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But my mouth refuses to form the words I know I should say.
I’m exhausted and emotionally strung out from the events of the evening. I want to be someplace where I’ll feel safe. Taken care of.
And as strange as it may be, the place I’ll feel most protected is in the Icons’ house.
“No, that’s okay. Thanks, Dad.” I give my father a hug, squeezing him tight and trying to imbue the hug with all the gratitude I feel. “I’ll be okay where I am.”
“If you’re sure,” he says doubtfully, squeezing me back.
“I am.”
As we draw apart, the back of my neck prickles. I still don’t let myself look at the three men who surround me in an arc, but I can feel their focus on me. I swear the brush of their gaze heats my skin like fire.
“Actually, there is one thing,” Trent says suddenly. “We don’t think Leslie is after anyone except us. But since she sent a text from a number that looked like yours, I think it’s probably a good idea to check all of your online accounts just to be sure she hasn’t gotten into any of them.” He looks from Claire to my dad. “Would you mind helping my mom out with that?”
Dad blinks, and I swear he looks a little bashful. He glances at Claire. “I’d be happy to help, if you’ll accept it.”
She dips her chin. “Yes. Sure, of course.” A small smile tilts her lips. “You know how bad I am with computers.”
My dad chuckles. “I wasn’t going to say it, but…”
Trent gives a satisfied nod, and I tug my bottom lip between my teeth. So much has happened tonight that I’m completely off balance. It makes me feel like I’m two steps behind on everything, but I have a strange feeling that Trent was deliberately trying to create an excuse for our parents to spend time together.
There was a time when he was violently opposed to them as a couple. He blamed my dad for the fact that his own parents split up in high school. Does he want them to be together now?
And what does that mean for me and Trent?
4
Emma
We talk in the quiet parking lot outside the police station for a few more minutes, but it’s late and there’s not much else to say. Before too long, we say our goodnights. My dad gives me another hug and kisses my hair, and Claire hugs her son and fusses over the other two men, then pats me gently on the cheek.
The drive back to the Icons’ house is quiet and tense, nothing like the atmosphere in the car when we left for dinner earlier this evening. That feels like a million years ago, another lifetime entirely.
Questions swirl around in my head as we drive, and when we reach the house, I step inside after Reese and West. Trent follows behind me, and I turn to face him as he steps through the door.
“Did our parents split up?”
My words stop him in his tracks, and he licks his lips. His handsome, chiseled features are tight with stress and exhaustion, but his sky-blue eyes are clear as he meets my gaze.
“Yes.”
“When?” I ask.
“Not long ago. Your dad wanted to take time apart so he could… help you after you got kicked out of Clearwater.”
He grimaces as he speaks, and I feel a flare of anger light up in my chest. Apparently, our parents’ relationship is just another casualty of the fucked up mess that exists between me and the Icons. At this point, it’s probably not worth keeping a list of who’s responsible for each little part of this clusterfuck, but it’s hard to forget that the very beginning, the inception of all of this, was because of Trent.
If he just would’ve believed me in high school, maybe none of this would’ve happened.
Trent must read the expression on my face, because he steps forward, shaking his head. “That wasn’t what I wanted, Ems. I swear. Maybe at one point, yes. But now? I swear, I wasn’t trying to break them up.”
“Yeah,” I say, taking a step back and dropping my gaze. I believe him, but it doesn’t make me feel a whole lot better.
“Ems.” His fingers find my chin, and he tilts my head up, moving closer until I can feel the warmth of his body. “I’m serious. I’m gonna fix this, I promise. I know my mom still cares about him. This isn’t over for her, and I’ll do whatever I can to make sure they get the future they deserve. Okay? I fucked things up, and I know that. But I’m trying to make it right.”
There’s truth in his voice, but it’s the bitter self-recrimination that convinces me more than anything. Trent is angry at himself—at the past version of himself, the one who fucked everything up. I am too, and sharing that anger with him makes it easier to let go of it in the present.
