“I’ve got a… headache,” I mumble, hating that it’s one more lie between us.
I could tell her what happened. She’s not prudish about sex, and she had me when she was nineteen, so she has a pretty realistic view of what teenagers get up to. She’s the one who took me to get a prescription for the pill when I turned fifteen. So she wouldn’t judge me or make me feel like shit for having sex.
But even so, I can’t. I can’t bring myself to tell her what happened—because it wasn’t just sex. It was a mess of fucked up emotions that confuses and terrifies me. It’s a web of secrets and lies that spreads wider than I ever imagined.
I don’t want her to know I’ve gotten myself in way over my head.
“Oh, I’m sorry, sweetheart. Can I get you something? Did you take anything for it?” She continues to stroke the hair away from my face, her touch feather-light.
“I think I just need sleep,” I say, my throat constricting around the words. “Thanks, Mom.”
“Of course.” Her brows are still pulled together with concern, but she smiles down at me.
“How was coffee?”
“Oh.” Her smile shifts, lifting up higher on one side than the other, the way it does when she really thinks something is funny. “It was… good.”
I squint up at her. “That’s loaded.”
She chuckles. “No, it really was good. It was nice to see her. She’s doing great. She’s got a huge house on the other side of town, her husband is some kind of day trader, and they vacation in Belize two months out of the year.” Then she shrugs, tilting her head as she gazes down at me. “It all sounds great, but it just made me realize—I’m glad it’s her life, and not mine. Because I like mine just the way it is.”
Reaching up, I grab the hand that’s ghosting over my hair and squeeze it gently, bringing it to rest near my heart. “I love you, Mom.”
“Love you back, Low. Get some rest, okay? I’ll come check on you again in a bit.”
I nod, pressing back the tears that burn my eyes.
She probably does come check on me later, but I miss it. A short while after she leaves, I fall into a deep sleep, where I dream of agony and ecstasy, of love, betrayal, and murder.
I’m incredibly nervous to see Lincoln the next morning. So much so that I’m almost late meeting him downstairs. Only the fear of a repeat of the time he walked in on me naked forces my feet down the stairs at 7:25 a.m.
He’s waiting for me by the door, and his gaze scans my body almost like he’s checking for something. Hickeys? Bruises, maybe?
They’re there, but nowhere anyone can see them.
He doesn’t say a word as he turns and leads me through the house and out to the garage. Only when we’re in the car does he say in a voice that’s carefully neutral, “River came over last night. We’re working on a plan to get some kind of lead on who the man in the mask was. To figure out what the cops know.”
Yeah, I know River came over, Mr. King of Campus. He saw me naked from the waist down with a pile of ripped clothes in my arms. I’m surprised he didn’t mention it to you.
And I really don’t think he did. If River had told Lincoln what he saw, I’m almost positive I’d know it.
“Okay.”
It’s all I say. I can’t muster up the energy to feel either interested or angry about whatever new plan Lincoln and his friends are cooking up. If there was an emergency stop lever on this runaway train I find myself on, I would’ve pulled it a long time ago.
But I don’t think there is.
He must hear some of what I’m feeling in my voice, because his gaze flicks to me. “We’ll see if we can figure out who knocked Iris up.”
The clear implication is that he wants me to know it wasn’t him. And grudgingly, almost against my will, I do believe that. I still hate that he kept their past hookups from me, but I don’t doubt the truth of what he told me when we were screaming at each other in the foyer yesterday.
Whatever plan Lincoln and River cooked up though, they don’t make any moves on it for the next several days. All they do is increase their watch on me, and I’m about ready to scream at all of them that hovering over me all the time isn’t helping anything.
Not Iris. Not me.
Nobody fucking needs this.
And to be honest, it bugs the fuck out of me that after everything that’s happened between us, they still don’t trust me. They still feel the need to watch me like I’m going to rat them out to the police any second.
Maybe that’s what prompts me to sneak out of the house on Friday night. I just want them to realize they don’t get to have the last word on where I go or what I do. Plus, my stress level has been through the roof lately, and nothing relaxes me quite like playing poker.
As we left Biology, I poked Max about when the next game was, and he grudgingly admitted there’s one tonight. I couldn’t help glancing over my shoulder as we spoke, half-expecting one of the guys to be there eavesdropping, but all I saw was a gaggle of cheerleaders. And they don’t give a shit about poker.
I haven’t snuck out in a while, and not once since Iris’s death, so I’m hoping it won’t even occur to Lincoln that I would try. At eleven o’clock, I open and close my door carefully before tiptoeing to the service entrance and down the stairs. In the detached garage, I climb inside Mom’s car and take a deep breath. This is the part I’m worried about. Her
