As she spots my car, she picks up the bag and rushes toward me.

  “I didn’t think you were coming,” she whispers, getting in and buckling her belt, reminding me that I need to put mine on as well. I never go without a seatbelt, but I didn’t even think to put it on. “Are you okay?” she asks, and I don’t look at her. I can’t. I just put the car in drive and take off toward the highway without answering.

  PULLING INTO OUR parents’ driveway, Morgan asks, “Seriously, Maggie?”

  Once again, I ignore her, the same way I ignored her when she asked me where we were going when we got on the road. Then again, when I took the exit for Pullman, the community my parents live in, I honestly would never have planned on coming here, but the longer I drove, the more I thought about it, and the more I realized it’s my mom and dad’s turn to step the hell up.

  I have been doing more than my fair share of taking care of people. It’s time someone had my back. And that thought hurt, because Sven should have been the one to do just that. He should have put his personal feelings aside and had my back. Even pissed, he should be here for me, but he wasn’t, proving to me that once again I picked the wrong man, but unlike all the others, he was able to hurt me.

  Putting my car in park when I reach the end of the dirt road that stops near the front porch of my parents’ home, I mutter, “You want help, Morgan, then you do things my way this time.” I open the door, getting out without another word.

  “MoonPie?” My mom calls in surprise, walking out onto the porch followed by my dad. They haven’t changed much since the last time I saw them. My mom is beautiful for a woman her age, with long white-grey hair, big blue eyes, and a small frame. You can tell she takes care of herself, eats right, drinks water, and exercises—or in her case, does yoga regularly. My dad’s age is starting to show, but he’s still handsome. His hair is still thick, and is now greying around the edges, but blends in with the blond. His skin is dark from the Arizona sun, and his body is firm from working outside daily in his garden or on the house.

  “Morgan,” my dad whispers a second later with worry etched in his tone, and I look across the hood to see that Morgan has gotten out of the car and is staring up at the front porch at both of them.

  “Oh my,” my mom gasps, stepping down the stairs, only to pause on the last step and cover her mouth with her hand.

  “Can we go inside?” I ask, slamming my door, probably a little harder than I need to, but I’m angry. I’m angry they didn’t care when I told them that Morgan was missing. I’m angry they didn’t send out the troops like most parents would and search for their troubled daughter. But I’m pissed they left all of this to fall on my shoulders while they pretended like everything was hunky-dory.

  “Come on, we just sat down for dinner,” my dad mutters, his eyes going hard in a way that’s surprising. My parents are passive; they’ve always have been passive, never letting much of anything bother them, so seeing the look of anger and disappointment my dad is directing toward Morgan is more than a little startling. “Do you have any bags?” he asks, turning his eyes to me.

  “No,” I tell him, gaining a nod before he takes my mom’s elbow and leads her inside. Following behind them, I take Morgan’s hand and head in, letting her know silently that she’s not alone.

  My parents’ house looks the same as it did when I was a kid. Three long steps lead to a large covered porch that has been white-washed every winter since I can remember. On one side of the porch is a hammock big enough to hold two people, a two-seated white wicker couch with brightly colored pillows, a wicker coffee table with a large metal plate full of different sized candles, and a bright red outdoor rug, where my mom always does her yoga.

  Walking through the front door is more of the same vibe. The living room is small, but is done in bright floral colors with live plants on almost every flat surface. The kitchen is old but well kept, the wood topping the counters is the type you would find on a cutting board. Instead of cabinets, there are open white shelves holding dishes, and more plants, but these are herbs and things my mom cooks with. Stopping with my dad, I notice the round four-seated table is set for two, with a big covered pot in the middle. One of my mom’s big things has always been family dinners around the table, and even with my sister and me long gone, she has still stuck to that tradition.

  “Get two more plates, Maisy,” my dad orders my mom, who hasn’t looked at my sister or me again. Nodding, she goes to one of the shelves in the kitchen and grabs two more plates, along with silverware.

  “I’m not hungry,” Morgan tells Dad, and his head turns, his eyes pinning her in place then dropping, taking her in, and I know he sees what I see when I look at her.

  When his eyes meet hers again, I can see his unchecked anger as he commands, “You’re gonna eat.”

  “Okay,” she whispers, shifting on her feet.

  Dropping her hand, I take a seat. I know she’s as surprised by Dad’s behavior as I am, but I have to say I’m happy this is his reaction. When my mom comes back to the table a second time, she has two glasses full of water and sets them both down before taking a seat.

  When my dad sits, Morgan does the same, and my mom opens the large pot in the middle of the table. Scooping out some kind of rice and vegetable mixture, she places some on each of our plates, the whole time avoiding looking at Morgan or me directly. I have no idea what that’s about, but it’s starting to annoy me.

  No one says anything. I don’t really eat; I push the rice mixture around on my dish, but am happy to see Morgan clean her plate and take seconds. My dad, who is across the table from me, is glaring at his food like it’s the cause of all the problems in the world, and my mom is doing much like me, moving the food from one side of her plate to the other.

  “Can I stay for a few days?” I ask. I don’t know why that’s my question, and not, ‘What the heck are we going to do about Morgan?’ but that’s what comes out, and that’s when everyone’s eyes come to me.

  “You know you can, MoonPie,” Mom whispers, and my dad grunts something I can’t decipher, with a nod.

  “I thought you would be going home to your boyfriend,” Morgan chimes in, but her words sound almost accusatory when she says them. Pain rushes through me at the thought of Sven, but I ignore it, because now isn’t the time to have a breakdown, and I know once I really let myself think about him, that’s exactly what’s going to happen.

  “You live with a man?” Dad asks, looking at me.

  I really, really want to kick Morgan under the table for opening her big, fat mouth, but instead, I just mutter, “Something bad happened and—”

  “What happened?” Dad asks, and I feel Morgan tense at my side, but I’m not going to lie for her. If one good thing came from Sven’s story, it’s that you can’t protect the people you care about by covering for them, and I’m done covering for Morgan.

  “Morgan stole some money from a guy. He came looking for her and found me. He roughed me up and—”

  “What?” Dad hisses, turning to look at Morgan as Mom whispers, “Oh my,” at the same time.

  “Is this true?” Dad asks.

  “I know it was wrong.”

  “You know it was wrong?” Mom repeats in disbelief.

  “I…” She drops her voice. “I know I messed up. I—”

  “I gave her the money to pay him back.” I cut her off. “Hopefully it’s done and we can move forward with getting h
er the help she needs,”

  “I want help,” Morgan says softly, and I find her hand under the table and give it a squeeze then drop it.

  “What are you on?” Dad questions, and I freeze, because Morgan has never been honest about that. She’s never told me straight out what kind of drugs she’s taking and has always denied using, even when she’s been picked up by the cops and taken in.

  “Crack mostly, prescription drugs when I can’t get enough money for a fix,” she tells us, and my body sinks back into my chair.

  “You’re gonna go through withdraws. You ready for that?” Dad asks, and she wraps her arms around herself and nods, dropping her eyes to the table.

  “Star,” Mom calls, using Morgan’s nickname, and my sister’s eyes go to her, and this time they’re wet. “We love you. I know we’ve mostly let you girls find your own way, but we love you and your sister.”

  “Why?” I ask, and Mom’s eyes come to me.

  “Why what MoonPie?”

  “Why have you let us find our own way?” I ask as tears burn my eyes and my throat aches as I swallow the tears back.

  “You girls have always been smart,” Dad cuts in, and my eyes go to him and my brows draw downward.

  “No, I was a kid. Morgan was a kid when we left home. Yes, we were both eighteen, but we didn’t know much about the world outside of this place, only what friends told us and what we saw when we were at school. Neither of us were at all prepared for the real world, and you both just left us to find our way.”

  “You did okay for yourself,” Mom argues, and I close my eyes and let out a frustrated breath.

  “I didn’t, not at first anyway. I was free to make choices, and a lot of them were bad ones.”

  “You never said anything,” Dad defends, and I shake my head.

  “Even if I wanted to ask you guys for advice, it would take days to get word to you.”

  “We didn’t know,” Mom murmurs, and I look at her.