by Angel Lawson
“I told you, coming here makes you a target.”
“Unfortunately, I’m still a target despite our relationship status. He left me this in my locker.” I shove the card at him and he looks at the picture. His jaw clenches and unclenches as he processes it.
“At school?”
“Yes. And when I got home everything connecting me to BD was gone.” I swallow. “Rose's iPod. The accounts on SugarBabies. The lingerie.”
His hand grips the door. “He was in your room again?”
An expression of fury consumes his handsome face and he turns without saying another word. I look at the guys in confusion, but Finn reacts quickly, pushing past me to chase after him.
Ozzy and I are a step behind and follow them down the hall. Ezra charges down the hallway, ducking into a room. From a distance I hear the sound of a loud crash, then Mr. Baxter’s loud, angry voice.
“What the hell are you doing?” he shouts.
Finn darts in the room and by the time we get there, has inserted himself between Ezra and his father. Everything on Mr. Baxter’s desk has been thrown on the floor.
“I told you to stay the fuck away from her, but you couldn’t stop yourself, could you?”
Mr. Baxter’s eyes slide over to me in the doorway.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about?”
Ezra holds up the photo.
“You don’t? It’s time to cut the bullshit. It’s time to admit what you’re doing—that your hands are dirty, you’re harassing Kenley, and at the very least, you’re involved with the cover up of Rose’s disappearance, if not personally involved.”
“Woah!” Mr. Baxter blinks, the gravity of what his son is saying rolling over him. “You’re throwing around some serious accusations.”
“Because I’m sick of living with your deceit and lies.” Ezra lunges, but Finn is on him, pushing him back.
“Dude, don’t do this.”
Ezra’s muscles strain as he pushes against Finn, and Finn’s whole body tenses holding him at bay. As much as I want Mr. Baxter to pay for what he did, I also know that if Ezra attacks him, we’ll never know the truth.
“Ez,” I say, “Stop. It’s time to find out what’s really going on.” I walk over and take the photo out of Ezra’s clenched fingers. I hold it up to Mr. Baxter. “Did you leave this for me?”
He drags his eyes away from his son. “No.”
“Do you recognize where it was taken?”
He hesitates for a brief moment. “Yes. I do recognize where it was taken. At the East Point Suites. Room 214.”
The admission is astounding, and I feel like the wind has been knocked out of me. Ozzy’s hand wraps around my waist.
“You’re BD,” I whisper.
He shakes his head. “No. I’m not BD.”
“I’m confused,” I say. “How do you know about that apartment if you’re not BD?”
He sighs and walks across the room, stopping in front of a cluster of bottles on the top of a cabinet. He pours himself a drink and takes a gulp.
“Don’t believe a word he says,” Ezra says, voice low and angry.
“Son, as much as you want to make me the enemy, I’m telling the truth.”
“Then you better start explaining why we shouldn’t turn you into Chief McMichael for being involved in Rose’s disappearance. Or why I shouldn’t kick your ass right now for stalking Kenley. For forcing me to break up with her, and making all those threats?”
Mr. Baxter finishes his drink and says, “Because everything I ever did for Rose was to help her—not hurt her—Rose wasn’t my lover. She’s my daughter.”
31
Ezra
I did not expect that.
“What did you just say?” I ask my father.
“Rose is my daughter. Your half-sister.” He sits on the edge of his desk. “Regina and I, we have a long and complicated relationship. Nineteen years ago, we had a brief affair and she became pregnant.”
An image of Rose pops in my mind; beautiful, dark, manipulative.
“Rose is your daughter,” Kenley repeats, sitting on the couch.
“I didn’t know for certain until she was older—about sixteen. We didn’t live here when she was born and there was no reason for me to believe she wasn’t Brice’s child, until…”
“Until?” Ozzy asks.
“Until she started having some high-risk behavior, and Regina came to me for help. First, to ask me to get Ezra to stop selling her drugs, then, if I could assist with my legal expertise in any other high-risk activity she was involved in. She’d noticed she’d become increasingly withdrawn—she was sneaking out a lot, staying out overnight, and that her relationship with Jason Chandler seemed increasingly inappropriate.” He pauses and holds my eye. “I didn’t want to get involved in any of it. You were pissing your life away, and I was tired of trying to get you back on track. And Jason? We were lifelong friends. I was well aware of his preference for young women. Brice was, too. I felt like this was something her father should handle. That’s when she told me he wasn’t her father—that I was. It suddenly became my concern.”
“So you didn’t care about Chandler preying on students until it was your own child,” Ozzy says.
My father shrugs. “I’ve never claimed to be a good person. I was focused on my own life—my own desires and pleasure. My career. We all were. It was how we were raised, how we evolved. We’re champions—the world was ours to conquer. Sex. Power. Money. It was ours for the taking. I did it my way and they did it theirs, but learning about Rose adjusted my perspective.” He glances at Kenley. “Having a daughter changes things.”
Kenley’s face is pale, and I feel…just very confused.
“If you tried to help her,” Kenley asks, “then why is she gone? Why did Monica get a chance to hurt her?”
“Rose was determined to push boundaries,” he laughs darkly, “she probably inherited that trait from me. She was caught up with Chandler and already experimenting with the SugarBabies dating app before I had a chance to intervene. Jason didn’t have enough money to give her the life she wanted. Regina went to Brice and told him about the dating app. He became furious—not for her safety—at the risk to his political future. That’s when I created the profile.”
“You’re BD,” Kenley whispers.
“Yes,” he looks between us, “and no.”
“How can you be both?” I ask, unsurprised at him trying to get out of this.
“I made the account as a way to keep track of Rose. I followed her when she met other men. Dragged her out of bars—”
“The Dollhouse,” Kenley says, looking at me. “The waitress said she’d left with an older man—upsetting her date.”
He nods. “Things were escalating at home. With Finn—you two were falling apart—and she couldn’t keep up her double life. Jason couldn’t handle losing her. Monica became suspicious. Rose…she had information that could take all of them down. The hero coach. The up-and-coming politician. The whole thing was a powder keg, so, I set up the apartment and told her that it was hers if she needed a break. When she didn’t show up for the first day of school, then the bonfire, I called her. I thought maybe she finally took me up on it.” He looks at me. “That was my call you saw that night. She answered it and told me she was headed out of town. I told her to go to the apartment. Someone—Monica, I now know—showed up and she hung up on me. I never saw or heard from her again.”
“Why did you harass Kenley like that? The flowers—the gifts?” Finn asks.
“That wasn’t me.”
Ozzy scoffs. “You think we’re dumb enough to believe that?”
“I’m serious,” he says. “I shut down that account once she went missing. The last thing I needed was the police connecting that to me. The last thing I wanted was for the truth about this to come out—not just for my own reputation—but for Brice and the election.”
Even in this—they protect one another to the end.
“Well, it’s
still active. Or it was,” Kenley says. “I was communicating with someone and they were leaving me gifts. Personal things.”
“I hate to tell you, but it wasn’t me.”
“Then who?” Kenley looks at each of us. The fear I’d seen in her eye when she walked in tonight stopped me cold. Pushed me into confronting my dad. It’s still there and all I want to do is help her. “Who’s doing this?”
“I don’t know.” He looks at the photo. “You said there’s other things?”
“There were,” she says. “But tonight, when I looked for them, they were gone. Whoever it was completely covered their tracks, including the SugarBabies account.”
My father runs his hand through his hair, a tell that he’s uncomfortable. “This is why I pushed you two to stay away from one another. Neither Brice or Jason are people you want to fuck around with. They have no problem doing what they need to do to protect themselves and their lifestyles.”
“Including terrorizing a teenage girl?” Ozzy asks.
“Especially that.”
“You really think it’s one of them?” Finn asks, hands balled into tight fists.
“I have to assume.” He glances at Kenley. “You’ve poked a lot of hornet’s nests, and they have the most to lose.”
“Then why keep it going? Monica’s in jail—why continue to harass Kenley?” I ask.
“Because they want to dominate and control. They want to win, and as long as one person is still making problems, they’ll do what they need to in order to keep them quiet.”
“They’re scared of Kenley.”
My father nods. “Maybe more than they were scared of Rose.”
32
Kenley
“I can take care of this,” Mr. Baxter says, “but you have to leave it alone. Don’t say another word. Keep your mouths shut and stop poking around into Rose’s disappearance and anything that has to do with the SugarBabies site.”
The boys, Mr. Baxter, they all look at me, waiting for me to make the call.
Do we believe him?
Are his hands really clean(ish)?
Are these men just scared of me revealing their secrets?
But most of all, do we have any choice?
I sigh and wrap my arms around my body. “Fine. I’ll leave it alone.”
“Are you sure?” Ezra’s gaze shifts from me to his father. “You don’t need to be intimidated by him.”
“Rose is gone and we all know there’s no bringing her back. Monica is in jail—as she deserves.” Hot tears prick at the corner of my eyes. “I’m tired of worrying. Finn shouldn’t have to sleep in my room every night to keep an eye on me, and my parents don’t need the stress.”
Mr. Baxter nods. “It’s the smart move, Kenley. I don’t actually think they’d hurt you, these are scare tactics, but obviously we can’t make assumptions.”
He walks over and lifts his hand like he’s about to touch my shoulder. Ezra steps between us. Father and son stare at one another, until Ezra says, “Go fix this and leave us alone.”
“I’m sorry,” Mr. Baxter says to his son. “I know I’ve failed you in many ways—just like I failed Rose. I’m a shitty father—a terrible spouse. I’ll do what I can to make it up—starting with you and Kenley.”
He walks out of his office, leaving the four of us alone.
Finn slides his arm around my back and I lean into him. “That was…”
“Fucking crazy,” Ozzy says. Finn’s hair is sticking up in spikes from running his hands anxiously through it and Ezra? His jaw is still snapped tight.
I want to talk to him, to clear all this up, and I squeeze Finn’s side, prepared to ask for a minute with Ezra, but he speaks first.
“I’m sorry you had to witness the Baxter family dysfunction firsthand.” Ezra looks at me. “Especially you KK, although I shouldn’t be surprised. There was a reason I kept to myself the past few years—why I was deep in drugs and other shit. It was easier than dealing with all this.”
“It’s over now. The air’s cleared,” I say. “We can go back to normal.”
“If you think that’s all of the skeletons in my father’s closet, then you’re way more naïve than I thought.” He shakes his head and laughs bitterly. “Rose was my sister? I never saw that coming. Nothing is ever going back to normal, because there is no normal.”
My heart flips anxiously. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying that nothing between us has changed.” His eyes flick to Finn. “None of you need the Baxter baggage following you around.”
“Ez,” Ozzy starts, but he holds up his hand.
“Go. Have a merry fucking Christmas. I’ll make sure my dad follows up on his word.”
My stomach sinks as he walks out of the room.
“I don’t understand,” Finn says, looking as lost and confused as I feel. “Why can’t things go back the way they were?”
“I don’t know,” I say, “but I’m not ready to give up on him yet.”
There’s no real way of knowing if Coach Chandler and Brice Waller have stepped back—there was no way to connect them to the harassment in the first place—but the next few days pass without incident. I should feel better—but I miss Ezra. I want to resolve this rift between us. I want him back.
There isn’t time to dwell on it in the days leading up to Christmas. My mother doesn’t demand much from me, but as an only child, all her Christmas traditions are bundled up in me. There’s the annual picture with Santa, cookie baking, shopping, gift wrapping, and movie watching. It’s as though I’m required to shift back to an eight-year-old. I don’t mind it, but I’m not eight. I want to spend the holiday with the other people I love.
All three of them.
It’s not like they’re super available. Well, Finn and Ozzy, at least. They’re tied up in their own family traditions. Ozzy sends me pictures from his aunt’s house—hanging out with his cousins. I watch Finn struggle to unload the tree from his father’s truck, and his entire family heading out in tacky Christmas sweaters one night.
I’m full of cookies, hot chocolate, and stop-motion holiday movies when I see his bedroom light come on when they arrive back home. I channel my inner peeping tom, watching him tug off his snowman sweater, revealing his fit, sculpted torso. My stomach flutters and a tingling sensation ripples through me just watching him. He grabs a shirt off his desk chair and starts to put it on.
I pick up my phone.
K: Sure you want to do that?
He glances down at the phone on his bed.
F: Do what?
K: Put back on your shirt.
He looks up and squints through the dark. I lift my hand and wave. He grins and starts typing.
F: Are you watching me?
K: Maybe. I’d rather be touching you.
My cheeks burn the second I press send.
F: Is that an invitation?
K: Do you really need one?
F: Give me a minute.
My heart thunders—I’m still not used to flirting like this. For years, all I wanted was for Finn to pay attention to me. Now, I have his undivided attention and the full force of it scares and thrills me.
I unlock the window and go into my bathroom, quickly brushing my teeth and hair. I hear the soft thud of his feet as they hit the porch roof and I lock my door. It’s late and my parents are both in bed, but there’s no reason to take the risk. When I turn, Finn is carefully climbing over my desk. He gently lowers his feet to the ground but when he looks up at me, his grin vanishes.
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
“I thought we agreed on no shirt.”
He looks down at his football T-shirt he put on before jumping over. His eyebrow arches and a smug smirk tugs at his lips. “You show me yours and I’ll show you mine.”
I laugh at his cheekiness but drop my hands to the hem of my shirt. His actions mirror mine and in a quick motion, we both pull our shirts over our heads. His gaze drops to my chest, bare and exposed. Insecurity
washes over me and I lift my arms to cover myself, but he steps forward, an inch between us, and says, “Don’t even think about it. You’re beautiful.”
“You’re like, some chiseled Greek god. I’m just—”
“Beautiful,” he repeats again. He bends and kisses me, hips grazing mine; a move that reveals how excited he is—how twisted up I am. My fingers push at his waistband, brushing over the soft hair on his lower belly. He tugs at the sides of my shorts, pushing them to the floor, soon we’re standing in the middle of the room, naked, hard, and wet.
His fingers glide down my arm, over the side of my breast, sending a shiver down my back and pebbling my nipple. I lick my lip, and he kisses me again, the tip of his erection bobbing against my belly. Finn continues his descent; lips blazing over my belly, my hips, and the inside of both thighs. I tremble under his attention—feeling bolder by the moment.
Our bodies press together, and I love that he’s so tall, but hate that I’m so short. His hands reach behind me, under me, and he picks me up. I exhale, feeling his hard, warm stomach rubbing against my core.
He carries me over to the desk, pushing my notebooks and books aside. His hands palm my breasts and I run my fingers through his hair, spiking it up.
“Is this okay?” he asks, cock pushing at me.
“Anything is okay.” All I want is to be with him, feel him, consume him.
His fingers dip between my legs, toying with the wet slickness. His pupils pulse, and he licks his bottom lip. I never thought I’d be the kind of girl that would want sex so bad, to feel so ready, that a guy could make my body tremble from the simplest touch, but I am.
He kisses me, then darts across the room, pulling a condom from the drawer by my bed. He rolls it on walking back over, ready when he gets back to me.
I lift my hips and he enters me slowly, his green eyes open and watching me. His fingers roll my nipples and his teeth graze down my neck, biting and nipping down to my shoulder.
Our mouths meet, tongues warm and wet. I feel him deep inside, jaw clenching with every thrust. He moves with diligence—slow and intentionally quiet—the pens in the ceramic vase clinking together with the same rhythm as our bodies. I lift my foot to the wall and lean back, groaning as he sinks deeper. His eyes focus on my chest, on the way my tits rock as he claims me. I train my gaze on his body, on the hard muscles of his abs, the way the V carves into his flesh, the way he feels as he plunges into me. His thumbs press into my hips, holding me in place.
