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The Lachlan’s live at the very back of a gated community. My mom stops at the gate that is actually manned by a real life guard and not just a machine where you can put in a code. The Guard ducks down until he sees my mom, and then nods. “Mrs. Lachlan.”
Oh, damn. I didn’t think it would make my stomach hurt to hear her referred to as Mrs. Lachlan, but it sure does. When he looks at me and says, “Miss Lachlan,” that hurt morphs into rage.
“Yoon.Miss Yoon. My last name is Yoon.” I practically snap at him. His brows rise, and he looks back at the iPad in his hand, and then up at me.
“I have you down as Miss Lachlan. Coach Lachlan’s daughter.”
I glare at him. My mom places a restraining hand on my knee, likely sensing that I’m on the verge of yelling that I am in no way related to the asshole that tempted my mother into cheating on my father.
“Hon,” my mom says in a wheedling tone. “It’s just to get in the gate. You’re living in the Lachlan house.”
I grit my teeth against the stinging in my eyes and repeat my affirmations to myself in my head, before adding onI alone hold the truth of who I am.When I’m finished, I’m still furious, but it has given me time to get my anger under control. To not rip this man who is just doing his job a new asshole. Our family drama is not his problem. And it’s only for a few months.
I breathe in through my nose and let it out before saying through my still clenched teeth. “All of my IDs say Sabine Yoon. Is that going to be a problem?”
The guard relaxes and gives me a relieved smile. He turns the iPad around so I can see the screen. There is a picture of me, a list of my physical attributes, including my one hundred and fifty-two pound weight. There’s a list of my habits and hobbies. And there, under the picture that looks recent, is the name Sabine Lachlan, Daughter of Coach Anthony Lachlan. Resident of 6457 Beaumont Drive.
“It shouldn’t be a problem. We have everything we need here.”
My mouth curls into a fake smile. One that I’ve mastered in the last few months with the survivors of the sickness, with the workers in the camps, with the counselor at my school, and the admissions office at the university. The guard doesn’t know the difference. My mom sure does. Her mouth tightens. But I don’t know what she wants from me? To be happy about this? About being called someone else’s daughter when my dad has only been dead for months. Some people might still count it in days. Less time than that show90 day fiance.
I don’t know how I’m supposed to be happy about this.
I really don’t.
“Well,” I say, grabbing a pair of sunglasses and slipping them on. “I guess that settles it.”
I wish I could say what I really wanted to. Wish I could yell at them, at both of them, at the whole damn world, but instead I just turn my attention back to the large gate in front of us and wait.
It’s not long before the gate is opening and we’re moving through. My mom huffs in irritation at me. I’m not surprised when she says, “You couldn’t have just been polite?”
“You couldn’t have told him I’m not Lachlan’s daughter? Because I’m fucking not.” I blink again heavily, fighting back tears even though my voice stays steady.
She sighs, her fingers tightening on the steering wheel of our old ratty jeep. “Look, Sab. I know you’re pissed at me-”
“Understatement of the century.”
She keeps talking like I hadn’t said anything. “And I know you’re upset about this. But I need you to try. Try to make this work, to be okay with this.”
Anger and frustration bubbles in my stomach, but I clench my mouth around the words I want to spew at her. Angry, hateful words.
Instead, I nod my head and look out the window, watching the houses pass by, each one bigger than the last. Until we get to the far side of the gated community, and the green spaces between the houses grow bigger and bigger, until we pull up in front of a giant house built of gray stone with immense columns on either side of the black double door.
The front is tastefully manicured, with box hedges and stone paths and the brightest green grass I’ve ever seen. I briefly wonder if it’s been dyed; it’s almost an unnatural shade of green. That seems like something a rich person would do, right?
My mom pulls to a stop on the circular driveway, and I wince at how out of place our fifteen-year-old jeep is in front of this enormous mansion. I wonder how long it’s going to be before Lachlan makes my mom get rid of it.
I feel her look at me, feel her watching for my reaction, so I keep my face carefully blank. Devoid of any emotion beyond the most vague curiosity. I will not let her see how fucking terrified I am of moving here, of feeling so out of place.
She reaches over and squeezes my hand. “Look at this place? Better than a two-bedroom apartment, right?”
My jaw clenches around the words I want to say. Around the words threatening to spill out to hurt her. I don’t say anything, instead I just push open my door and climb out of the car, pulling on my cropped black t-shirt with a palmistry diagram on it, and then tugging on the frayed bottom of my high waisted black jean shorts.
I hear mom sigh as she rounds to the back of the car and reaches into the back to pull out our bags. We’d only brought a handful of things, the few items we’d had with us in the camps. But mom has assured me that everything we’d need will be provided.
By Lachlan.
Lovely.
