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“Me? Hell, the list is too fucking long. Not that you’d under- stand anything about ruining things.”
I snort. “Turns out, I know better than you’d think.”
My eyes must turn as dark as my heart feels, because Brecken looks at me, worried. “Shit, you do know something about it, don’t you?” Brecken rests a palm on my cheek, turning my face toward his. “Wanna talk about it?”
I shake my head, the story burning a hole in my heart. I just want the pain to go away.
“Hey, it’s okay, Lark. You’re okay.” “I’m not what you think,” I tell him. “Is anyone?”
I sigh, wanting so badly to confide in him. And not just because I want to rebel against my mom. I could use a friend right now. “Last night, after I came home, my Mom told me some- thing really awful things.”
“Like...?”
I lift my eyebrows, not understanding why he is my confessor. He’s no priest, yet for some reason I feel like I can say anything to him.
“She said I did something to kill my sister when I was a little girl.” I blink back tears, ones I didn’t expect to shed. He reaches for my hand, and it catches me off guard, the way he holds it so tenderly.
He runs his thumb against my skin, as if trying to erase the pain, and he wraps his arm around me, pulling me in and holding me tight. I know we just met, but in this moment I feel like I could say anything and he would do his best to comfort me.
“I’d remember that, wouldn’t I?” I ask him.
“Memories are strange, sometimes we push painful ones aside.”
“I wish I could remember.”
“Did you ask her to fill in the gaps?”
I shake my head. “No, I was angry. She said some other things that really confused me … the whole night was a mess.”
“Why did it get so heavy?” he asks. “It should have been a night to celebrate.”
“No,” I say softly. “Not with her. She hates that I’m in the show. She likes it best when no one can see me, when I’m locked away in her cage.”
“I hope that’s not literal.”
I twist my lips. “It’s more literal than you’d think.” “Fuck, Lark. That’s some dark shit.”
His reaction surprises me, how he’s on my side, not appearing to judge the things I say. “The whole night was dark: she was like, a different person. We’ve always been so close … but then again … she’s been my only friend for so long. Then last night she wrecked everything I believed.”
“What do you mean?” Brecken asks, hooking my chin on his finger, and lifting it.
“She said she wasn’t even my mother.”
Our eyes lock, and I’m scared to say any more, feeling like I already said too much.
“Why does your mom want to keep you off the stage?” he asks.
“That’s your question after I tell you all that?”
He brushes away the tears on my cheek, shaking his head. “I just want to understand you.”
“Why?” I ask, my question feeling so vulnerable.
“I don’t know who your mom is, but in the space of a day I know you. And you aren’t a killer, Lark. You are more than you know.”
“That’s the problem. I don’t want to be more than I know. I don’t want to be in the dark anymore. I want to know who my mother is.”
“I wish I knew, Lark.” He kisses my forehead, and I hold my breath. My heart hums with desire for more. I want him to kiss me, make me forget everything from last night.
He holds me at the base of my neck. “If you ever need anything, just ask. All of us guys–we’re here for you. Only you.”
“Did you guys make a pact or something?” I ask, his fingers pulling through my hair, drawing me to him.
“All for one,” he whispers.
“One for all.” I close my eyes, wanting to feel anything other than destroyed. “Kiss me,” I say.
“I don’t want to kiss you when you’re upset. It feels wrong.”
I shake my head, squaring my shoulders to his. “This isn’t wrong. It’s so, so right.”
Brecken leans closer and his lips meet mine. The kiss is soft and sugary sweet like the bottle of coke between us. His mouth opens, and our tongues meet, and I sink into him right there on the curb, the night sky covering us, and with the Vegas heat rolling over our backs.
I may be a killer, but right now, Brecken is going to hear my confession, and I have the feeling he just might be my absolution.
9
Sawyer
It’s clear something is bothering her. Eating at her.
She’s flustered. Not when she moves across the
practice space, practicing a jump or a landing–not there. There she’s flawless.
It’s when she stops to listen to Melanie’s directions, I noticed her step away from the guys. From all of us. I noticed the way she looks anywhere but straight ahead. Suddenly, she seems to find her dance shoes intriguing, or the ceiling has her enraptured.
