I can’t even imagine what life would be like if he hadn’t happened.
—Page 23 of Tessa Waye’s diary
I’m shouldering open the front door when Griff’s fourth text message lights up my phone:
R U OK?
No, I’m not, but thanks for asking, because now I know you are. Griff’s okay. He didn’t go back in there, didn’t try to be a hero for a girl who doesn’t deserve him.
I make it upstairs on noodle legs. Bren’s heard me come in. She starts calling my name, and I’m scared shitless she’ll follow. I don’t have an excuse yet. I don’t have my lies straight. If she sees my face . . . Someone’s footsteps stop right outside my bedroom door.
“Wick?”
“Lily?” Thank God. I start crying.
My sister opens the door, and once she sees me, shuts it tight behind her. Turns the lock. She takes one look at my face and knows.
Another text:
Wicked?
I delete it. Lily sneaks up ice from the kitchen. She tells Bren I’m tired from Lauren’s party and am going to lie down for a while. This will buy us a few hours. I will come up with an explanation for my bruised mouth. I will fix this.
And another:
Wicked?!
Stop calling me that. Stop acting like you know me. Except now he really does, doesn’t he? I fold onto the floor, push off my shoes with one hand.
The only person who knows you any better is Lily, and now they both know you shouldn’t be allowed to protect anyone. You can’t even protect yourself.
I pull my arms around my sides, even though it makes the muscles in my right shoulder scream.
Five minutes later:
please call me
They just keep coming. I delete them one by one, but it doesn’t matter, because he only sends more.
I take two of Norcut’s pills and drag myself into bed. My phone vibrates. The screen says I have one new text:
i’m coming over
I flip my cell onto the floor. Bury it under a dirty T-shirt. Go ahead, I think. Doesn’t matter. I’m not really here, and I won’t be here for you ever again. I can’t be. He destroys everything I care about. I can’t give him you. I won’t give him you.
I roll into a ball, stuff a blanket so far into my mouth, no one can hear me cry.
It’s something else my dad taught me.
I wake up after just after four o’clock in the afternoon. My phone is still on the floor, and I ignore it. I pad from my room to the bathroom, keeping the lights off so I don’t have to look at myself. But after a few minutes, I know I need to man up.
I flip on the lights, look at my reflection.
Jesus. I get a little closer to my reflection. Between Lauren’s black eye and now mine, we’re going to look like bookends.
“Wick?”
Bren. I rub the bridge of my nose between my thumb and forefinger. Do I have some sort of invisible bell on me? How does she even know I’m up?
“Wick?”
I crack open the bathroom door. “Coming!”
Yeah, sure. Coming. And what are you going to say when they see you?
I lean my head against the bathroom door as my brain chugs through all my excuses, all my lies . . . and I can’t come up with anything they’ll believe.
Except for the truth. I could tell them about Joe, about my dad. The police would arrest both of them.
And then they’ll arrest me.
Maybe. Probably. By confessing, I would hand Carson my ass on a platter. If I’m lucky, I would get a deal, but our dad would be put away for good.
Except he got away last time.
He always gets away. Then I would be locked up and Lily would be alone, and he’s taken out his anger on her before. He’s punished me by punishing her.
And even if he doesn’t get away from them again, there’s always the man who got Tessa. He’s still there. I can’t protect Lily. I can’t protect anything I love.
But maybe Bren and Todd could.
Because she’d be safe with them. That’s the way it’s supposed to work. People like them don’t have these problems.
But Tessa came from a wealthy family too, and look what happened to her. There’s some evil you just can’t catch, because no one recognizes it. I know all about that.
“Wick!”
“Coming!” I wrench open the door before I can find an excuse to keep hiding, but I still have to keep one hand on the banister going down the stairs so my knees don’t buckle.
I don’t even make it to the landing before I see Lily coming up. Something’s wrong. Badly. She’s gone pale. Her eyes meet mine.
“Lil, what is it?”
“Bren,” Lily whispers. She’s close enough now that I can see she’s shaking. “She wants to talk to you about a photo that was on Tessa Waye’s Facebook page.”