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“I doubt he would catch up to us that fast. He was still in my dad’s office when I sneaked out.” I got lucky. The kitchen was wild, super busy with the dinner party tonight. Nobody was paying attention to insignificant little me. I guess they’re all used to Zeke being the one watching my every move—and if he didn’t think it was a problem for me to walk out through the back door, neither did they. I doubt any of them even noticed me.
Sometimes, it pays to be invisible in your own life.
“It doesn’t hurt to be careful.” I can only agree silently, resting my head against the seat. My God, how did everything fall apart all at once? It would be one thing to find out about Dad and what he does. What Zeke does for him or did. Security. I know what that means.
Learning about it would be bad enough.
But the whole marriage thing on top of it? How did he expect me to react? Acting like I was supposed to be happy. I always knew the man was clueless, but this is beyond anything I could imagine. And having the nerve to be pissed at me because I wasn’t grateful.
And I come from him. How could we be so different? Mom gave me more than just her last name, obviously. She gave me morals and principles, the knowledge of right and wrong. We might have been poor, but we never hurt anybody.
“I’m so tired,” I whisper. That word doesn’t begin to describe it. I’m empty, wrung out like an old rag. Eventually, this is all going to catch up to me and crash down over my head, and I might have to spend an entire week in bed, even though I don’t know where that bed will be or where I’ll land. I hope it’s soon since I don’t know how much longer I can go like this.
You managed to get by before your dad found you. What a weird thing to say. I never told him or anybody else specifics about my past. Only Zeke, and it’s not like those two spent time getting to know each other.
My name. Mom’s name.
Why does something seem strange about that, too? Like something invisible is tapping me on the shoulder, wanting me to pay attention. But what is it? I can’t even think.
My name. Casteel.
My father’s name. Morelli.
How did Dean know?
My eyes open slowly. I never told him my father had a different last name from mine. I never told anybody. Nobody was supposed to know—it was so obvious why, and I always suspected, didn’t I?
But of all the rules I tried to break, that wasn’t one of them. And I know for sure Zeke would never breathe the name around anybody. Not that he ever had the chance, either. He understood Dad’s need for secrecy even better than I did.
So how did Dean know I’m a member of the Morelli family?
“Can I have my phone back?” My voice is shaky, but for a different reason this time. “I want to check in with Blair. I want to see if I can meet up with her someplace.”
“You know you’re only going to end up talking to him, right?”
“But I need to call her. I have to know what’s going to happen after we get back to campus, and I grab the rest of my stuff.”
“How about I give it to you once we reach your condo?”
I force a laugh I don’t feel. “You’re starting to sound like Zeke. Thinking you know better than I do.”
He doesn’t laugh. “Don’t ever compare me to him.”
My mouth is so dry all of a sudden. I’m afraid my heart will burst out of my chest—or at least that it will beat so fast it finally gives out. “You really hate him. I should’ve trusted you from the beginning. It’s like you saw something about him I didn’t see.” I have to keep him talking. I have to figure out how he knew about my father without me giving him a clue.
“He’s an asshole. No, worse than that.” His hands tighten around the wheel. “He’s fucking evil. I wanted so much to tell you, but you had to find out on your own.”
“What do you mean? I mean, how would you even know that? You never met him before, did you?” How, how did he know? He must’ve known Zeke before this. Maybe they were kids together. Maybe he knows Zeke went to work for Dad. But it still doesn’t make sense, really. Zeke’s seven years older than him, which means Dean would’ve been a little kid at the time. Something is missing.
“No, I never met him before I met you.” He’s breathing a little harder, and I couldn’t describe him as staring at the road ahead. More like glaring at it, so intense I can hardly breathe. “But I saw him before. Only once. But that was enough.”
“Really? Small world.” I can’t believe how hard it is to pretend I’m wiped out and exhausted when adrenaline is pumping through my veins hard enough to make me sick.
“It can be. I didn’t think I would ever see him again.” We blow past the next onramp for the interstate, and now I know he has no intention of taking me straight to school.
The doors are locked—though we’re doing fifty, close to fifty-five, almost racing down an access road running alongside the highway. Even if I could jump, I might be so banged up I wouldn’t be able to get up and run away.
“I really want my phone back,” I whisper. “Please. Maybe I can get Blair to meet me at school. That would save a lot of time, and you could head home again.”
