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Relief floods me at the same time worry twists in my gut. Before I spoke my fears aloud to Linc, it was easier to convince myself I was just grasping at straws—that I was so desperate to find the man in the ski mask that I took an insane idea and ran with it. But seeing his response only makes me more certain I’m getting close to the truth.
“Lincoln,” I whisper, reaching up to grab his forearm, holding onto it like a lifeline. “I didn’t want to tell you because I wasn’t sure if you could be around him if you thought—”
“I can handle it.” His voice is strained. “I won’t let him know. Bag, Harlow.”
I nod, and when he releases his grip on me, I walk on unsteady legs to the closet and drag out my small suitcase. I pack in less than five minutes, grabbing clothes and toiletries indiscriminately and shoving them inside the bag. My mom’s phone is sitting on the nightstand—I’ve been keeping it on and charged just in case anyone tries to call her—and I grab that too.
Linc stands right where I left him, watching me. Although his face is impassive, he keeps running his hands through his hair, and I can feel his internal tempo rising.
Finally, I grab my backpack, toss my phone and charger inside it, and sling it over my shoulder. “Ready.”
He dips his head in a single nod, then picks up my suitcase and heads for the door.
Okay. So I guess this is happening right fucking now.
There’s no sign of Mr. or Mrs. Black upstairs, and their bedroom door is shut. I don’t know if they’re still in the dining room or not, because we take the west wing stairs down to the first level before heading out to Linc’s car.
He sticks my bag in the back, and then we slide inside. Before he starts the car, he tugs his phone out of his pocket and shoots off a quick text.
“River doesn’t drive to school. Dax and Chase usually give him a lift, so they’ll bring you too.”
“Okay.”
Jesus. I feel like I’m going into witness protection or something. Except I don’t have FBI agents watching over me. Just four boys who, as powerful as they are, have gotten in way over their heads just like I have.
That thought makes my chest constrict with both gratitude and fear. I’m so glad I have the kings of Linwood on my side, but the shit we’re mixed up in is beyond what any of us are capable of handling.
Not that we won’t fucking try.
Lincoln shoots me a look as he turns the key in the ignition, and when we pull out of the motor court, his hand finds mine. He holds it the entire way to River’s house, gripping so hard our knuckles turn white.
I’ve never been to River’s house before, and it just goes to show what kind of luxury and extravagance I’ve been exposed to recently that his place actually looks modest. It’s still a humongous house by anyone’s standards, but it’s not quite as ostentatious as the Black mansion or a lot of the other ones I’ve caught glimpses of in Linc’s neighborhood.
It’s almost ten p.m., and most of the lights are off except for a few scattered throughout the house. River meets us at the door, having obviously been expecting us.
“Hey. Come on in,” he murmurs. “My parents are upstairs.”
We move through the quiet house to River’s room, which is in the huge, finished basement. He’s an only child, and it strikes me as a little funny that his folks’ bedroom is upstairs and his is downstairs, leaving the entire main floor as a kind of neutral zone or something.
Then again, as I think about the tension that gathers in River’s face whenever he talks about his dad, I wonder if the neutral ground is there for a reason.
And for the moment, I’m grateful there’s so much distance between their bedrooms, because I’m not entirely sure his parents would be okay with me being here.
As we step into River’s bedroom, I glance at Linc. He sets my suitcase down just inside the door.
“This can’t be a permanent solution though, right?” I ask. “I mean, what will we tell any of our parents? Yours are gonna wonder where I went, and River’s…”
“I’ll deal with them. If we’re careful, they might not even notice for a while. And they probably won’t care that much when they do,” the gray-eyed boy says confidently, his gaze shifting up from my lips to meet my eyes.
My nose wrinkles.
That’s so fucking… weird.
I’ve been realizing slowly just how different my relationship with my mom is from the relationships any of these guys have with their parents. They’re used to sneaking around, lying, and getting away with it because their parents just don’t care.
Guilt churns in my stomach. I’ve done more sneaking around and lying to Mom since we moved to Fox Hill than I did in the previous several years combined. There are reasons—good reasons—why I haven’t told her certain things, but it doesn’t make me feel any less like shit about it.
“I’ll tell my dad we… broke up.” Linc’s face twists as he says the words, like he hates the way they sound. Th
