The Secrets We Carry

by Jessica Sorensen

  Once they exit the neighborhood, he drives toward the far east side of the main section of town. “The better section of town,” as my mother loves to call it. Filled with fancy stores, flashy shops, overpriced restaurants, and business offices owned by a lot of my father’s colleagues .

  Beck’s dad has a law firm in this area, and an entire street is dedicated to exclusive clubs, which just so happens to be where Travis is heading. And not just any club, but The Silver Glass Box .

  Of course .

  The Silver Glass Box is a popular club that a lot of people my age talk about. The building is made up entirely of silver-tinted glass, hence the name, and to get in, you have to have the right last name. I’ve never been, but I’m sure I can get in with the flash of my ID. That doesn’t mean I want to go in .

  While I used to not be opposed to clubs, the idea of going into a crowded room with flashing, blinding lights and the stench of alcohol tainting the air makes me want to throw open my car door and puke all over the asphalt .

  I park across the street in a parking lot of a strip club and stay in my car, trying to figure out what to do. Walk away? Go inside and keep an eye on Maci? What does it matter if I keep an eye on Maci anyway? It’s not like I can stop them from attacking her. I learned that night that I’m not physically strong enough to take on a group of guys, at least while drugged up .

  As I watch Travis climb out of his car and usher Maci toward the velvet rope, I take a joint out of my glove box and light up, contemplating whether to go in or not. As he approaches the bouncer, a taller guy with dark hair and wearing almost as expensive of a suit as Travis, strolls up to them. He looks familiar, yet I can’t place his face .

  Who is this guy? Was he there that night ?

  I squint to get a better look at his eyes, but he’s either too far away or I’m too stoned at this point .

  Blazed or not, uneasiness prickles inside me as Travis greets the familiar stranger with a fist bump then turns to the bouncer and exchanges a few words with him. The bouncer nods then motions the three of them through. They step forward, and Travis opens the door for Maci, motioning for her to go in first .

  Everything appears normal up until Maci steps inside and Travis remains holding open the door for the stranger. As he passes by Travis, the stranger leans in and says something. Travis nods, and then the stranger slips something small into Travis’s hand before strolling into the club .

  I rub my lips together, questioning what the hell I just witnessed. A drug exchange? Wouldn’t be that surprising. What sort of drugs, though? Drugs for himself or …

  The room is so blurry, so hazy, spinning and spinning and spinning. I can barely grasp reality anymore as I keep dancing back and forth between unconsciousness .

  What is happening to me ?

  Why do I feel so drunk ?

  I only had one mixed drink that Travis gave me, and he said it barely had any alcohol in it .

  Rage ripples through me. I put the joint out and climb out of the car before I can even process what I’m doing. Halfway across the street, though, my gaze drifts to the line in front of the club. All the woman waiting to get inside are dressed up in sparkling dresses that I’m sure had pretty little price tags on them. I glance down at my jeans, boots, T-shirt, and leather jacket getup .

  “Shit.” I flip a bitch and hurry to the nearest clothing store .

  Before that night happened, I used to spend hours putting together the perfect outfit. I loved shopping. Loved searching through the selections of dresses and shoes. Loved the final outcome of being able to look in the mirror and admire my handiwork. Now I spend a whole whopping two minutes selecting a black dress and a pair of heels with straps that go all the way up to my knees. I toss the saleswoman my credit card, ready to just rush back to the dressing room and change. This isn’t the first time I’ve pulled this move, but no one ever seemed to care before .

  “I’ll peel the tags and hand them to you so I can wear this out, if that works?” I tell her as she stares down at my credit card .

  She scrutinizes the outfit I’m currently wearing. “I’m going to need to ring them up first and make sure the card goes through before I can let you pull the tags off .”

  Guess not wearing flashy clothes makes me less trustworthy. “Fine, go ahead.” I toss the clothes on the counter and motion for her to hurry her ass up .

  Giving me the fakest smile ever, she rings up the shoes and dress then swipes my card. When the transaction goes through, her smile turns genuine .

  “Here, let me clip the tags off for you,” she offers, reaching for a pair of scissors .

  “No thanks. I can handle it myself.” I collect the clothes, shoes, and my credit card. “But I am going to use one of your dressing rooms to change.” I dash back to one of the dressing rooms, not waiting for her permission .

  I quickly peel my boots, pants, jacket, and T-shirt off then slip into the dress. I instantly hate it. Hate the way it makes me feel, the softness of the fabric, the way it hugs my curves, the shortness of the hem. I almost take it off and ask the saleswoman for a lighter so I can burn it, but I remind myself that I need to get into that damn club. Not just to keep an eye on Maci, but to figure out who the hell that familiar stranger that gave Travis something is .

  Sucking in a breath, I put on the damn shoes. Then I pull on the leather jacket and make a face as I look in the mirror. I look like the old Wynter, just with less makeup, shorter hair, and bloodshot eyes .

  Tearing my gaze away from my reflection, I ball the rest of my clothes up and leave the store. I toss my extra clothes into my car then head across the street to the club .

  As I stride up to the front of the line with my head held high, I try not to think about what I’m doing. That I could run into those guys in here. That I may have to endure their stupid fucking smiles .

  Don’t think about it, Wynter. You need to warn Maci .

  I dig my ID out of my jacket pocket as I near the entrance .

  As the bouncer, a large guy with a sleeve of tattoos, notices me walking up, his gaze sweeps up and down my body. I envision punching him in the jugular, but outside, I’m the epitome of cool .

  “Hey,” I greet him with a flirty smile that makes vomit rise in the back of my throat. “You letting people in ?”

  His lips quirk. “That all really depends on who you are, sweetheart .”

  God, I hate when guys call women sweethearts. It’s a new pet peeve of mine. Seriously, how would they feel if we called them sweetheart or hon or baby? One day, I’m going to find out. I swear I am .

  I fake smile past the irritation and flash him my ID. “I’m Wynter Porterrsen .”

  His smile curves into a frown. “Sorry, but I can’t let you in .”

  I lower my card. “ Why not ?”

  “Because you’re on the list .”

  “What list?” My voice quivers with fury, along with a bit of embarrassment as the people in line turn to stare at me .

  He turns around to grab a clipboard off the podium behind him. “Every night I get a list of names of people I’m not supposed to let in.” He taps the top of the list where my name is printed. “Yours has been on here for a couple months now .”

  A couple months? Since the time the party happened? Is that purely coincidental ?

  Doubtful .

  I skim over the list. “Why are there only women on here ?”

  “There are guys on there, too.” He turns the clipboard toward him and glances at the names. “See?” He shows me a couple of names that are gender neutral, but I’m betting belong to women .

  “Those could easily be female names,” I point out, stuffing my hands into my pockets to hide how bad my hands are shaking. “Is this club sexist or something ?”

  His eyes narrow. “No. And it’s time for you to leave or I’m going to have to call the police .”

  “And tell them what exactly?” I challenge. “I haven’t done anything except question the club’s stupid, sexi
st list .”

  “And cause a scene at a place of business,” he says dryly. “Ever heard of the term public disruption .”

  “Ever heard the term equality,” I retort in a low tone .

  “Good luck trying to win that case.” He retrieves his phone from his pocket. “Now, I’m going to give you thirty seconds to walk away before I call the police .”

  Flipping him the middle finger, I take off toward the corner of the street. Instead of crossing the street to my car, though, I round to the side of the building and stare at the silver-tinted walls, trying to get a glimpse inside. Unfortunately, the glass is too tinted to see anything other than shadows and the occasional flashing lights .

  “What exactly goes on in there?” I mutter as the ground below my feet vibrates from the music playing inside. “And why the hell am I not allowed in ?”

  Did Travis do it? Did he put my name on that list after the party? Why? Just to keep me away from him? And what about the rest of the women on that list? Why aren’t they allowed inside ?

  I really wish I had that list so I could track them down and talk to them .

  An idea hits me. One that I probably shouldn’t follow through with, that could easily get me arrested, but at this point, I don’t give a shit. All I care about is getting inside and finding Maci. And maybe getting a bit of intel on Travis .

  Revenge .

  Revenge .

  Revenge .

  I peer around the corner of the building and eyeball the entrance of the club. The bouncer has his back to me and is chatting with a couple of barely dressed women at the front of the line. And just behind him, the list is balanced on the podium .

  Taking a deep breath, I dig my phone out of my pocket and open my camera. Then I step out and casually stroll up the sidewalk toward the podium. When I get close enough, I let my hair fall across my face, aim my camera, and snap a photo. I’d be super proud of myself for being so clever, except I forgot to turn off the flash .

  A handful of people in line stare at me in confusion while the bouncer twists around to see what the hell is going on. Panicking, I reel around, hightail it down the sidewalk, and make a sharp right when I reach the corner. The street I turn on is the parking area, which is crammed with fancy sports cars. The air is much stiller here, the lights dimmer, and while I’m sure my imagination is getting the best of me, the air feels chillier .

  Alone .

  Cold .

  Darkness .

  I’ve been like this before .

  I shiver as my bare feet pad against the sidewalk, not a single soul around as I make my way back home, my dress torn, my back bleeding, my soul back at the frat house, lying shattered on the floor —

  An engine revs from nearby, making me nearly jump out of my skin .

  Shit, I really need to invest in a can of pepper spray .

  Tightening my jacket around me, I turn around to leave —

  A hand touches my shoulder. “Wynter ?”

  My pulse leaps as I spin around, lift my fist, and punch the attacker in the face. The instant I connect with their cheek, my knuckles pop .

  “Shit,” I cry out, jerking back .

  “Fuck.” Everette clutches his face .

  The face I just hit .

  Realization bites me in the ass .

  “Oh, my God, I’m so sorry.” I cover my mouth. But as pain radiates through my knuckles, I cradle my hand to my chest. “Are you okay ?”

  He lowers his hand from his face. “Yeah, I’m fine.” His voice is bit strained. “Are you ?” His gaze drops to my hand .

  Not wanting to appear weak, I nod. “Of course. I’m not the one who just got punched in the face .”

  The light cascading down from the lampposts lining the area cast across his face as he dubiously eyeballs my hand. “It looks like you’re in a lot of pain .”

  “I’m not.” Breathing through the pain, I wiggle my fingers. “See, perfectly okay .”

  His gaze lifts to mine, the softness of his gaze throwing me off. “Well, for future reference, you shouldn’t use your knuckles .”

  “I didn’t use my knuckles,” I lie. “And I know how to throw a punch. I’ve done it a lot, actually .”

  He bites back a smile. “You get into a lot of fights , huh ?”

  “Yep, all the time.” Frustration bursts through me as his lips quirk in amusement, a reaction he really seems to bring out of me. “So wipe that smirk off your face .”

  He rubs his hand across his mouth, his eyes glittering with amusement. “There. All wiped off.” The muscle in my jaw pulsates .

  Seriously, what is with this guy? This is the second time we’ve shared a conversation and both times he managed to get under my skin within a couple minutes .

  “Thank you, Mr. Literal.” Rolling my eyes, I move to step by him, so over this conversation .

  “You should put ice on that.” He stuffs his hands into the pockets of his black slacks as he follows me .

  “Thanks,” I mumble, wincing as I hold my hand against my chest. “Is it like your thing or something ?”

  “What ?”

  “Giving advice to people who clearly don’t want it .”

  He shrugs. “Maybe, but no one’s complained before .”

  “Well, I am. And here’s a little bit of advice for you.” I quicken my strides, throwing over my shoulder, “When a girl is practically running away from you, it means they don’t want to be around you .”

  He slows to a stop, letting me go. At least, that’s what I assume at first .

  Then he calls out, “Or maybe it just means they’re scared .”

  Scared ?

  He thinks I’m afraid of him ?

  I grind to a stop and whirl around, strands of my hair whipping into my face. “I’m not afraid of you .”

  He studies me for a beat or two before cautiously stepping toward me. “In the last five hours, we have had two conversations and you ran away from me both those times .”

  “I wasn’t running,” I lie. “I just have places to be .”

  He stops in front of me, standing so close the scent of his cologne laces the air. Surprisingly, I don’t yack .

  “Oh yeah, where?” he wonders curiously .

  “Places.” I cringe at my stupid answer .

  Since when did I start sucking so badly with thinking quickly on my feet ?

  The corners of his lips quirk. “Places, huh? Sounds pretty important .”

  “I never said it was important. Just more important than talking to you.” I move to leave again .

  “Are you going in there?” he asks, nodding at the club’s side entrance .

  I twist back around to face him . “Why ?”

  He shrugs, his gaze flicking up and down my body. “Just wondering why you’re all dressed up .”

  “I dress up all the time.” Not a total lie. I used to wear dresses and heels almost every single day .

  “Yeah, I know .”

  “How ?”

  He shrugs. “I’ve seen you around campus. You’re sort of hard not to notice .”

  “Oh.” Was that a compliment? If so, I don’t want it. “Then you should know I don’t really dress up anymore .”

  “Actually, I do .”

  “Good.” Wait. What sort of stupid comeback was that ?

  He laughs, seeming lost . “Huh ?”

  I sigh. “Look, I’m tired, okay? Usually, my comebacks aren’t so ridiculous .”

  “Comebacks?” He cocks a brow. “I didn’t realize we were having an argument .”

  I put my hands on my hips. “You so did, too. You were practically egging me on .”

  “Actually, I wasn’t.” He steps toward me, his boots scuffing against the pavement. “I was just stalling until I could figure out the right way to ask you to come with me to The Silver Glass Box.” His lips tug up in a lopsided grin. “Not sure if that was the right way, but I guess it’s too late now .”

  I raise my brows. “You’re going in ?”r />
  His smile is all sorts of amusement. “What? Is that shocking or something ?”

  My gaze scans his black slacks, his grey button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and the thin black tie around his neck. The outfit is nice, but not even close to being expensive enough for him to blend in with the rich douchebags currently inside .

  Still, I’m not going to try to bullshit myself and say he doesn’t look good. He does. Personally, though, I prefer what he was wearing earlier. In fact, I felt more comfortable around him then. Now he reminds me too much of Travis and his friends .

  I glance from the club to him. “How are you getting in ?”

  A smile rises on his lips. “What? You don’t think I’ll be able to just walk in through the front door .”

  “No,” I answer truthfully then shrug. “Sorry, but this stupid club won’t let anyone in who doesn’t have the right last name .”

  “And what’s so wrong with my last name?” he teases with his bottom lip jutted out .

  I almost freakin’ smile. Seriously, what the shit ?

  “Nothing is wrong with it. At least, to a normal person.” I gesture at the building lit up by pale purple lights. “But not to anyone in there.” My hand falls to my side as I offer him an apologetic look. “Unless your last name is linked to the mayor or some hotshot lawyer or the owner of a dozen corporate offices, you’re not going to get through the front doors .”

  His eyes glint mischievously. “Good thing I’m not planning on going through the front doors .”

  My lips part in confusion, but before I can get any words out, he snags a hold of my hand and tows me toward the side entrance where a guy wearing a similar outfit to the bouncer in front is standing .

  “He’s not going to let you in.” I trot to keep up with Everette as I try to wiggle my hand from his grip while fighting back the panic of having him touch me .

  “Let’s try it, okay?” He glances over his shoulder at me with a smile playing on his lips. “I have a feeling my last name might have some sway at the side entrance .”