But Bit Rate wouldn’t send it to me if he wasn’t concerned.
Still, it’s none of my business. Whatever Stella did in the past is in the past.
My thoughts ping pong back and forth, and I stay in the shower until the water runs cold wondering what to do.
By the time I get out of the bathroom, I’ve decided to speak to Stella first. To give her the opportunity to tell me if there’s something she needs to tell me. I step out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around me.
Stella’s not in bed where I left her.
“Stella…”
I spin around the room slowly. Her clothes are gone, her purse is gone. There’s no sign of Stella.
She’s run away again.
I knew something was off with her this morning when she was so quiet. I shouldn’t have left her on her own.
I sink onto the bed and pull up my email app. The message from Bit Rate is at the top. With trembling fingers, I hit open.
It’s a report from the California corrections department.A criminal register for Stella Lipton. My blood goes cold. Stella’s got a criminal record.
I scan the email, and my fists clench when I get to the felony.
Possession of drugs with intent to distribute.
The air explodes out of my lungs, and I can’t breathe.
Stella’s a convicted drug dealer.
18
STELLA
Ihold the breakfast sandwiches in one hand as I dig in my pocket for the room key. After a restless night thinking about Will’s sister, I can’t put it off any longer. I have to come clean to Will. If he doesn’t want to be with me after I tell him about my past, then I understand, but he deserves to know the truth.
My heart’s hammering in my chest as I push open the door.
“I got us breakfast.” I hold up the paper bags. It’s a small peace offering before I tell him. Besides, my baby wouldn’t let me go another minute without breakfast.
Will’s sitting on the bed wrapped in a towel and holding his phone. His face is pale, and when he looks up his mouth is set in a grim line. It’s as if I’m looking at a stranger.
He knows.
The air goes out of my lungs, and I drop the paper bags on the floor.
“Will…?” My voice is barely a whisper.
“When were you going to tell me, Stella?” His tone is icy and I shiver, wrapping my arms around myself.
“I was going to tell you now. I came back to explain.”
He stands up and his muscles ripple across his bare torso, but this is no time to appreciate his cut abs.
“I’m listening.”
His voice is clipped, and this must be his professional tone, the straight-laced attorney who’s always on the right side of the law.
“I went wild after my mom died.” I hate blaming her for this, but my therapist taught me to own the trauma, to recognize the impact it had on me. “I went from foster home to foster home, passed around like a thing nobody wanted.”
