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“What about you?” he asks. “Are you a neat freak?”
I shake my head, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “But I clean a lot. Not because I want to, but because, if I don’t, no one else will.”
“Me, too. That’s probably why my room’s so messy—I never have time to clean it. My brothers are slobs. I swear they think the floor is a trash can or something.”
I smile, but this time the move is more forced. Talking about cleaning and his brothers is reminding me too much of my sisters.
“I should probably get to bed,” I say. “It’s been a … well, I’m not really sure what to call today.”
He nods, understanding, and starts to back out. “Of course.”
Something dawns on me. Or, well, I realize I need to say something.
“Blaise,” I say quietly.
He pauses. “Yeah?”
“Thank you for what you and Rhyland did tonight.”
His lips tilt into a small smile. “You’re welcome. And if you need anything else at all, I’ll be downstairs on the sofa, okay?” He waits for me to nod then closes the door, whispering, “Goodnight, stubborn girl.”
Again, I’m too tired to lecture anyone about nicknames so I let it slide.
As silence surrounds me, tears threaten to pour out, but I blink until they vanish. Then I put on my pajamas and climb into bed.
The blanket I pull over me smells like Blaise’s cologne. I didn’t even realize I knew what his cologne smelled like until now. It’s a nice smell. I breathe it in as I roll over and try to get comfortable in Blaise’s bed, something I never thought I’d be doing.
He surprised me today, and not just tonight when he stopped my dad from hurting me, but earlier today. I don’t know what to make of that—make of him—but I’m fairly convinced that the cocky guy I first met by the fence isn’t who Blaise really is. And Rhyland, he doesn’t seem so bad either. He’s even sort of amusing, not that I’d ever tell him that. As for Jaxon and Alex, well I’ve barely talked to Jaxon and Alex is… Well, a mess. But I kind of feel sorry for him.
And honestly, while I hate to admit it, I kind of feel sorry for myself. Everything—all of my rules don’t—can’t exist anymore. My future plans are gone. Nothing will ever be the same for me. But that doesn’t mean I’m just going to walk away from this. I knew the moment Social Services drove away with my sisters that I need them in my life. That I can’t let us be separated. That I’m going to have to step up. That that’s what our mom would’ve wanted me to do.
“You’re the bravest of my daughters,” she used to say to me. “Fearless. It’s why I know you’ll make a great racer someday. You’re going to make me proud; I just know it.”
She was right. I am fearless and brave and a damn good racer. I just hope I can make her proud.
As I lie in bed, my eyelids growing heavy, that’s what I think about—making my mom proud. And thinking of her relaxes me. If only the feeling could’ve carried into my dreams …
I’m standing near the street with a river flowing on one side, the sound of car engines filling the air. Then I hear tires skidding, followed by a loud splash.
“No!” my dad shouts from beside me. Then he rushes toward the river, leaving me behind with a mob of bystanders.
I start to run after him, but then my stomach clenches as someone screams.
No, not someone. I’m screaming, because someone is gripping my arms and dragging me back, away from my dad, away from the accident, away from my mom.
I scream again when a hand clamps down over my mouth. “Quiet,” the person warns. “Everything will be fine as long as your dad pays his debt.”
Then I’m picked up and hauled away into the dark—
My eyes pop open, and I bolt upright, gasping for air.
“Holy shit,” I breathe out, my heart a racing mess. “Where the hell did that dream come from?”
Or was it a dream? Because the images … they felt so real. But, wouldn’t I remember if I was taken? That’s something you don’t just forget. Then again, it was eight years ago, and I have those blank memories where the days between my mom’s death and her funeral should be.
I cup the side of my face where my cheek throbs with the reminder of what my dad did to me only hours ago. I had thought he was just starting to turn into a monster, but what if it’s been building over time?
“What did you do, Dad?” I whisper. “What did you do?”
