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But that was life, a cock tease with no mercy.
Lavena let herself into my room an hour later without so much as a knock. She swung my door open and stalked in, face freshly scrubbed, and makeup reapplied. She’d swapped her jeans and tank top for shorts and some wraparound top that looked too complex to understand. Her feet were bare, probably why I hadn’t heard her coming.
“Okay, spill.” She flopped down on my bed unceremoniously and stared at me hard.
Standing in the center of my room with a towel around my hips and annoyance a heavy cloud around my shoulders, I glared at her. “Do you fucking mind?” I snapped.
“I gave you space, now I want answers.” She folded her arms. “When did you get out?”
“Jesus Christ,” I muttered under my breath as I turned to grab the clothes I’d laid out on the dresser. “You’re insane, you know that?”
“Doesn’t change the facts.”
Exasperated but unsurprised, I stalked back into the steam-soaked bathroom and shut the door with a kick of my heel. It was a small relief that that was the one place Lavena wouldn’t follow, but I could only hide in there for so long before she bulldozed her way in. Nevertheless, I took my time pulling on my gray sweats and black t-shirt. Droplets rained from the end of my hair with every sweep of my fingers combing through the damp stands. I stood before the gilded mirror and examined my face, tracing the familiar lines and hollows, searching for spots I might have missed during shaving.
We’d all inherited my father’s blue eyes and dark hair. I usually kept it short and tidy at the back with longer strands at the top, but let it grow out over the years. The strands hung over my shoulders in waves that I left down when exiting the washroom to face the little shit on my bed.
Lavena was splayed across my mattress with one of my thriller novels hovering inches from her nose. Her Glock rested by her hip, a clear indication that she’d gone through my things. She barely glanced up when I approached.
“These are stupid,” she decided, tossing the paperback onto my pillow, and pushing up onto her elbows. “I know who the killer is if you want to skip the boring stuff.”
I scoffed, taking the edge of the bed. “Reading the last chapter of a book doesn’t count as reading “
Her wide eyes rolled. “Getting to the end to find out what happens is the whole purpose of reading, right? So, I already know the end. I’ve accomplished the purpose of reading.”
It was an age-old argument, one I had secretly missed, but still shook my head at. “Don’t you have friends waiting for you somewhere?”
I delivered the question as if I cared where Sasha and Kas were, but I knew — even if she didn’t — who I was actually askingabout. Part of me wondered what Lavena would say if I ever told her just how deeply, stupidly in love with her best friend I was. I knew my sister well enough to know she would take it in one of two ways — she’d tell me to stay away before I ruined her friendship or I’d wake up with her standing over my bed, wielding a butcher knife, threatening me not to hurt Kami. With Lavena, it was really hard to know which way things could swing. Rather than ask, I pushed the thought aside.
“They’re unpacking,” she replied with a dismissive wave of her hand. “I’m already done.”
Of course, she was. My sister may have dressed like the women who traveled with twenty bags, but Medlocks didn’t travel with luggage. All our properties, every place we stayed already had everything we needed, a blessing I hadn’t recognized until the morning I arrived at the cabin in my court clothes and nothing else, in desperate need of a shower and a real meal.
“Stop avoiding my questions,” she pressed. “When did you get out and does Father know?”
I relented. “A week ago, and yes, Father knows. I called him from the bus stop right after I was released.”
She took that in with furrowed brows and a look of deep contemplation narrowing her eyes. “How’d you get here?”
I shrugged. “Partially by bus, but mainly by foot.”
It had been hell.
Hand stitched, designer dress shoes were not made for long hikes through the wilderness in the dead of summer, under a blazing sun with no water and no food. My ankles had been raw where the shoes had cut in and my toes had throbbed. Two hours in, I’d almost opted to chuck the fucking things into the bushes and carry on barefoot. It was solely the fear of sharp rocks and stepping on worm guts that kept them strapped securely to my feet.
Lavena sucked in a breath. “You walked? It’s a five-hour car ride from the nearest town.”
I had to laugh, even if it was brittle and ironic. “Oh, I know.”
“Why didn’t you call me?” she snapped, anger and hurt creating razor blades of her words. “I would have picked you up. I would have been there.”
I freed the fingers bunched around wads of comforter and smoothed the white knuckles lightly with my thumb. “I know you would have, Lavena. But I just spent four years behind bars. I wasn’t in the right place for people. I needed a minute.”
Blue eyes wet with injustice and grief peered at me through fans of thick, dark lashes. They examined my face, possibly searching for lies. I must have passed because she exhaled and allowed her shoulders to slump.
“I hate the thought of you having to face any of that alone. I hate that you had to take that fall! It wasn’t fair. Howard could have fought harder. He shouldn’t have let you plead guilty.”
“Hey,” I squeezed her fingers to silence her when her voice rose again, “it was me or Edmund. I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”
