Long Way Home
Page 73
“Cyrus told me it would be safer for you if you never knew about the Riot’s visit and I agreed. I thought I could take advantage of what Cyrus was offering me. Free babysitting while I worked nights. I thought you’d be asleep most of the time and they wouldn’t have much of an influence on you, but I was wrong. If I could go back and change things, I would have left Snowflake the day James died and never looked back. I should have raised you on my own. It would have been hard, but at least you would have been safe.”
I lean forward, kiss her forehead and hug her. So much she’s given up for me. So much she’s done in the name of love. Mom’s right. It’s time I start making choices and owning up to the ones I’ve already made.
One of those promises being the one I made to Violet years ago and reconfirmed in that basement and again last night. I promised to love her, I promised to protect her, I promised to be her best friend. It’s officially time to man up.
Violet
MY CEILING FAN goes round and round. Sometimes I make myself dizzy as I try to follow one blade, sometimes I squint my eyes and the blades blend together. Numb. I’m trying for numb and I’m on the verge of failing. There’s this black ball in my chest clawing to get out, and if I let it out, I’m afraid I’ll never be able to contain it.
A buzz and my head jerks up from the pillow. I roll over to grab my cell off the nightstand. There are no messages and the buzzing continues. Takes my slow mind a moment to catch up, but then my heart takes off at a gallop. I spring out of bed, tripping over my own feet as my knee gives, and hit the floor with a thud.
I reach between my mattress and box spring and pull out the burner phone. “Hello.”
“Yes or no answers only,” Detective Jake Barlow says, “in case they’re listening.”
“Okay.” Even though that’s not a yes or a no.
“Did you find the account numbers?” This guy doesn’t sleep, doesn’t eat, doesn’t understand anything beyond nailing the Riot. He probably doesn’t understand heartbreak either.
I take a deep breath and give him the truth. “Yes.”
“Bank account for the Riot?”
“Yes.” In the computer. The password wasn’t easy to figure out and I almost didn’t think I was going to crack it, but I did. It was something Dad taught me a long time ago when I couldn’t think of passwords I could remember. To take the middle names of people you love the most and spell them backward.
“Account numbers for security company clients?”
“Yes.” Also in the computer. I wasn’t lying to Chevy. I was looking in those files so I could see pictures of Dad. I had already found what I needed at that point.
“Did the Riot tell you how to get ahold of them once you had the information?”
I huff out enough air that my longer bangs move. “No.”
“Figures. We know they’re watching you. They’ll contact you soon, and when they do, you need to contact me so we can set it all up.”
The muscles in my back tense. Setting it all up means being alone with the Riot again. No pressure.
The whine of a knob turning, a creak of someone placing pressure on the floor. “Someone’s up. I’ve got to go.”
Without waiting to hear his response, I hang up, and shove the burner phone back between my mattress and box spring. Hands on the floor, a shove and blinding pain shoots through my knee. My butt hits the floor again hard. I slam my open palms against the carpet with enough force that my skin stings.
Stupid knee, stupid Riot, and stupid Chevy for once again breaking my heart.
A flick of the hallway light and my room feels darker than it was before. I blink rapidly and my stomach flips with the memory of being blinded weeks ago. I breathe out as my lungs tighten with the shadow in the doorway.
It’s Mom. I repeat the mantra in my head over and over again. The Riot wouldn’t be so short, wouldn’t be so slim, wouldn’t be wearing a silky robe and holding on to the door frame with one hand as though if she didn’t she’d collapse.
“Violet,” Mom whispers as if only I could hear and someone who broke in couldn’t. “Are you okay? I heard a sound.”
I sigh. No, I’m not okay. “I fell out of bed. Bad dream.” That I never wake up from.
“I thought I heard Chevy and Eli.”
Another sigh that leaves my lungs empty. She heard them, which means she’s aware Chevy was in my room, aware he left, just aware. My thoughts return to the family who were in line ahead of me and Brandon the night of the kidnapping. Wonder if that girl’s family is all safely tucked in bed. Bet her father would be yell-out-loud mad if a boy was in her room late at night. Bet her mother would be afraid for her daughter’s soul. I wonder what it’s like to have a normal family. Wonder what it’s like to be blessedly normal.
“They left.” Bet her mother and father would have already entered the room, touched their daughter and helped her back in bed. Not my mom, though. At least not with me.
Summoning my last bit of strength, I push off the carpet, use the lamp stand as leverage and haul myself off the floor. Mom shuffles forward like she might help, but hesitates just a foot short of me. In her typical way, she wrings her hands as she watches me hobble to and then collapse on the bed.
“Why do you have to make things so complicated between you and Chevy?” Mom asks, and she moves to stand at the end of the bed.
She’s no longer a shadow, but the aging beauty queen with her hair up in a bun. “A boy like that will take care of you. He’ll work hard, protect you, and you’ll never have to worry or want for a thing. But if you keep insisting on fighting him all the time, he’ll get tired of pursuing you. Boys like girls who play hard to get, but they don’t like it when you take it too far.”
I lean forward, kiss her forehead and hug her. So much she’s given up for me. So much she’s done in the name of love. Mom’s right. It’s time I start making choices and owning up to the ones I’ve already made.
One of those promises being the one I made to Violet years ago and reconfirmed in that basement and again last night. I promised to love her, I promised to protect her, I promised to be her best friend. It’s officially time to man up.
Violet
MY CEILING FAN goes round and round. Sometimes I make myself dizzy as I try to follow one blade, sometimes I squint my eyes and the blades blend together. Numb. I’m trying for numb and I’m on the verge of failing. There’s this black ball in my chest clawing to get out, and if I let it out, I’m afraid I’ll never be able to contain it.
A buzz and my head jerks up from the pillow. I roll over to grab my cell off the nightstand. There are no messages and the buzzing continues. Takes my slow mind a moment to catch up, but then my heart takes off at a gallop. I spring out of bed, tripping over my own feet as my knee gives, and hit the floor with a thud.
I reach between my mattress and box spring and pull out the burner phone. “Hello.”
“Yes or no answers only,” Detective Jake Barlow says, “in case they’re listening.”
“Okay.” Even though that’s not a yes or a no.
“Did you find the account numbers?” This guy doesn’t sleep, doesn’t eat, doesn’t understand anything beyond nailing the Riot. He probably doesn’t understand heartbreak either.
I take a deep breath and give him the truth. “Yes.”
“Bank account for the Riot?”
“Yes.” In the computer. The password wasn’t easy to figure out and I almost didn’t think I was going to crack it, but I did. It was something Dad taught me a long time ago when I couldn’t think of passwords I could remember. To take the middle names of people you love the most and spell them backward.
“Account numbers for security company clients?”
“Yes.” Also in the computer. I wasn’t lying to Chevy. I was looking in those files so I could see pictures of Dad. I had already found what I needed at that point.
“Did the Riot tell you how to get ahold of them once you had the information?”
I huff out enough air that my longer bangs move. “No.”
“Figures. We know they’re watching you. They’ll contact you soon, and when they do, you need to contact me so we can set it all up.”
The muscles in my back tense. Setting it all up means being alone with the Riot again. No pressure.
The whine of a knob turning, a creak of someone placing pressure on the floor. “Someone’s up. I’ve got to go.”
Without waiting to hear his response, I hang up, and shove the burner phone back between my mattress and box spring. Hands on the floor, a shove and blinding pain shoots through my knee. My butt hits the floor again hard. I slam my open palms against the carpet with enough force that my skin stings.
Stupid knee, stupid Riot, and stupid Chevy for once again breaking my heart.
A flick of the hallway light and my room feels darker than it was before. I blink rapidly and my stomach flips with the memory of being blinded weeks ago. I breathe out as my lungs tighten with the shadow in the doorway.
It’s Mom. I repeat the mantra in my head over and over again. The Riot wouldn’t be so short, wouldn’t be so slim, wouldn’t be wearing a silky robe and holding on to the door frame with one hand as though if she didn’t she’d collapse.
“Violet,” Mom whispers as if only I could hear and someone who broke in couldn’t. “Are you okay? I heard a sound.”
I sigh. No, I’m not okay. “I fell out of bed. Bad dream.” That I never wake up from.
“I thought I heard Chevy and Eli.”
Another sigh that leaves my lungs empty. She heard them, which means she’s aware Chevy was in my room, aware he left, just aware. My thoughts return to the family who were in line ahead of me and Brandon the night of the kidnapping. Wonder if that girl’s family is all safely tucked in bed. Bet her father would be yell-out-loud mad if a boy was in her room late at night. Bet her mother would be afraid for her daughter’s soul. I wonder what it’s like to have a normal family. Wonder what it’s like to be blessedly normal.
“They left.” Bet her mother and father would have already entered the room, touched their daughter and helped her back in bed. Not my mom, though. At least not with me.
Summoning my last bit of strength, I push off the carpet, use the lamp stand as leverage and haul myself off the floor. Mom shuffles forward like she might help, but hesitates just a foot short of me. In her typical way, she wrings her hands as she watches me hobble to and then collapse on the bed.
“Why do you have to make things so complicated between you and Chevy?” Mom asks, and she moves to stand at the end of the bed.
She’s no longer a shadow, but the aging beauty queen with her hair up in a bun. “A boy like that will take care of you. He’ll work hard, protect you, and you’ll never have to worry or want for a thing. But if you keep insisting on fighting him all the time, he’ll get tired of pursuing you. Boys like girls who play hard to get, but they don’t like it when you take it too far.”
