“We’re fine, Mom.”
I wince at his sharp tone. I kinda feel bad for his mom. From the way he described her in the library earlier—the excuses she made to her wedding guests about her son’s whereabouts—he made her sound a bit crappy. But she seems decent. Yes, she was cold at first, but once she realized I was a friend of Chase’s, she instantly warmed up. She was so...eager for him to have a friend.
I give Mrs. Stanton a grateful smile and wave but keep following Chase. I’m startled when he bypasses the spiral staircase in the foyer and walks right past it. I thought he said we were going to his room.
Instead, we walk down the hallway, past the kitchen and a gorgeous sunroom that overlooks a massive property in the back. We turn, pass a laundry room and then reach a door that Chase quickly opens.
“Down here,” he says.
I follow him downstairs to what I deduce is the basement. His big shoulders are set in a tight, tense line, and his steps are brisk. Is he pissed off? I’m starting to think he is, and my pulse quickens. Maybe coming here was a bad idea.
The air becomes musty when we reach the bottom of the stairs. I expected a finished basement, those awesome ones that have game rooms and soft carpeting and maybe even a fireplace.
Instead, I find cinder-block walls and scuffed laminate floors. And it’s freezing down here. I shiver in my shorts and T-shirt as I follow Chase deeper into the huge space.
His bedroom is off to the left, down another corridor. When we walk in, I’m appalled. He has a bed and a desk and that’s it. Like, that’s it.
“This is your room?” I exclaim before I can stop myself. “There’s hardly any furniture.”
He glances over. “There’s a bed. What else do I need?”
“Does your stepdad make you sleep down here?” It’s like I stumbled into a bad fairy tale.
“That’s quite the imagination.” He rolls his eyes. “I picked it out. I like this place.”
Liar. He likes the open air and lots of space. He told me that first night that he’d rather sit out in the pouring rain than be inside. I stare at the barren white walls, then the stack of books on the desk. Does he just sit in this empty, lonely room every night and read? There’s no TV, no gaming systems. He has a phone, though. Maybe he plays games on that? All I know is that I expected Chase to be living it up in the land of luxury over at Mayor Stanton’s house, and instead he’s like Cinderella, banished to the basement where he probably has to scrub the floors.
When I shift my gaze from the desk to Chase, I find him scowling at me.
“What are you doing here?” he asks.
I gulp. “I...”
“Seriously,” he says flatly. “Why are you here, Katie?”
I blush. “Sorry about that. I just thought it would be better if she didn’t know who I was.”
He gives a quick nod. “I agree. But that doesn’t answer the question.”
I inhale deeply, ordering myself to be brave. “I came to apologize for what I did earlier. When Scarlett found us in the library, I mean.”
Chase shrugs. “No apology necessary. I didn’t care at the time and I don’t care now.”
He’s lying. He has to be. Because I know that if I spent my entire lunch period comforting someone, and then they turned around and shunned me, I’d be devastated.
“I’m sorry,” I repeat, firmer this time.
“Nothing to be sorry for.”
“Oh my God, Chase. Will you please accept my apology?” I growl. “I ran all the fucking way across fucking town to give this fucking apology.”
He bursts out laughing.
Then his mouth slams closed, and a startled silence crashes over the room. He looks like he can’t believe he laughed in my presence. Truthfully, I can’t believe he laughed in my presence.
I sink onto the edge of his bed and play with the sleeve of my T-shirt. “Why is it always so awkward between us?”
That gets me another laugh, this one more of an incredulous bark. “Why do you think?”
I sigh. “I know why, Chase. I just mean...the night we met, it wasn’t awkward at all.”
“We had sex,” he says bluntly. “That’s pretty awkward.”
“It wasn’t for us,” I argue. “But my friend Macy said her first time was the most embarrassing thing on the planet. And my other friend had weird, uncomfortable moments in bed with her boyfriend all the time.”
With me and Chase, it wasn’t like that at all, not even when he undressed me. I’d never been naked in front of a boy before. I should’ve been mortified. But I wasn’t. Yes, I was nervous. Yes, my heart was beating so fast I thought it would explode in my chest. But when Chase’s strong hands gripped my hips and his warm lips covered mine, discomfort was the last thing I was feeling.
“I don’t know why it wasn’t awkward that night, then,” he says, leaning against his desk. “But I can tell you why it is now. You shouldn’t be here, Beth.”
“Your mom didn’t seem to mind.”
“My mom is probably upstairs crying with joy that her ex-con son has a girlfriend.”
My gaze flies to his. “I’m not your girlfriend.”
“No shit. But she probably thinks you are. And perfect timing, too.” Sarcasm creeps into his tone. “At dinner last night, Mayor Brian warned me it might be tough to meet women because I’ve got a record.”
“He really said that?”
“Yeah. Mom pointed out that since I was sentenced as a minor, my record is sealed. But Brian said everyone knows who I am anyway, so it doesn’t matter if there’s an official record or not.” Chase’s eyes soften. “Mom got really upset by that. So, yeah, maybe it’s a good thing you stopped by, actually.”
I offer a dry smile. “Glad I could help.” I pause for a beat. “Your stepdad sounds like an ass.”
“He can be. Most of the time I don’t think he realizes he’s being an ass, though. He really thinks he’s being helpful.”
“Why’d your mom marry him?”
“Because he’s not an ass to her,” Chase says, and he sounds reluctant to admit it. “He treats her like a queen.” Even more reluctantly, he goes on. “Some of the nastier people in Darling think he just wanted a trophy wife, but he doesn’t treat her like one. He’s good to her.”
“But he’s not good to her son,” I accuse, waving my hand around the barren room.
“I told you, I picked this place. The mayor isn’t going to stash his stepson in the basement. Bad for the image.” Chase shrugs. “I’m not some tortured character in a bad soap opera. He treats me fine. Feeds me, clothes me, puts a roof over my head. That’s more than what my own father was willing to do. In exchange, I stay out of Brian’s way.”
If this is really Chase’s choice, his guilt runs deeper than I ever imagined. That he would imprison himself down here in the basement of this huge mansion isn’t normal, but I don’t think he’d listen to me if I told him that. “At least you have some privacy.” A wave of annoyance washes over me. “I got home from school to find this stupid note from my mother.” I mimic her higher-pitched voice. “We’re trusting you to stay inside.”
Rather than the laugh I was hoping for, Chase’s blue eyes darken.
“What?” I say defensively.
He gives another shrug.
“No, tell me. What?” I stand up and cross my arms. “You think I’m overreacting that my parents won’t let me step foot outside the house?”
Chase shakes his head, but I don’t think he’s shaking his head no. It’s more a gesture of disapproval.
“Ugh, would you please say something?” I demand.
“Nah.”
“Why the hell not?” I stomp toward him and poke him in the chest.
He doesn’t even flinch. “Because you’re not going to like what I have to say.”
“Try me,” I c
hallenge.
“Fine.” He snatches my index finger, gently twists my hand around and presses my own finger against my chest. “There you go, Beth. That’s your problem.”
“What do you mean?”
“You,” he says simply. “You’re the problem.”
My jaw drops. “Excuse me? I am not the problem!”
Chase lets go of my finger. “I told you, you wouldn’t like it.”
I fold my arms again. “I just don’t understand how you can possibly say I’m the problem in my house. There’s protective, there’s overprotective, and then there’s my parents,” I say angrily. “They took away my bedroom door!”
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why’d they remove your door? What happened before they did it?”
I hollow my cheeks in frustration. “I snuck out to that party in Lex Heights.”
Chase’s smug little shrug makes me glare at him.
“Are you saying I deserved to lose my door?”
“Nope.” He’s quiet for a moment before hopping up on the desk and resting his forearms on his thighs. “This kid in juvie, Darren, used to have this saying—you teach people how to treat you.”
Although I’m still irritated by his accusations, I find myself sitting back down to listen to him.
“There was this other guy—Russ, a punk-ass dealer who always antagonized the guards, talked back to them, caused trouble. He got knocked around on a daily basis, and he’d get punished for doing the same shit that other guys never even got a slap on the wrist for doing. And Russ would constantly bitch about it on the basketball court. So one day Darren got fed up of hearing it and told him to shut the fuck up. ‘You teach people how to treat you,’ Darren said. If you keep causing trouble and stirring up shit, then they’ll treat you like a troublemaker and shit disturber.”
My anger slowly ebbs, replaced with a rush of remorse when I understand what he’s getting at.
“If you act like a stupid, reckless kid, then your parents are gonna treat you like one,” Chase says bluntly. “End of story, Beth.”
He’s right. But... “I didn’t act like a stupid, reckless kid after Rachel died. Or the year after, or the year after that. It’s only these last few months that I’ve been doing dumb shit,” I admit. “They’ve just... They’ve gone too far. What they’re doing lately is beyond inappropriate. It’s insane.”
“Yeah? And has acting out shown them the light? Has it changed their behavior?”
“No,” I say reluctantly.
“Exactly, because you can’t control or change how your parents act. You can only control and change how you respond.”
“I can’t stand their overprotectiveness anymore, Chase. I just can’t.”
His face conveys zero sympathy. “Guess what, Beth, there’s tons of crap you’re not going to be able to stand in your life. Are you going to sneak out to parties and get drunk or do some crazy rebellious thing every time you find yourself in a crappy situation?”
I swallow.
“You want my advice?”
I want to say no, but several seconds tick by and I can’t get that one syllable out.
So he takes my silence as a yes and keeps talking. “Stop focusing on all the stuff you can’t do and start focusing on what you can do. Start thinking about something other than partying and having fun or whatever it is you’re thinking about.” His tone is gruff. “Because that’s not what being an adult is about.”
“What if I don’t want to be an adult?” I whisper.
“Nobody does, doll.”
Doll. Did he really just use an endearment? My cheeks feel hot all of a sudden. I hate this so much. I hate that I feel these stupid things for the one person I shouldn’t be feeling them for.
“I have to go,” I say abruptly, shooting to my feet.
“You’re pissed.”
I force myself to look at him. “I’m not,” I say honestly. “I... You...you’ve just given me a lot to think about, okay? Plus, I actually do need to go. I snuck out of the house to come see you, remember?”
He walks me back upstairs. Mrs. Stanton isn’t lurking behind a chair or potted plant, thank God. It’s a good thing, too, because when we reach the front door, Chase touches me.
All right, he touches my hair, which is part of me. Therefore, he touches me. His hand thrusts forward and his fingers tuck some loose strands behind my ear.
I freeze.
“Your ponytail’s a mess,” he says roughly. “You should retie it or you’ll have a bitch of a time running home.”
Somehow I manage to find my voice. “Yeah. I’ll fix it. Thanks.”
He takes a step back. “See you at school.”
“Um, sure. See you.”
I dart out the door as if my butt is on fire. My cheeks feel like they are. But my stomach feels like there’s an ocean current of queasiness down there.
You can’t like this guy, I plead with myself. You can’t. Rachel is gone because of him—
But as always, I push all thoughts of my sister out of my mind. I can’t think about Rachel. It’s too hard. It’s been this way since her funeral. Everyone tried to get me to talk about her. Everyone wanted to share all these stories about her and talk about how amazing she was. Me, I shut down.
I just...can’t. Talk about her, think about her, look at pictures of her. That’s probably why I feel like throwing up every time I see the pristine condition of her bedroom, because it forces me to remember.
So does Chase, but it’s easier to be around him than in the shrine that used to be Rachel’s room. It’s easier to think about the virginity I gave him than about what he took from me.
I’m breathing hard the entire run back home, and this time, I don’t think it’s because I’m out of shape. My throat feels tight. My stomach, my shoulders, my heart, they all feel tight. Plus, there’s a tremor of dread inside me. I’m terrified that I’ll come home and one of my parents will be there, and they’ll tell me they got home two hours ago and where was I for two hours and how could I be so irresponsible. And then they’ll find a new way to punish me.
I’m relieved to find the driveway empty. I race into the house and hurry upstairs to shower and change. Afterward, I wander down to the kitchen to grab a bite to eat—and that’s when I get an idea.
Teach people how to treat you.
Chase’s words buzz around in my mind. I don’t know if everything he said was right, but I can’t deny that I haven’t given my parents many reasons to have faith in me lately. First, I threw a tantrum after I found those college applications Mom took. I mean, I think I had every right to be angry, but I can concede that maybe screaming about my dead sister wasn’t the smartest thing to do.
Then I lied about my plans with Scarlett and went to a party in a sketchy neighborhood. Granted, I don’t think it’s right of them to read my text messages, but I had been lying to them a lot lately.
What I told Chase was the truth, though. I’ve been a good girl for years. I’ve followed their rules, I’ve worked hard at school, at the clinic. But these past three years, the walls just kept closing in on me more and more, the noose around my neck kept getting tighter and tighter, until finally I snapped. I know every person is responsible for their own actions, but my parents’ behavior absolutely drove me to do some of the things I’ve done.
But...Chase is right. Losing my temper and acting out isn’t helping me. It’s not helping me get my car or phone back, not helping me go back to the shelter, not helping me regain their trust.
I’m going to cook them dinner.
This brilliant idea hits me as I stand in front of the fridge. Fine, so it’s not the grandest gesture in the world, but it’s something. It’s a start. It shows that I’m willing to sit down and eat with them and be part of the family that I’ve been running away from all summ
er. And maybe if it goes well, if they appreciate my efforts, I might be able to convince them to let me go back to the animal shelter. Even once a month would be amazing.
Happy with myself, I start yanking ingredients out of the fridge and setting them on the cedar island. I figure I’ll make pasta, grilled chicken and salad. That’s easy enough and won’t take long to prepare. It’s seven, and they’ll both be home around eight. I’ll have dinner ready and on the table when they walk through the door. They’ll have to appreciate that, right?
I’m just placing a pot of water on the stove when I hear the front door open. My heart sinks. Dammit. They’re home early!
“Lizzie?” Mom calls.
“In the kitchen!”
Footsteps echo in the hallway. It sounds like more than one set.
“Is Dad with you?” I call back. “I was just making us some dinner.”
“You were?” Mom enters the kitchen and looks at the counter in happy surprise. “What a lovely treat!”
I turn back to the stove so she can’t see my smile of satisfaction.
“Your father’s just parking the car. He finished his delivery earlier than scheduled. But dinner will have to wait, I’m afraid. We have something to discuss first.”
I tamp down my uneasiness and turn around to face her again. That’s when I see a flash of movement from the doorway. A second later, someone else appears.
It’s a police officer.
18
Dad is right behind him. The three adults stand in the kitchen, all of them staring at me.
A bolt of terror pins my feet to the ground. Am I getting arrested for going to see Chase? Can disobeying your parents be a crime? I swing my head toward Mom, wondering if I can get some mercy from her corner.
Dad gestures me forward. “Lizzie, come meet Nick Malloy. Officer Malloy, this is my daughter Elizabeth.”
I still don’t move, but I manage a weak “Hi.”
Mom brushes by me. “Can I get you something to drink, Officer Malloy?”
“No, thank you, and it’s Nick, remember?”
I swear he winks at her. Okay, he wouldn’t be winking at her if he meant to throw me in the slammer. Right?