The officer steps out of her car and strolls toward us. “Are you Skye Albright?” She’s all business behind her mirrored shades.
“Yeah?”
“Can I speak to you over here for a moment?” She motions toward her car. “Alone?”
“Um, you’re not arresting me, are you?”
“No.”
I glance at Dante.
His eyes narrow. He’s obviously irritated. “I’m the guy driving the bike. What do you want?”
“I just need to ask her a few questions, sir,” the officer warns. “Please remain with your vehicle while I speak with her.”
“And you’re not arresting her?” Dante demands.
The officer’s lips thin. “No, but I will arrest you if you don’t let me do my job.”
Now I’m scared. “Calm down, Dante. It’s okay.” I hope it’s okay. I follow the woman to her car. We stop next to the front bumper.
“Ma’am, are you aware that your father filed a missing persons report on you about an hour ago?”
Fury pops in my chest like a thousand firecrackers. “What?! No. I had no idea.” I stamp my foot. “I mean, I’m not surprised, but no, I didn’t know.”
“Is this man holding you against your will? Did he force you to go with him?”
“Whaaaaat?! No! Is that what my dad said?”
“I don’t know exactly what he said, ma’am. I wasn’t there when he filed the report. I only know that you are currently classified as missing, and an APB was put out for your friend’s motorcycle.”
“Oh.” I glance at Dante.
He stands with fingers splayed on cocked hips, looking highly irritated.
“Dante! It’s okay!” I holler. “Hold on a second, all right?”
He smirks and nods before smearing his hand across his mouth. “Take your time,” he yells over traffic.
I say to the officer, “I thought if someone went missing, the police waited 24 hours before starting a search. To, you know, make sure they’re actually missing. I just left like two hours ago.”
“That’s a myth, ma’am. If you have a legitimate reason to believe that a family member or loved one has gone missing, you should contact law enforcement immediately. The sooner we’re aware that someone has gone missing, the better the chance that we’ll find them.”
“Oh. So… what happens now?”
“I ask a few more questions.”
“Okay.”
“Did your friend take you under duress?”
“No.”
“Are you here of your own free will?”
“Yes.”
She nods. “Since you’re over 18, and as long as your actions are voluntary—”
“Yeah, totally,” I cut in.
“Then you’re free to go. If that’s what you want. Or I can take you to the station in the cruiser. Your father can pick you up there. The choice is yours.”
I picture myself sitting at some Highway Patrol office, waiting for my dad to show up and take me home. Can you imagine the car ride home? Not gonna happen!! “What are you going to tell my dad?”
“Only what you want me to tell him.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes, ma’am. Should I let him know you’re safe?”
“Yeah,” I sigh, feeling kind of jerky about everything.
“Anything else? Your whereabouts? Your destination? Your expected return?”
When she lays it out like that, I’m suddenly thinking about this completely differently. It was romantic when it was me and Dante and the wind in our hair, I mean motorcycle helmets. But there’s other people involved. What about Catarina? I’m sure she’s freaking out. Who knows what kind of argument she and Dad are having. Based on what happened last time, it can’t be good. My stomach sours thinking about it. I’m causing all of this. Correction: I went and made things worse. It was Dad’s attitude toward Dante that lit the fuse of this drama bomb in the first place. Which takes me right back to why we bolted in the first place.
“Well?” the officer prompts.
“Um…” For sure I’m not going home tonight, I feel like I need to send Dad a message. I wonder what he’ll do when the cops tell him I don’t want to be found? Will he be mad? Probably. He’ll probably shout at the cops and demand to know where I am. An image of his rageful face flashes in my mind. Screw him. My brows knit with determination. “Just tell him I’m fine and I’ll be home when I’m home.” I fold my arms across my chest for emphasis.
The officer doesn’t seem to react. I doubt she’ll add my folded arms to her official report. Oh well.
“Anything else?” she asks.
“No,” I sigh. “Thanks.”
“Then you two are free to go. Here’s your IDs and the registration.”
“Thanks.” I notice Dante’s license is from Baja. It says Gobierno del Estado de Baja California and Licencia de Conducir at the top. Dante’s picture is on it, and it does indeed say Dante Lord. Not that I was wondering who he was or anything.
“Drive safe,” she smiles faintly before getting back in her car. She doesn’t leave right away.
I think she’s watching us. I walk up to Dante and explain everything.
“Makes sense,” he says casually. “He loves you.”
“Yeah,” I frown.
“Do you wanna go home?”
“What? And deal with Dad’s inevitable blowout?” I shake my head. “There’s no way I’m subjecting myself to that tonight. Maybe next year. Let’s go to Santa Barbara, okay?”
He swings his arms toward the motorcycle and bows, “Your steed awaits, fair lady.”
oOoOoOo + O+O+O+O
It’s almost 11:00pm.
We’re strolling along State Street in downtown Santa Barbara, people watching and window shopping. Orange streetlights cut the darkness. The sidewalk isn’t very crowded. Probably because it’s October. But it is Friday night, so the bars are full, but I can’t go into any of them. Before the stores closed, we hit up a bunch of antique shops and art galleries. Just to browse. Now that most of them are closed, all we can do is wander. The fog rolled in off the ocean an hour ago, and I’m a bit cold. I’m wearing my leather Vixen jacket, which I love, and I have my ski jacket in my backpack if I need it, but I use the chill as an excuse to nuzzle up against Dante’s side.
His arm is around my shoulder.
This is probably the first time we’ve strolled around in public like an actual couple. No pretending we’re not together. No hiding our attraction. We’ve paused from our walking to kiss probably every five minutes. We even made out earlier in the back of one of the art galleries because it was full of nude paintings and I asked Dante which painting he liked best. He said the one next to him, meaning me, and practically attacked me with his luscious lips. Until a sales woman walked in and gave us dirty looks.
But that was earlier, when the night was still young.
“Where do you want to sleep tonight?” Dante asks.
“Sleep?” I quip. “Do we have to sleep? Can’t we stroll romantically until the sun comes up?”
“We could. But we’ll have to sleep at some point.”
I slump, “Fine. So, uh, where do we sleep?” I haven’t thought this through, obvi.
“The beach or a hotel.”
“Ummm…” Dante already spent a bunch of money on my pink-on-black Vixen jacket, helmet, and gloves. I can’t ask him to pay for a hotel. Although I’ve got money saved up in my bank account that I’ve had forever, I bet it’ll go quick if we start spending it on hotels every night. “How much do hotels cost?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never stayed in Santa Barbara. We’ll have to check.” He grins.
“Sounds like fun, let’s do it!”
The first hotel we check looks really fancy. The only room they have available is $275 for the night. Not gonna happen. We check several more hotels, focusing on the cheaper ones. Sadly, they either don’t have vacancies or they’re still expensive. The cheapest one we find, which is
old and looks super 1970s, costs $180.
We keep looking.
“I guess it’s still tourist season,” Dante sighs as we walk out of yet another hotel office. Yes, office, because these hotels are small and don’t have gigantic lobbies like a fancy resort hotel.
“What do we do?” I sigh, almost whining. I’ve never done anything like this before and I’m definitely getting tired.
“We can sleep at the beach.”
“Won’t it be cold?” I hug myself, trying to squeeze out my chill. I’m not ready to wear my ski jacket over my leather jacket. It would look too dorky.
“I’ve got an ultralight sleeping bag in my pack. We can share that.”
“Share a sleeping bag?” I chuckle. “We’ll be like the meat in a sausage!”
“I’ll be the meat in your sausage,” he quips.
“Gross!” I giggle. Then I sigh. “So, what do we do?”
“I’m used to this, Cielo. I could sleep anywhere. It’s you I’m worried about.”
“I can deal. Let’s go to the beach.”
We take the motorcycle to a random neighborhood and park it on the sidewalk. Then we walk down to the sand. Waves lap the dark shore. It’s really peaceful.
“This is nice,” I say.
“We shouldn’t sleep too close to the water. I don’t know how far the tide comes in.”
We pick a spot in the sand somewhat close to the houses and Dante pulls out the sleeping bag. It’s not really big enough for both of us, so we unzip it and lie on it like a blanket. I end up with my ski jacket on over the Vixen jacket. Motorcycle jackets don’t make good pajamas, but it’s too cold to sleep without both. We cuddle up for warmth, but it’s not nearly as romantic as I’d hoped. Somehow we manage to fall asleep. Only to be woken by headlights shining on us at who knows what time, but it’s still dark.
I hold up my hand to block the shining headlights. They’re maybe thirty feet away. “Who is it?” I ask Dante.
“Cops would be my guess.”
Two pairs of boots set foot on the sand and walk toward us.
Park Rangers.
“Hey, guys,” I say to the two men, my teeth chattering. Wow, it’s really cold right now.
The ranger on the right nods, “Ma’am. Sir. The beach closes at sundown. You can’t sleep here.”
I sigh. Why am I not surprised?
“I forgot American beaches have more rules than the ones south of the border,” Dante says as he gathers up the sleeping bag.
“Yeah,” I grumble. “Rules, rules, and more damn rules.” I’m irritable because I would rather be sleeping right now. I pick up the rest of our stuff while the rangers watch.
We trudge through the cold sand to the sidewalk that runs along the beach.
“Where to now?” I sigh.
“Let’s get a hotel room,” he offers.
“They’re way too expensive, Dante. Can we even get a room this late anyway?”
“If they’re any left.”
I sigh again and look around. We’re in a random suburban Santa Barbara neighborhood. The houses this close to the beach are really nice. Way better than mine. But the windows are dark and the doors are closed and there’s no way we’re crashing in any of these mansions. Defeated, I mutter, “Let’s go home.”
He arches his eyebrows compassionately. “Are you sure, Cielo? We can find a hotel somewhere.”
“I have the SAT tomorrow. I have a warm bed waiting at home for free. You have a warm bed too.”
“Those beds come at a price, Cielo.”
“You mean my dad?”
He nods.
“Maybe he’ll be glad I came home.”
“What happens after he knows you’re safe? What does he do tomorrow or the next day? What about the photo? What about us? What’s your dad gonna do about us?” He shakes his head and sighs. “I can protect you out here, Cielo. I can’t protect you in your dad’s house. He made that his job a long time ago and takes it very seriously. I’ll just be in the way.”
I take in his words and mull them over. “What if we don’t go home?” I ask with a shiver of trepidation.
“I have to warn you. Life out here isn’t always easy. It’s not like living at home with your parents. Believe me. I’ve done it enough to know.” There is hidden weight to what he says. Dante hasn’t told me anything about what happened after he stopped living with Catarina way back when. I’ve asked, but he doesn’t want to talk about it. It’s obviously a painful topic for him.
“Stop scaring me,” I chuckle nervously.
“I’m not scaring you. But this is the real world. If you want a warm soft bed and hot running water, you have to pay for it. If you don’t have money, you have to rough it.” He arches an eyebrow.
I don’t have an answer for him.
“If we rough it,” he offers, “we’ll be fine. But it won’t be Casa de Albright.”
I’m so tired and wired and cold that my body literally jitters. “I can’t take any more of this tonight, Dante. Let’s go home.”
Chapter 16
On the way home, I have the ski jacket on over the leather jacket. It’s freezing. Unlike in a car, where you can sleep if you’re not driving, the back of a motorcycle is a wide-awake deal. I don’t want to fall off and go bouncing down the road at 75mph. I do feel relief when we exit the 101 and drive down the familiar suburban streets of the Valley toward home. When we turn onto my cul-de-sac, I finally relax. I climb off the motorcycle on weary legs. It feels like we just rode for a thousand miles instead of a hundred.
The outside of the house is dark. I hope coming home wasn’t a mistake. Hopefully Dad is asleep and won’t bother us. My plan is to sneak into my bed and crash like a log under the warm blankets. All I can think about is sleep.
Sleep, sleep, sleep.
Me and Mr. Sandman are gonna be besties tonight.
Dante and I creep quietly up to the front door. I imagine Dad armed the alarm. I’ll have to disarm it as soon as I open the door. At least I know the code by heart and can punch it in in the dark. I pull out my house keys and aim them at the deadbolt.
The porch lights pop on.
The front door whips open.
Dad stares at me. He’s still dressed in his button down shirt and slacks. He never got ready for bed. “Skye,” he chokes out and steps over the threshold, throwing his arms around me in a big hug. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” I groan. My arms are at my sides, so I can’t really push him away, but I do hunch my shoulders forward to let him know I’m not in a hugging mood. This was not what I was hoping for. I guess sneaking into bed is no longer an option.
Catarina trots up behind Dad, belting a bathrobe around her waist. “Oh, thank god. We were so worried about you two.” She slides past me and Dad and hugs Dante.
“We’re fine,” Dante reassures.
“Where were you?” Dad asks.
“Can we talk about this later?” I sigh petulantly.
Catarina hugs me next. “You’re so cold! Let me make you some hot tea. Come inside.”
We end up in the kitchen, sitting around the granite island. Dante leans against a wall with his hands behind his back. I relay the day’s events to Dad and Catarina. I start with what happened after we left the Honda dealership, namely burritos on the Santa Monica Pier and the sedate drive north. I make it sound like it was just a regular evening out. I skip the part about the Highway Patrol pulling us over and the Park Rangers kicking us off the beach. Catarina chuckles with amusement a bunch of times, but Dad does not.
Dad doesn’t look at Dante once.
Dad doesn’t say anything to Dante.
Dad pretends Dante doesn’t exist.
Also, Dad never mentions the missing persons report. I don’t want to know how he reacted when the cops told him I didn’t want to be found. I’d like to sweep that bit under the rug.
When I finish the story, my cup of hot tea is empty. I feel warm and sleepy. “I’m super tired, you guys,” I yawn.
“I really need to get to bed.” Mainly I want to get away from Dad. I know he’s a ticking time bomb. His Mr. Mellow act isn’t fooling me.
Dad’s eyes pop, “Damn it, that’s right! You have the SAT tomorrow! I can’t believe I almost forgot.”
Too bad he didn’t.
He glances at his expensive wristwatch. “It’s almost three in the morning. What time is the test?”
“I have to be there by 7:45.”
“Oh, Jesus,” Dad blurts. “You’re not going to get much sleep.”
Dad’s theatrics turn my stomach. I grimace, “All the more reason for me to go to bed now.”
Dad nods, “You’re right. Let’s get you to bed.”
I roll my eyes, “I think I can manage that on my own.” I slide off the barstool. Despite the fact that Dad is hovering right in front of me, my first instinct is to take Dante by the hand and lead him upstairs. I turn to Dante and smile sweetly, “Are you going to bed, Dante?” It’s like I’m asking him to come to bed right in front of our parents.
He still stands in the shadows, separate from the family. “Sure,” he mutters.
“Dante,” Dad says, “I’d like to talk to you for a minute.”
The room goes silent.
Catarina’s face tenses.
I watch Dad carefully. I can see him hiding his anger. “No, Dad,” I growl. “You can talk to him tomorrow. Afternoon.”
Dad’s brow darkens, “You don’t tell me what to do, young lady.”
And like that, the facade of our friendly late night tea splits apart. Bye-bye, Mr. Mellow. Here comes Mr. Hell No. I won’t stand for it. I jam my hands on my hips. “Oh yeah? How about I skip the SAT tomorrow?”
“Then you can take the next one in November,” he fires back.
“The registration deadline is already past,” I say victoriously.
“Then you’ll take the one in December.” Dad always has another ace up his sleeve.
So do I. “I’ll skip that one too,” I challenge.
“Don’t play games with me, young lady. I won’t have you throw away your future because of…” he glares at Dante, “…him.” Dad says the word like it’s poison.
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