by Erin Watt
I don’t ask her any questions and she doesn’t volunteer anything, so the entire drive is spent in total silence. Funny how the quiet can be deafening. What’d she say before? In the quiet, you can hear the heart beat? You can also hear it break. The air in the cab of my truck grows thick and heavy.
We end up at an old marina not far from the pier. I turn into the gravel lot and park the truck. When I glance over, I realize that Hartley’s crying. They are noiseless tears. Just endless drops streaming down her face. I swear when they land it’s loud as a clap of thunder.
It’s why I keep the engine running. I need something to mask those tears. She sits beside me, staring out the window. I wonder if she can even see through the veil of tears.
I try to lighten the mood. “Dad said that this used to be the hottest place in town back in the seventies. I told him I didn’t realize they had boats in the medieval days.”
She cracks a tiny smile.
“Come on, let’s walk by the water,” I suggest.
I help her out of the truck. The old marina is rundown. The cedar plank siding is washed gray by the sand and the salt of the ocean. There are only a couple of docks still above water. The rest are sunken or have broken off.
It’s an overcast morning to match our mood. Hartley looks stricken. I’m sick to my stomach. We’re like two survivors wandering around in a daze after an explosion. But hey, at least we’re together, right?
I take her hand. The moment I do, she stares at our interlaced fingers. Suspicious. “Why aren’t you at school?”
“Because I was worried about you.” Because I want you to forgive me.
As always, Hartley calls me on my bullshit. “Worried that I was mad at you, you mean.”
I swallow.
Her sharp gaze continues to pierce into me. “You were outside my house. Did you see my dad?”
“Yeah,” I admit.
“Did you hear what he said to me?”
I consider lying, but then decide against it. “Yeah.” I take her arm and we make our way close to the water. There’s no railing, just a rocky slope about six feet wide that leads to the water’s edge. “You’re not getting on that plane, though. Right?”
“I…don’t know.”
I tamp down a jolt of panic. “Damn, Hartley. What the hell happened with you guys? Why does he ha—” I stop before the word hate pops out. I don’t think she’d appreciate me saying her father hates her. “Why is he so pissed at you?”
Her gaze stays fixed on the pebble-covered bank. “It’s a long story.”
I hold out my arms and gesture to the open air. “We’ve got nothing but time.”
She stares in silence for a long time. I want to fidget, kick some rocks, bellow at the ocean. Nah, what I really want to do is drive over to Hartley’s house and kick her dad and bellow in his face. I do neither, and my patience is finally rewarded.
“Four years ago—I guess maybe it’s almost five now—I was having trouble sleeping one night, so I went downstairs to get a glass of water. My dad was in the living room, talking to some woman. They were quiet, but she sounded mad and she was crying in between sentences. I think that’s why I didn’t interrupt or let him know I was there.”
“What were they talking about?”
“He was telling her he could take care of the problem but that it would cost her. The woman said she’d pay whatever he asked as long as he helped her son.”
I frown. “What did he say to that?”
“I don’t know. I snuck back upstairs because I didn’t want him to know I was eavesdropping. He’s got a temper, so we all try not to make him angry if we can help it.” She scowls. “Anyway, two days later I heard him arguing on the phone with his boss that he’d used ‘prosecutorial discretion’—whatever the hell that is—in dismissing the charges against the Roquet kid.”
“Who’s the Roquet kid?”
“Do you know Drew Roquet?”
“No.”
“He’s older than us. He was nineteen at the time and got busted for heroin possession. It was his third offense, and they were going to charge him with trafficking because of the amount he had on him. That’s five to twenty-three years in prison.” Hartley’s tone fills with disgust. “But what do you know—the heroin he had on him was lost in the evidence room, so my dad dismissed the charges.”
“I don’t like where this is going.”
“I didn’t either, but I tried to forget about it. At the time, I didn’t think my dad would do anything wrong. He was a DA and he hated drug offenders. Called them lowlifes who didn’t contribute to society, and he said drugs were the reason for everything wrong in this country. Murders, domestic abuse, theft. All of it could be traced back to drugs, according to him.”
“Okay. So you let it go.”
“Yes, and everything seemed fine, but…it bugged me. So I started nosing around where I shouldn’t. I went on his computer one time. He always uses the same password, but he changes the last number every month or so, so it was pretty easy to guess. And when I was on there, I found this anonymous account where people would email him requesting a special favor and they’d say who referred them. There weren’t any details and no responses other than ‘Let’s meet.’”
My eyebrows shoot up. “They came to the house?” That seems risky as hell.
“No. He usually met them in public places. I think the house thing was rare and that’s why he was so angry with that woman. I have no idea how many cases he ‘fixed,’ but there were so many emails, Easton. Like, a lot of them.” She bites her lip, looking miserable.
“Did you confront him?”
“No. I went to Parker instead. She told me to stop making up stories and to keep my mouth shut and not say a word about it to anyone.”
“Parker knew what your dad was doing?”
“I don’t know.”
I think she does know but doesn’t want to believe it. I wait for her to continue, but she doesn’t. She bends down and picks up a few rocks and throws them in the ocean. I join her and say nothing for a minute. But then I have to ask the one question that’s been bugging me since we first met. “How’d you break your wrist?”
The question startles her. She drops the little rock and it hits the water with a splat.
“Hartley,” I press. “How’d you break your wrist?”
“How did you know I broke it?”
“You have a surgical scar on the inside of your wrist.”
“Oh, that.” She rubs a hand over the scar. After a moment of hesitation, she exhales an unsteady breath. “A few months after I talked to my sister, Dad announced he was running for mayor. We got lots of lectures on how to behave in public. Some woman even came to the house and actually showed us how to stand, smile, and wave.”
“Yeah, we had one of those, too,” I admit. “PR’s important down here in the South.”
She gives a scornful laugh. “I can’t believe how anxious I was to be the perfect daughter. I actually videotaped myself in the mirror. Anyway, right before my freshman year, I broke a string on my violin and ordered a new one online. I’d been tracking it and saw that it was going to be delivered, so I ran down to the end of the street to ask the postman if he had it. That’s when I saw Dad sitting with a woman in a car.”
Hartley stops abruptly. I can tell it’s hard for her to talk about this stuff. I don’t blame her. Learning what kind of man Steve is still haunts me. I looked up to him. He flew planes, drank like a fish, had the best cars, the hottest chicks. He was living the best life, and I wanted to be him. But my role model is one of the worst human beings in the world, and now what am I left with?
“I watched them for a long time.” Hartley finally picks up where she left off. “They talked. She handed him a phone and some papers, and then he got out of the car, carrying his briefcase and a backpack. The backpack was weird, you know? He never carried anything like that. I was so busy staring at him that I didn’t realize the car I was hiding behind was leaving. I s
tarted running back to the house. He caught me right outside the front door, grabbed my wrist and pulled hard on it. He was so angry. That’s why he didn’t realize how much force he’d used.”
Is she really trying to explain away her father’s violence? That makes me angry. I form a fist and then tuck it against my side so she doesn’t see it. It hurts not to yell or hit something, but now I get why she hates violence. Why she freaked out the night I dragged her to the dock fights.
“He asked me what I saw. I denied it at first, but my wrist hurt so bad that I started yelling about how I’d seen everything and that it was wrong and that he shouldn’t be doing what he was doing and I was going to tell Mom everything.” Her bottom lip trembles. “He slapped me across the face and sent me to my room.”
“What about your wrist?”
Her mouth quivers again, and then her face collapses. “That’s why it didn’t heal right. I didn’t see a doctor right away.”
“What’s right away?”
“Three weeks.”
“What?” I explode.
She gulps. “The next morning, Dad came to my room and told me I was going away. I guess I didn’t really understand what was going on. I was fourteen. Maybe I should’ve stood up to him.”
”You were only fourteen,” I repeat. “And you were scared. Hell, my mom took my pills and said she was going to flush them down the toilet. I handed them over knowing she had a drug problem. We want to make our parents happy, even if we think we hate them.”
“I guess. But…yeah, I was on a plane and in upstate New York before I could really think. When I got to my dorm room, I called home and begged Mom to let me come back, but she said that Dad was the head of our household and you can’t disobey the head of the household.” Sarcasm rings in her voice. “She said that once I learned to be a good daughter, I could return. I didn’t know what that meant, but I said okay. I guess that’s why I didn’t say anything about my wrist right away. It got worse, though, and one of my teachers noticed and took me to the ER. I had to have surgery to fix it.”
“What’d you tell them?”
She looks away. “That I fell.”
I turn her chin toward me. “Don’t be ashamed.”
“It’s hard not to be.”
“Don’t be.”
“I was so good that first year. Mom reminded me that Dad was running for mayor and that if I behaved, I’d be able to come home.”
“But he didn’t win.”
“No. Parker said that shipping me off to boarding school made it seem like Dad couldn’t take care of his own household, let alone run Bayview.” Tears cling to Hartley’s eyelashes. “And they wouldn’t let me come home. Dad wouldn’t talk to me. Mom said I hadn’t shown that I was a good daughter, and that because I was bad, I had to be kept away from my sister. That I was a bad influence.”
“I don’t get it. How are you the bad influence?” Hartley cares a shit ton about her family. More than her sister, from what I can see.
“My baby sister is…complicated. She’s the sweetest girl, but sometimes…” Hartley trails off.
I fill in the blanks. “Sometimes she wants to scream at the world for no reason? She’s happy one day and frustrated the next? She can get violent and aggressive without warning?”
Surprise flares in Hartley’s eyes. “How did—” She stops, understanding dawning. “You, too?”
“Mom was like that. I get it from her. I’m guessing your sister doesn’t like her meds, either.”
Hartley nods back. “She’s bipolar, or at least that was the diagnosis a child psychologist gave. I heard my parents arguing about it because Dad refuses to believe that mental illness is a thing. He thinks she just needs more discipline."
Where have I heard that before? “Poor kid.”
“Is that your diagnosis?” she asks hesitantly.
I stare at the water, not ready to see any judgment on Hartley’s face. “I don’t think so. It was ADHD for me. I started taking Adderall when I was seven. It was supposed to mellow me out, but after a while it didn’t work. I didn’t want to tell my mom that it wasn’t helping and that my head was getting noisier, because she was pretty messed up herself. It’s easy to get those drugs at school. Someone’s always willing to sell their share of their prescription. And from there it was an easy slide into oxy and other stuff.” I mumble the last admission.
“Our parents are supposed to be there to help, not hurt us.”
There’s a prickling behind my eyes. I blink a few times. “For real. When’s the last time you saw your sister?”
“Three years ago. I’ve talked to her a handful of times, but that’s only because she answered the phone before one of my parents got there. Sometimes she misses me. Other times she hates me for abandoning her. They can’t send her to a boarding school, Easton. Boarding school is terrible. I was so lonely there. I haven’t had a Christmas or Thanksgiving or birthday with someone who loved me in three years. Do you know what that’s like?”
“No,” I say hoarsely. “I don’t.”
Beside me, her body trembles. “I wouldn’t wish that on Felicity, let alone the person I love most in this world. She’d be destroyed there. No one would understand her or take care of her the way she needs.”
“How were you able to come home, then?”
“I found out last year about that trust I told you about, the one from my grandma? The Bayview Savings and Loan oversees it, not my dad. But food and rent isn’t considered educational, so that’s why I work at the diner.” Her expression becomes sad. “I thought if I went to the best school in the state and kept my nose clean without saying anything about my dad’s shady dealings, they’d let me back into the family.”
“But then you got suspended for cheating.” The guilt rips into me again, burning a path up my throat.
“Yes.”
“This is all my fault.”
Hartley tips her head to meet my eyes. “Yes.”
That one syllable tears me apart. It’s brutal. Fucking brutal.
“I told you, trouble follows you wherever you go, Easton.”
I have to break the eye contact before the shame eats me alive. I stare hard at the water and mentally punch myself for all the bullshit I’ve put this girl through. The bullshit I put everyone through. Ella, my brothers, my dad. I’m a screw-up. They all know it, and they all love me in spite of it.
What is wrong with them?
“But this was bound to happen, with or without your involvement.”
I look over in surprise. “You think so?”
Hartley nods glumly. “The minute I moved back to Bayview, my whole family was on the alert. Parker’s probably spying on me for Dad. Mom’s doing everything to keep Dylan away from me. My parents were just waiting for me to mess up, I guarantee it. Waiting for any excuse to get me out of Bayview again.”
That makes me feel better. Just a tiny bit. But it doesn’t stop me from accepting responsibility for my part in all this.
“Felicity wouldn’t have fucked with you if it wasn’t for me, Hartley. That means it’s on me to fix this.”
“You can’t fix it.”
“Sure I can.”
She tips her head in challenge. “How?”
I pause. “I don’t know. But I’ll figure something out.”
She gives a humorless laugh. “Yeah, well, you’d better figure it out before ten o’clock tonight. That’s when my dad’s showing up to take me to the airport.”
“You’re not going to the airport,” I say firmly. “You’re not going anywhere.”
She just shrugs.
Dammit, she’s actually planning on leaving. I can see it in her eyes. Hartley will do anything to protect her little sister, even if it means going back to the boarding school she hated.
“I need to get back,” she tells me, stepping away from the pebbled waterfront. “Can you take me home now?”
I nod.
We climb into the truck and once again make the drive in sil
ence. I study her profile at every stop sign, every red light. The first time I saw her, I thought she was kinda plain. Pretty but plain. Nice legs, sweet ass, kissable lips.
Now that I know her better, it’s her face that draws me in. All those disparate features come together to form one beautiful image. She’s not plain. She’s unique. I’ve never seen anyone like her before, and I can’t believe I might never see her again.
The desperation triggered by that awful thought is what drives me to kiss her. The truck barely comes to a full stop in front of her house before I’m yanking her toward me and covering her mouth with mine.
“Easton,” she protests, but soon she’s kissing me back.
It’s intense. Her lips are warm and taste a bit salty, probably from her tears. I thrust my fingers through her soft hair and pull her even closer.
Soft arms wind around my neck. Her beaded nipples press against my chest. I raise a hand between us to cup her breast in my palm, rubbing my thumb over one of those peaks. She shudders. My own body quakes in response.
I kiss her harder. My hands rove desperately around her body, trying to keep her anchored to me. Somehow her legs straddle mine. I stroke a hand up her thigh and around the curve of her ass before pressing her tight against me.
I’m beyond aroused. And I’m a guy. Guys don’t always do or say the right thing when they’re turned on and their brains are overpowered by their dicks. Still, I regret the words the moment they leave my mouth.
“Let’s go inside where we can be more comfortable.”
Hartley jerks her mouth away from mine. Her eyes narrow. “Comfortable?”
“Yeah. You know…” My breathing’s kind of labored from all the heavy-duty kissing. “Comfortable,” I repeat lamely.
“You mean naked.” Her tone is flat.
“No. I mean, sure, if that’s what you want.” Shut up, man. Shut the hell up. “I just…we’re sitting out in the truck, and you said you were worried about your dad watching you—”
“Right. I’m sure that’s exactly why you wanted to go inside,” she mutters. Shaking her head, she unbuckles her seatbelt and shoves it aside. “You’re unbelievable.”
