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.She’d grown used to thinking of him as Griffin, her imaginary hero, protector, avenger.But it wasn’t Griffin who’d broken down.It wasn’t Griffin who wanted to end things with King right now; it wasn’t Griffin headed over here.It was Jesse.Scared, desperate, and armed.And her dad equally armed.A buzzing filled her head.Her breath caught as possibilities collided.Her dad was trained to deal with emotionally distraught people—but if Jesse lost control here, in his own home, with his daughter present? Would he react as a police officer or a father?Memories flooded over her: the thud of fists striking flesh, men hauling her dad off the men who’d attacked her mom, cuffing his hands behind him, treating him like a criminal.His eyes blazing with rage.She stared at the apartment’s front door, turned, and looked at her father still in his uniform.Regret and fear throttled her.What the hell had she done?24I make it back to my truck, not even sure how I get there.I set my notebook with Miranda’s address on the dash.I think I know where I’m going, but I’m not one hundred percent certain.I could call her again, but I feel like I’ve let her down enough for one day already.I can find my way.Almost immediately I have to pull the truck over when my phone rings.Not Miranda’s.My real phone.The one my mom got me to “keep me safe.” The one no one ever calls.I grab it from the cup holder between the seats.“Hi, Mom.” She and Janey are in Pittsburgh for the day at the cystic fibrosis clinic.“Everything okay?”Wrong thing to say, I realize immediately.I glance at the clock, not quite one.I should be in biology, not answering my cell phone.Dumb, dumb, dumb.“Where the hell are you?” she asks.Her voice isn’t raised, not angry, more like bruised.“Mr.Walker called, said you never made it to school today.Said you were given detention yesterday and ran out of it.He’s talking suspension, Jesse.”“Suspension? For what?”“Said you knocked over a janitor.He’s calling it assault.”“I never—” Wait, actually, I might have.I vaguely remember a big yellow janitor’s bucket standing between me and the door, skidding into it as I ran to save Janey.Had there been a person there as well? “It was an accident, Mom.”“And today?”“I—I had to meet a friend.They’re in trouble and need my help.”“I want you home right now.”“Yes, ma’am.What about Mr.Walker?”“I told him you were running out because you were sick with that nasty stomach flu.Covered for you, said I’d forgot to call in this morning to let them know you were home still sick.Said I was too busy getting Janey ready for the trip to Children’s.”I hated that she lied for me.Hated even more how easily it came to her—I always thought Mom was the one person I could count on to always be honest.“You didn’t have to do that.”“Richey and I discussed it and decided it was best that we handle family problems here in the family.” Richey is what she calls her little brother, my uncle.He’s just as good at manipulating her as he is me.And she’s oblivious, as always.“I’m on my way home now, but I’m in Altoona.” The noise of a hospital intercom mixes with a monitor’s beeping in the background.“How’s Janey?”She blows out her breath in a sigh of frustration and worry.“Her pulmonary function tests are low and she’s got a fever.They’re keeping her here for IV antibiotics until they know what’s going on.We’re waiting on the X-rays now.”“Infection?” The nemesis of CF patients.All that thick gunk that collects in their airways and sinuses attracts germs.“She was fine yesterday.” God, had I missed something, too busy worrying about King? I hit the steering wheel with my fist, squinching my eyes tight.Janey had to be okay; she just had to be.“If it is, they’ve got it early.We’ll know for sure once they get the tests back.” Her voice is ragged, more than tired.“We won’t be home for a few days and quite frankly, I’m not sure what to do with you, Jesse.I thought I could trust you, but—”“You can.” How can I prove that to her without telling her the truth? “I’m headed home right now.”“All right.Call me as soon as you get there—from the landline so I know you’re really home.I’ll see what your uncle wants to do.”“Yes, ma’am.” I put the truck in gear and start driving.I call Miranda to let her know I can’t make it, but there’s no answer.I try three more times before I reach my uncle’s house.Why isn’t she picking up?• • •Her dad met Miranda’s gaze, then pivoted, hand dropping to his gun.He entered her room as if it was enemy territory.She pushed back against the wall, holding her breath.He emerged a moment later carrying her laptop.Now open.He didn’t even glance at her as he passed her and headed to the kitchen table.He set the laptop down, settled into a chair, and waited.Her mind spun with lies and excuses.How much to tell him? Nothing was her first instinct, remembering what had happened last time she’d told the truth about King.That day in court when she’d testified.It’d felt like ripping out her guts, and what had come of it? Her dad hitting those guys, her mom in tears, Miranda back in the hospital…She sidled into the kitchen and took the seat across from him, slouching until her chin was barely above the table.Eyes narrowed, she watched as he typed with two fingers, clicking the mouse keys, peering into her innermost life.Her real life.“What are the flowers for?” she asked, hoping a diversion might buy her time to come up with a plan.He looked up, startled, as if he’d forgotten the wine and roses.“We finally got an offer on the house back in Pittsburgh.Your mom can take more classes and I’ll be able to quit my job at the arena.”The job she’d practically shoved him into.The job she needed him to keep—for a few more days at least.Just until the car show tomorrow.“But you haven’t quit yet, right? You’ll be working there this weekend still?”His gaze snapped from the computer screen to her.Too sharp, not easily fooled.She’d grown so used to the soft, teddy bear of a dad, the man who’d taken such gentle care of her when she’d come home from the hospital last year, she’d forgotten about the tough, street-smart cop.“Why don’t you start at the beginning?” he suggested.“And I’d appreciate it if you told the truth.I think you owe me that, don’t you?”His glance around the shabby, tiny apartment cemented her guilt.They’d had a nice house in Pittsburgh.A nice life.Before she screwed up.She squinted at him, resenting that he’d chosen now to finally hold her accountable for her actions.Then she straightened, surprised as he lay his hand over hers.“The truth,” he urged.“It’s the only way I can help you, Ariel.”“Miranda,” she corrected automatically.He winced at the name.She sat up, tall, proud, and met his gaze dead-on.He frowned and gave a small nod.More a jerk of the chin in acknowledgment that he’d heard her than actual acceptance.“Okay.Miranda.Who is this man?”He turned the laptop so they could both see the screen.King’s face in full color hovered between them.Miranda examined her cuticles, found a ragged edge and picked at it.Every time she looked at King, he appeared so normal, dull, the kind of guy who’d hold the door open for a stranger and you’d look right past him, never see or notice him.Was that why he did what he did? Not just power…but attention?She couldn’t meet her father’s eyes.Stared instead across the open bar into the living room at the front door.Jesse would be here soon.Maybe it was for the best, telling her father now, before Jesse arrived [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]