AUSTIN
He’s up to something.
Of course, he is. If Cole Reynolds is breathing, then he is up to no good. He doesn’t understand how well I can read him. Or that I’ve been fed bullshit lines all my life. I’m not the girl who believes in fairy tales and happily ever afters.
“Yes,” I say, playing along with his game.
His eyes narrow on me, but I ignore it. Instead, I go back to running conditioner through my hair. At this rate, the water is going to be cold soon.
“How long were you guys together?” he asks.
“Almost four years.” Not a total lie.
“You’re seventeen,” he argues as if I can’t do the math.
“Yes. Thanks for the reminder,” I say and turn around, giving him my back. I run the water over my face and tilt my head down to rinse out the conditioner. I could have stayed facing him but didn’t feel like it.
Once done, I turn back around, and he stands there staring at me. His impatience evident in his narrowed eyes and sharp jaw. “We got together my freshman year. He was a senior.”
“And?”
“And what?” I ask, not knowing what all he wants to know.
“What else?” he demands.
I place my hands on my hips and tilt my head. If he wants to know, then I’ll tell him. Because it’s just going to piss him off anyway. And I love to piss this guy off. “At the time, I was fourteen, and he was seventeen. He asked me out, and I said yes. We dated for a few weeks, then I gave it up.” His jaw sharpens. “After that, we were together. His uncle owned a tattoo and body piercing shop. After Martin graduated high school, he went to work with him.”
His eyes go to my side, and he demands, “He gave you that tattoo?”
“Yep.”
His eyes snap back up to mine, and I can see the rage behind them. He hates that another man marked me. Too bad. It’s not like I let Martin write his name across my ass. “And then I had to move here. End of story.”
“Do you still talk to him?” he asks, pressing.
I hate that the truth is no. That what I thought meant something was really nothing to Martin. He was there for me in a lot of ways. He never asked what went on in my house, but he knew. He kept me busy. Always wanted to hang out. He was a major pot head, and we spent most of our time high or drunk, but he still always made sure to come and get me to do things. He even taught me how to drive. He did the things that my mother and father should have shown me.
“Yes,” I lie, looking down at the drain. Because I’m not going to tell a man who wants to break me that a guy I thought I loved no longer speaks to me.
He grabs my chin and lifts my head to where I have to look up at him. “Delete the pictures, Austin. You’re mine now. Not his.” Then he lets go of me and steps out of the shower.
_______________
After the shower, I walk out to find Cole on his cell, already dressed in a fresh pair of jeans and a clean black t-shirt. I’m not sure where they came from because I never saw him with a bag last night. I dig through my overnight bag and put on a new pair of jean shorts and t-shirt that says CALI across it in red letters. After I throw on my tennis shoes, I dry my hair.
I didn’t bring any makeup or a straightener, so I throw my hair up in a messy bun once dry and call it good. This’ll have to do for lunch.
I’m coming down the stairs when I spot him sitting on the couch. He’s got his legs crossed at the ankles and his head down staring at his phone as he types away.
He looks up at me and stands. We haven’t spoken since he told me to delete those pictures and that I belonged to him now.
I really didn’t have much to say on that matter. He thinks he’s got me where he wants me. I’m not going to say otherwise.
He takes my bag from my hand and opens the door for me. I mumble a thank you and fall into the passenger seat while he places my bag in the trunk. I look around for Deke’s Range Rover but don’t see where Cole parked it last night. He must have already come and got it.
“Where is your phone?” he asks.
“Why?”
He blows out a long breath, hating when I don’t just answer his questions. “Because Celeste called me saying she’s been trying to get a hold of you. But it goes straight to voicemail.”
“It died last night while at the beach, and I forgot my charger.”
“I’ll plug it in,” he says, opening his center console to grab his charger. I see his gun and knife in there before he shuts it.
I remove it from my back pocket and hand it to him. “What did she want?” I ask after he plugs it in.
“She wanted to know if you were going to be home tonight.”
I nod my head. “Of course—”
“I told her no,” he interrupts me.
“What?” I demand.
“You’ll be with me.”
I laugh like he’s lost his mind. “And where will we be?”
He doesn’t answer, just like always, and I fall back into my seat, crossing my arms over my chest.
I hate that he brings out every emotion in me. I hate how I told him secrets about me to get him to open up, but it didn’t work. He didn’t tell me anything that I hadn’t already figured out about his friends dying. I stood there and told him things that no one else knows. And although he looked pissed, like he cared about what Phillip had done, he didn’t give me what I really wanted. His story. His hate. His secrets. It’s not fair.
Life isn’t fair, my mother always says. But it’s seemed pretty fucking fair to her if you ask me.
She fucked a man once and got knocked up. I was here nine months later. The only reason she had me was because she met a wealthy, good-looking man who only wanted a one-night stand. She saw me as her meal ticket. Even now that I’m living with him, my father still sends her monthly checks. But those will stop soon. I’ll be eighteen and graduated. I don’t know the law exactly, but I had a friend whose father stopped paying for her after she graduated high school last year.
Then what will my mother do? Will she beg me for money? Have me ask him? It won’t happen. I won’t get her a dime.
“Take it out on Me” by Thousand Foot Krutch starts to play through the speakers. I reach over and turn it up to try to drown out my own thoughts.
It doesn’t.
I look over at him, and his left hand is on the steering wheel while his right is on the shifter. He wears his normal mask that hides his true thoughts and feelings from the world, but I see it. I thought it was anger, but after our talk earlier, I realize it’s pain. He’s hurting. He just refuses to let anyone see it. To see the real him.
He reaches out and turns off the radio. We sit in silence, and I wonder what he’s thinking. If his mind is screaming as loud as mine is.
I look down at my hands knotted in my lap. “You know I would never tell anyone about what happened.” He has to know by now that, no matter what, he can trust me. He’s blackmailed me to keep my mouth shut, but I would never tell a soul that he wasn’t the one driving. He took that blame on his own for a reason, and I would never out him. No matter how much I disagree with it.
“Why did you take Jerrold’s laptop?” he asks, ignoring my statement.
My brows rise, surprised by that question. “You know why,” I say, not going back down that road. He doesn’t want to share, then I won’t either.