by S. Massery
She blinks up at me, squinting. “What are you doing?”
“Searching for you.” My lips touch the corner of her mouth.
She lets out a little breath but doesn’t move.
I move to her jaw, peppering kisses down the column of her throat. She’s immobile, letting me do whatever I want.
Until my teeth graze her skin, followed by my tongue. She tastes sweet.
I bite harder than I should.
Wake up.
She pushes against my chest. I soothe the tender spot with my tongue, and her pushing becomes pulling. Her hands fist in my shirt, dragging me closer.
I pull away from her neck, going for her lips. She’s ready, arching up. Her hands slip under the hem of my shirt, sliding—
“Are they still listening?” she whispers.
Shit.
I rip the tape off and lean down, until I’m almost touching the microphone. “I’m unplugging this so you can’t hear me kiss my girl.”
She huffs.
A small smile flickers across her face when I yank the mic apart and stuff it into my pocket.
“Better?” I wink.
I lift her hand. Her knuckles are bruised, and she winces when I prod it.
“Where’d you go?”
She looks away. “All of this could’ve been avoided if I had just remembered…”
“Or if I had paid closer attention.” I place my finger under her chin and turn her head back toward me. “We can’t blame ourselves for our parents’ actions.”
She shudders. “How do you stop blaming yourself? I feel physically nauseous.”
I consider her question. A lot of it is my fault—she didn’t realize anything was so vitally impaired until I brought it to her attention. A worm of guilt cuts through me, but I push it away.
“What would your therapist say?”
She makes a face. “She’d probably say some bullshit about forgiveness.”
“I forgive you,” I say automatically. “Do you forgive me?”
“I didn’t hold it against y—”
“Do you forgive me?” I ask again, slower. Darker. I run my finger along the top edge of her jeans, grazing her stomach.
She responds well to my darkness. It makes me think that maybe I succeeded in my mission to make our edges align.
“I do.”
I smirk, dragging my finger lower. I dip into her jeans, past the hem of her panties.
“See what it feels like?” I ask.
She bites her lip, staring at me. She puts her weight on the railing and lets her legs fall open.
Fuck me.
A door above us bangs open, and she leaps up, smacking her forehead.
“Ow.”
I chuckle, grabbing her hand and tugging her down the stairs. “You forget you were in a fight earlier today?”
“Easy to forget,” she mumbles. She trips over her feet, nearly bringing both of us down.
“That’s it.” I scoop her into my arms and push through the door onto whatever the hell floor we made it to. I hit the button for the elevator with my elbow.
“Kiss me,” she says.
I inspect her face. She seems better. But maybe I should just check…
She grins, reading my mind, and pulls my face toward hers. And the rest, as they say, is history.
39
Margo
The last two days have been a whirlwind. I’ve been kept at home with the Jenkinses, and Caleb hasn’t left my side.
Claire is going to juvie.
Masters and Carver worked together and found a property in Aunt Iris’s name. It was a condo in an older part of Brooklyn. Inside, they found my mother. She was surrounded by her past. A near-identical replica to the house I grew up in.
She admitted to conspiring with Lydia, who first got her addicted to drugs and then used that power against her. Drugs were the reason she cheated on Dad, and the reason Lydia then felt a responsibility toward her.
This is all second-hand information from Detective Masters, who called me down to deliver my statement and sign it.
There’s a certain sense of shame that comes with finding that out. Knowing Lydia was desperate to avenge the daughter she was forced to give up…
I set the pen down and meet the detective’s gaze. “So, what now?”
“Our team is serving warrants as we speak. I expect an arrest to happen any day now.”
I swallow. Good.
“And my dad? Tobias admitted to killing Benjamin Asher.”
That’s another thing. The Jenkinses know, unequivocally, that my dad is innocent. It wasn’t just me saying it anymore—it was the police admitting it. The state. The county.
The district attorney, even.
While I wanted a family to want me… I think I’m getting something a little different.
“The judge has set a hearing for tomorrow,” Masters says gently. “Is there anything else you want to talk about?”
I lean back in my chair. “Actually, yes. You were never able to pin anything on Matt Bonner, right?”
He leans forward in his chair. “Claire was his alibi, as I’m sure you’re aware by now. It means we’re going to reopen an investigation into him.”
“I have some evidence that may prove useful.” I pull out the mermaid figurine I had stolen from his house. It feels like weeks ago.
I place the cord that connects to his computer next to it.
“This disguised a camera that was planted in my room. I found it in his house. There are encrypted files on his hard drive, but I also emailed them to myself.” I tap it on the table. Her little tail makes a satisfying ticking noise. “You can check my email, see where it originated. Right?”
He motions for me to hand it to him, and I do. After inspecting it, he sets it carefully on the table. “I’m not going to ask why you were in his house or how you emailed yourself those files.”
I grimace. “Yeah, better not. I definitely didn’t break in and re-break his nose…”
“And if he comes in saying you did?”
“Self-defense?”
He opens the door for me. “I’d have to believe it. Oh, your mother is going into a rehabilitation facility in lieu of serving time. Her drug test came back positive for opiates.”
I shake my head.
Part of me wants to hate her for what she did.
An officer is escorting Lydia into the building as we come out of a side hall. I stop short, backing into the detective.
She doesn’t so much as look in my direction. I doubt she sees me, because she’s arguing with the officer. She’s handcuffed—another thing I never thought I’d see.
“Lydia,” someone calls.
I jerk to my left, where Mom has emerged from another interview room.
Mom’s gaze stays on Lydia, who scowls at her former friend. And then…
My mother’s attention skips to me, drawn like magnets.
“Do you want to speak with her?” Masters asks.
I sigh. “Yes and no.”
She heads in our direction, trailed by another officer. She seems weak, but better than any of the times she’s showed up outside my foster homes asking for money. And she seems more relaxed than she did in the middle of the diner.
She stops just out of my reach. “I’m so sorry, honey.”
“You put yourself over literally everything else.” I shrug, looking away. “I’ve had seven years to cope with you being a shitty mother.”
She winces, then recovers. “I’m willing to try and make things right. I’m going to get clean, and—”
“And nothing.” I shake my head. “I have a foster mom who loves me. I don’t need…” Whatever this is. You.
I glance at Detective Masters, then make a beeline for the exit. I know who’s waiting for me on the other side, and it spurs my movements faster.
Past the officer at the reception desk, down the hall. Out the doors into the sunshine. I pause for a fraction of a second as warmth sinks into my ski
n.
And then I smile at my foster parents and run into their arms.
“All set?” Robert asks into my hair.
“Yeah.”
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I grin.
“What’s that smile for?” Lenora asks.
“I just… don’t feel any dread when my phone goes off.” I didn’t realize it until just this moment, but it’s true: Claire is gone. A weight has lifted.
Caleb: Can I come over?
I relay the question to my foster parents, and they nod.
Me: Is that even a question?
Robert frowns. “I feel like an awful parent for not realizing what you were going through.”
We walk slowly toward the car.
“I hid it well,” I admit. “And you’ve only known me for a few months. I got a text from Claire—Unknown, as I referred to her—the night before I went back to school.”
Lenora loops her arm with mine. “Didn’t Angela say she needed your number?”
I pause and tilt my head. “She did… But I think that was just something Claire said to cover her tracks. My number didn’t change between homes. Claire might’ve had it memorized or written down.”
“How do you feel?” Robert asks.
“I don’t know.” It’s the only answer I can give. I suck my lower lip into my mouth, biting down hard. Sometimes I feel myself slipping back into the darkness that wanted to hurt people: Matt, Claire. I didn’t use the knife Liam gave me, but… I punched them. I held a gun to Claire’s chest and seriously contemplated pulling the trigger.
Who am I?
In the car, heading home, I contemplate the situation at hand. My whole body trembles with the words bouncing around in my head.
Just say it, Margo.
“You guys can’t go through with the adoption,” I blurt out.
Lenora, at the wheel, snaps her eyes to the rearview mirror to see my face.
Robert nods, looking back at me. “Because your dad is innocent?”
I lift one shoulder. There’s a lump in my throat. “Because even if he wasn’t, I still wouldn’t have been able to give that up. I love you both…”
Robert reaches back, snagging my hand. “We love you, too. Adoption just makes things official. And, truth be told, we talked about this last night. You’re welcome in our house for as long as you want. And when your father gets out of prison, we’ll do what we can to help him, too.”
The burning in my eyes gets worse. “Really?”
“Yes,” Lenora says firmly. “No question.”
“Wow. How’d I get so lucky?”
Robert grins. “All it takes is a spark of luck to connect the right people.”
“Or the wrong ones,” I say.
He nods. “That, too.”
The rest of the trip passes quickly. My mind jumps from what’s going to happen to David and Lydia, to my mother’s words, to Dad in prison. He’s going to get out and have to start over, but he’s not alone.
Caleb’s car is idling out front when we arrive home.
I grin, meeting him on the walkway. The grass is covered in two feet of snow we got in a sudden snowstorm, and Caleb… I scan him as he comes closer. It’s no wonder he gets all the girls fawning over him. With his black beanie, black jacket, and black jeans—he could be a fashion model or a bank robber.
“Hi,” he says, leaning down and pressing a kiss to my lips.
“Hi.”
He said that he’s in love with me. I think about it often: the way his eyes widened a moment before he said it, like it was an unstoppable force.
“What are you thinking about?” he asks, pushing a strand of hair behind my ear.
“You.” My cheeks get hot.
And maybe I misspoke earlier. He hasn’t been by my side the entire time. Today, for example, he left a few hours before we went to the station. He had a meeting, but he wouldn’t say what it was.
“I have a surprise for you,” he says. “And I’m pretty sure you’re going to be pissed.”
I snort, then burst out laughing.
“You’re happy.” He smiles, too.
“Everyone is getting justice.”
“Except Hanna. She’s…”
The smile slides off my face faster than I can blink.
Shit. How could I forget about her? She slipped through the cracks. Her one advocate—her sister—is a psycho. But me?
“I’m an awful person,” I mumble.
“Not… quite.”
He motions behind him, and the back door of his car swings open.
Out emerges Hanna.
I squint at her. “What are you doing here?”
She runs toward me, locking her arms around my waist. Even if I’m horrible, she’s happy to see me.
I let out a breath and hug her back. She’s not wearing a coat. Was she the neglected child in the Asher house once Claire started playing her games? Was she excluded?
Or maybe worse: she was included.
“Iris is the only one left,” she says, looking up at me. “We’ve been eating pizza and watching funny movies every night. She said the only way to get over what happened is to move on.”
I nod slowly. “She lost her husband and you…”
Her face drops. “Claire was mean to you.”
“She did some bad things.” I cup her cheek. “But I’m happy to see you. And I’m sorry how I last spoke to you.”
“It’s okay,” she says. “I get it. Claire took Caleb.”
Lenora sticks her head out. “Ah, Hanna! Want to come join us inside?”
Hanna glances at Caleb, who nods.
Once she’s gone, Caleb meets my gaze. “I told Aunt Iris I just wanted to get her some fresh air.”
“She really didn’t have anything to do with it? Your aunt, I mean?”
He shrugs. “She’s denying it, and no one’s implicated her. She’s nice enough. Probably only stuck around the marriage for Uncle David’s money, though.”
I nod. “Is that the surprise I’m not going to like?”
“No.” A mischievous expression comes over him. “That was the balm before I tell you that I got us an apartment in the city.”
My mouth drops open. “Why would you do that?”
“Because we’re both going to school. You’re going to apply to NYU and get in. And I already applied early decision to Columbia.”
I look up at the house I’ve been calling home for the past few months. “So, what, we’re going to finish high school and just… pack up and leave?”
“It’s only an hour away,” he says in a low voice. “Leaving doesn’t mean forever.”
“You said you were in love with me.”
He watches me. “I did.”
“You haven’t said it since,” I point out.
He wraps his hands around my waist, yanking me closer. One hand slides up my back, into my hair. It’s loose today, cascading in waves over my shoulders. Slowly, he lowers his mouth to mine, stealing a quick kiss before his lips move to my ear. His tongue flicks out, and I shudder.
“I’m so in love with you, Margo Wolfe. The person you were and the person you’ve become. You’re the only one I want for the rest of my life.”
I can’t stop the sudden tremble running through me.
I turn my head, catching his lips and leaning into it. This kiss is slow and hungry. It’s soul-demolishing. His tongue slides against mine, eliciting a groan from deep inside me.
When we break away, we’re both breathing heavy. I tip forward, resting my forehead against his.
“I’ve been in love with you forever,” I whisper. “And I’m so totally in love with you right now, I might just float away.”
“Forever,” he repeats.
I laugh and wave my wrist. The bracelet shines in the sunlight. “It was my idea to get married.”
His eyes darken. “When we get married for real, you’re getting something better than a braided bracelet.”
“When, huh?”
&nbs
p; He pulls me closer, then guides me toward the front door.
“Yes, when,” he says. “There’s no escaping us.”
I rest my head on his shoulder. “I can live with that.”
Five Months Later
CALEB
I unlock the door and stride inside. The apartment has been furnished to my specifications, but it looks better than expected. I run my finger along the kitchen island, which is the only thing separating the kitchen from the rest of the open space.
It’s small, but it’ll do.
Keith Wolfe walks in, eyeing me like I’m crazy.
“This is mine?” he asks.
“Free and clear.” I bought this small apartment complex back in January and spent the next month bringing it up to code—and fashion. Well, my contractor spent the next month renovating it. Margo picked wall colors and flooring, but she didn’t know the half of it.
There are six apartments in this building, tucked in a cozy neighborhood in Brooklyn. It’s two blocks from the other building I bought.
Real estate mogul at eighteen. Who would’ve thought I’d end up following in my dad’s footsteps after all?
Josh helped me. Once David was arrested, my inheritance was given to me without restrictions. Still, seventeen was a bit young to be buying property. I waited until April rolled around, eyeing the market, and then made my move.
Two properties.
Ten apartments between the two of them, and eight are already filled with tenants.
The least I can do is give one to Margo’s dad.
He got a job in the city and has been commuting from Rose Hill. He joins Margo, Robert, and Lenora for dinner every Friday night. On Wednesdays, Margo goes to his Rose Hill apartment, occasionally accompanied by me.
But we’re moving to the city as soon as we graduate Emery-Rose.
“Does Margo know?” He’s at the window, staring out at the street.
“Not yet.”
He runs his hand through his hair. It’s gotten longer since his time in prison. When I look at him, I feel guilt.
Guilt that I harbored all this unnecessary anger, that I wasted years of my life festering in it. But if I hadn’t, I might’ve moved on from them. From Margo.
