Page 18 of Blacklist

His tone is gentle, but I have to resist the urge to tell him to fuck off. I’m not leaving her here with some stranger. Then I realize he said we’re here. That’s when I spot Cyrus and the girl from earlier. My roommate is a disheveled mess, his shirt half-tucked, hair wild. The girl’s dark eyes are rimmed red like she’s been crying. Cyrus has his arm around her. Tension hangs in the air. They’re all here waiting to be whatever Adair needs. My temporary position is no longer required. I should feel grateful to be done with it. I didn’t sign up for any of this. I’ve been in Valmont less than twenty-four hours. I haven’t even unpacked my two boxes. I don’t require more baggage.

I don’t drive Jaguars or have buildings named after my family or get off on being a dickhead frat guy. I’m not part of this world. I don’t want to be. I did them a favor. I put up with her for a few hours. Tomorrow, she’ll be back to treat me like a bug under her impractical shoes.

Without thinking I look down to her feet, remembering what happened to those stupid shoes.

The old man follows my gaze. “Where are her shoes?”

That’s a long story and not my problem, I remind myself. I didn’t puke on her shoes. I didn’t force her to run away in bare feet. I tell myself she isn’t my problem but when I pry my arm from under her sleeping form, her eyes flutter open and for one brief second she sees my face and smiles. I’m pretty sure I know what the earth felt the first morning the sun rose. The smile vanishes instantly. She bolts up, spots the old man and dives into his arms. I watch as she falls apart. I was just a bit of glue to hold her together until she felt safe enough to fall to pieces.

Cyrus stops me at the emergency room’s automatic doors.

“Thank you for doing this, man.” He claps a hand on my shoulder as the doors slide open and shut and open again behind us.

That’s when it occurs to me that I have the keys to his car. I dig into my pocket to find them. Noticing the charge nurse glaring at me, I step to the side to stop triggering the doors.

Cyrus glances at the others. “That’s Poppy. We all went to school together. Felix drove us. He’s like her dad.”

Adair had been expecting Poppy. Of course, she’d needed a ride. That’s where Felix came in, I assume. So, he’s not family. Not officially. I think of Francie. I understand better than most what it’s like to have a surrogate parent. What I don’t get is why. Adair MacLaine has everything. Money. Two parents. Probably a huge fucking mansion somewhere with gargoyles and ivy. Why does a girl like her need a second father? “I thought maybe it was her grandfather.”

The age is about right.

“He’s her butler,” he says meaningfully. Unfortunately, I’m not fluent in trust fund. “Her grandfather lives in the city.”

And I can’t help but notice he’s not here. I’m too tired to try to figure any of them out.

“We got this,” Cyrus continues. “You don’t have to stick around.”

He’s probably wondering why I stayed at all. I wonder if he waited for me to drive the car back to campus. I thrust the keys toward him.

Cyrus holds up his hand. “You need to get back. Drive my car. I can call a service if we need a ride.”

A service? Not a taxi or a friend. The gap between us widens again. What happens when you fall in? Do they call someone for help or just scratch their heads? Maybe I’m being unfair. He’s here. They seem tight—all of them.

“I’ll park it where I found it,” I offer. He shakes my hand and I half-expect him to thank me for my service.

Dawn breaks over the horizon as I make my way to Cyrus’s car. The morning sun paints the sky in shades of purple. The Jaguar waits under the fading parking lot lamp. In the light of day driving it feels like a lie. Or, at least, a joke. I’m sitting in a seat that costs more than I have ever had in my bank account.

I don’t make it out of the lot before I decide I need coffee. Cyrus may not mind me driving his car, but he’ll probably care if I crash it. This close to a hospital it doesn’t take long to find a Starbucks. The line wraps around the building, and when I finally pull to the window, the barista practically falls out the window trying to look at the car. She’s pretty, her brunette hair twisted into a knot on top of her head and her lips painted bubblegum pink. I could score her number without even trying. This must be what it’s like to have money. People stare. People covet. I consider telling her that I know what it’s like to want something you’ll never have. I consider telling her this isn’t my ride—this isn’t my life. Instead, I let her think what she wants and enjoy how it feels. I take my small black coffee, but I don’t ask for her number. Instead, I ask her to point me toward a shop. She twists her headset away from her mouth as she gives me directions to a Target. I tip her more than the cost of the drink.

By the time I arrive at the store, I already regret dropping so much money on coffee. There’s a couple hundred in my bank account—the result of a summer spent saving with Francie’s help—and once it’s gone…

I feel especially stupid since I’m already buying something else. Twenty-four hours on my own and I’m dipping into my account twice. There’s no choice, though. I think of Adair’s bare feet and the cold, tile floor. I head straight to the shoe section, find the cheapest, largest pair of flip flops, so they’ll be sure to fit, and buy them before I can pussy out.

At the hospital, Adair is tucked into a corner surrounded by even more people. It looks like she’s holding court. Felix the butler hovers nearby watching over them all like a shepherd tending a flock. There’s no way I’m walking up to an entire crowd to give their queen bee a two dollar pair of flip-flops. But even from here I can see her bare feet, and I already bought the damn things. It takes a second, but I manage to get Cyrus’s attention. He looks even worse than he had an hour ago. The hangover is clearly setting in.

He ambles over, bleary-eyed, and cranes to look out the glass doors. “Is something wrong? The car?”

The booze is wearing off and with it his laissez-faire attitude regarding his car. I can’t exactly blame him.

I shove the plastic bag in his hands, muttering, “Car’s fine. Give her these.”

“Give her what?” Adair asks, coming up behind him. She grabs the bag and peeks inside. She looks up at me, her face a mask of stone. I don’t know what she’s thinking. I want to crack her open. I want to study her pages, run my fingers down her spine, unravel her word by word. I think she could be my favorite book if I could only read her.

Her teeth sink into her lower lip like she doesn’t know what to say. She glances over her shoulder at her friends and back to me.

“You don’t have to thank me,” I say softly. Another day I’ll figure her out. For now, this is enough.

The puzzled indifference shifts not into the vulnerable, scared girl I expect but to an ice queen. Her green eyes glitter like cold emeralds as cold and beautiful as the icy look she now wears.