All of that would be well and good if I wasn’t excruciatingly aware of the fact that it’s been almost an entire day since I last laid eyes on Vin. I hate to admit to myself that I’ve been waiting for him, anticipating whatever awful thing he might do next. I half expect him to meet me on the steps of the school ready to deliver some new form of torture.
It worries me more that he has been missing in action.
As far as I can tell, he didn’t even show up for school today. I wonder if he’s embarrassed. When Jake came back into the Gas and Sip after Vin finally unlocked the door and shoved out past him, he told me that he definitely saw Vin kicking the shit out of his car like it had personally wronged him.
As if it actually mattered to him that I had said no.
I find myself searching the crowd in the nearly full hallways, looking for the face that rises above the rest by several inches and always has a scowl plastered across it. Each time that I don’t see him, I have to remind myself that his absence is a reprieve and not something to be worried about.
But I am worried, because Vin is dangerous when everything is going his way.
If he gets pissed off enough, all hell might break lose.
He can marry someone else, I remind myself. Someone like Sophia who would lap up all the shit he dishes out like it’s bacon-flavored. She has the ability to ignore her emotional pain in a way that makes her way more immune to Vin’s cruelty than I ever will be.
Pride cometh before the fall, and all that.
A sense of foreboding permeates my entire day, to the point that it’s impossible for me to focus during any of my classes. At one point, when I happen to meet the cold gaze of Iain Hewitt, I considered breaking my cone of silence. If just to see whether or not Vin then descends on me like some angry and vengeful god.
I manage that impulse, just barely.
It helps that Iain is just as scary as Vin, if in a completely different way. Vin rages hot like an exploding sun, but Iain is so cold that he seems practically reptilian.
With about the same level of humanity.
He was the sort of child who burned ants with a magnifying glass just to watch them fry. It’s as likely his mother gave birth to him as it is that she hatched him from an egg.
Speaking would also draw his attention, which is the last thing I want.
I move through my day in the same way I always do, completely silently and without any attention from a breathing person. But the entire time, I’m secretly waiting for the hammer to fall and Vin to show me what terrible fate awaits for rejecting him so completely.
It isn’t until I get home that I realize Vin has been playing an entirely different game.
The first thing I notice is the fleet of black F-150s lined up on the road with Cortland Construction painted on them in gold letters. I’ve seen them around town before, because the Cortland’s company handles pretty much every building or renovation project in the county. But they never do business in the Gulch.
Nothing ever gets built or renovated here.
I’m halfway down the block before I realize the gigantic trash bin they use for construction debris is parked in my front lawn. Disgusted, I step over the planks of wood laid out on the sidewalk and make my way to the front door. If Vin thinks that using my house as a dump is going to get under my skin, then he has no idea what it’s like to live in the Gulch.
That feeling of smug satisfaction lasts as long as it takes to open my front door.
Controlled chaos is the only word for it. Two workers with tool belts strapped around their waists are on the stairs, hammering down fresh pieces of wood to replace the steps that have been rotted and broken my entire life. Another one slips past me with an armful of tile, headed for the tiny bathroom that all three of us share.
What in the hell are they doing here?
A balding man with a paunchy midsection, dressed in a cheap button-down shirt and khaki pants approaches me with a clipboard in his hand. “Are you Zaya Milbourne?”
I nod more out of shock than anything else.
“You need to sign this work order and then initial there.” He thrusts the clipboard under my face. Obviously sensing my hesitation, he clears his throat. “Everything is already paid for, but without a signature from the homeowner, we can’t guarantee the work.”
I wave him away and the man just shrugs and walks off, like it doesn’t make a difference to him.
My house is being renovated.
Vin set this up, all of it.
It has to be just another form of manipulation, and I refuse to accept it. I tell the nearest workman to stop what he’s doing and take it all away, and he just ignores me. But as I hurry through the house, it quickly becomes clear this isn’t the sort of thing that can just be undone.
There is new flooring in the living room, and the last of the wallpaper has been scraped off so the walls could be painted a soft gray. In addition to the stairs being reinforced, workmen carry wooden timbers into the unfinished basement to reinforce the sagging floor. Grandpa’s sleeping chair has been replaced with a hospital bed that elevates nearly into a sitting position.
I wouldn’t believe it was possible to do all this in one day if I wasn’t seeing it for myself.
Zion strolls past with a sandwich dangling from his mouth and a bag of chips in his hand.
My mouth falls open before I can stop it. “Where did you get that food?”
He raises his eyebrows, speaking with his mouth still full.
