Chapter Fifteen
0 Years, 0 Weeks, 1 Day
Jack does not especially appreciate me taking all the blankets in the universe.
Or staring at him while he sleeps.
I know this because A) I know Jack, and he doesn’t like being ogled unless he’s being paid for it, and B) every time I pull on the sheets tangled around his legs, he grimaces a little more in his sleep. So I do what any decent human being who respects another person would do and keep pulling.
Jack groans and shields his eyes, the early-morning sun painting his tousled hair gold. It slants down his chest, making shadows on his bare belly, his neck, his throat. I want to nuzzle into the hollow of his shoulder and live there forever. It feels so surreal—like any second an annoying teen-movie alarm clock will start chirping in my ears and I’ll rouse awake into the real world, in my real bed, alone and cold and sad and convinced no one will ever love me.
But he kissed me.
He kissed my stretch marks and my scars.
He treated me like a person to be respected, like a thing to be worshipped and handled as gently as precious glass.
He kissed the most frightened part of me, and it isn’t so scared anymore.
He’s here. And I can hardly believe it.
I can hardly believe a boy so handsome, so regal and smart and kind and interesting wanted to—burned to—sleep with me.
No one else is going to want you.
Jack wants me, for who I am.
And it’s even more amazing he stayed after, that he’s still here, that he didn’t change his mind and leave. He’s not a figment of my imagination. He’s here and he’s real, and he smells the same as his room smells, and I wallow in it, try to drag out every second of the luxurious golden haze that is this warm disheveled bed with this warm disheveled boy in it whom I happen to like an annoyingly huge amount.
Finally, Jack cracks one sleepy blue eye open, sees me staring, and laughs hoarsely.
“Good morning, you creepy, beautiful thing.”
“I was plotting,” I say. “How best to murder you in your sleep.”
Jack leans in, planting a soft kiss on my palm. “Make it long and drawn out. I love suffering.”
“Exactly why I’m making it short and snappy. Neck-snappy, to be precise.”
He pokes at my forearm. “You couldn’t snap my neck if you tried.”
I scramble up and sit on him, trying to wrap my arms around his neck. He fights me off weakly and finally pulls me down into him, laughing.
“You are vicious.”
“I believe the term you used was ‘hellion,’” I correct in his ear.
He runs his hand lazily up and down my spine. “How are you doing? Pain-wise?”
“I’m broken in two and will never walk again,” I deadpan.
“Yes,” he hisses, tightening his hug. “Now you can never escape.”
I roll my eyes and roll off. “Let’s go. The day awaits, glorious and full of future disappointment. And food.”
He doesn’t get up, watching me pull on shorts and a T-shirt instead. He groans and shoves his face in the pillow.
“I don’t want to go. I hate it out there. I want to stay here forever.”
“I don’t have enough Doritos in this room for ‘forever,’” I insist, and wince when an ache shoots through my pelvis. Jack jumps out of bed, balancing me on his arm.
“Are you all right?”
“Everything is sore and I’m dying.”
“I warned you.”
“No, you didn’t! There was no warning involved! Just a lot of gross dirty talk!”
“And laughing. A lot of good laughing.”
I blush, and he wraps his arms around me and pulls me back down onto the bed. He sighs into my hair.
“It’s been years since I’ve laughed like that. Thank you.”
“Tsk, tsk, what kind of escort are you? I’m supposed to thank you for sex. Or pay you.” I lean over the side of the bed and fumble around for anything other than dust. My hand finds the bra dime Yvette gave me, and I press it into his palm. “Here. For your services.”
Jack growls and bites my neck. “I think I’m worth a little more than that.”
“I don’t know,” I singsong. “You gotta prove it first.”
He flips me on my back, and I squeal. He leans his forehead against mine.
“Prove it? Then what was last night?”
“A warm-up,” I decide. “Appetizer. Except ew, let’s not bring weird food analogies into this please. I don’t want to be compared to a restaurant.”
“You’re the best restaurant ever. Three Michelin stars,” Jack asserts. I push him off and he laughs, pulling his boxers on. Yvette chooses that exact moment to walk in the door and get a face full of Jack-dick. She stares at it, then at me, then at Jack’s face, and nods like a candid art appreciator as she proclaims, “Nine out of ten.”
I, Isis Blake, have decided sex is okay.
I have a little large mental library of what is okay and what is not okay, and sex gets lifted from the not-okay book and slapped into the okay book over the course of two weeks. Jack and I shuttle back and forth from my dorm to his, alternating when our roommates are out and stealing quiet moments and making them not so quiet. I learn his every mole, every tiny scar from his childhood, every weak spot. There are so many huge, dumb problems looming, like the tape Nameless has, but I shove them and Nameless aside and bask in my newfound Jack obsession. The former Ice Prince is ticklish behind his ears and his knees and his hips (his sharp, delicious hips), and also he is still very much the Ice Prince—cool and collected and logical. Nailing each other hasn’t changed that. In fact, nothing about us has really changed. I thought sex would break us apart or change us into a formless sappy mush. But that’s not the case at all. I retort something, he snaps something back. I force gummy bears into his begrudging mouth, he holds me back from tackling the idiot who ran over my shoe with a skateboard. We fight. We fence. We argue the finer points of the most complex debates in human history.
“Santa is real,” I say as I pick up my burrito from the food counter.
“He’s not,” Jack corrects, sidestepping a cafeteria worker with a full stack of dishes.
“Two words have never convinced anyone ever of anything.”
“Yes, they have. It’s shit,” Jack says.
“What’s shit?”
“The prequel Star Wars films.”
“Oh, see, now you’re right, and I have to take back what I said because I was wrong and you’ve convinced me utterly with only two words. Ugh. I hate being wrong.”
“I love being right.” He sighs, and I kick him under the table, except he is too fast, so all I kick is wood. With my shinbone.
“Ow.”
He kisses my head. “You brought this on yourself.”
I throw my face on the table and fake-sob. “I have bruises everywhere. I’m a bruise farm. Magnet. Bragnet. One day the future people of the world—who won’t know what bruises are because technology will be so advanced no one ever gets one—will come to me, and I will show them my skin, and it will be the greatest contribution to human civilization.”
This impresses Jack so much he takes a sip of soda.
Sometimes I catch him smiling at me when I’m jabbering on about stupid shit. But that’s the only thing that’s really changed.
Sex used to be this weird, scary blob of lace panties and ladies who scream like they’re being hurt in porn all the time and what if I smell funny; what if my chin looks fat from any angle ever during it. It used to be me thinking I’d have to shave everything smooth like a dolphin every single day of my life for a guy to not be grossed out by me. It used to be me, angry at sex and hating it, and bitter because the only person I thought I loved used it to hurt me. Sex was a sword I didn’t want to be cut by again, a tiger that mauled me once before, and I’d gladly walk into a pit of corrosive tar before I’d go in that tiger’s pen again.
So I suppose Jack Hunter is a pit of corrosive tar. But we already knew that.
“Objection, your honor,” Jack contributes. “I am not a pool of base acid.”
I kiss him on the cheek and stand. “I’m going to the library to taunt an animal dumber than me. Boys count.”
“Don’t encourage them.” He rolls his eyes. “They might develop a crush on you and then I’d have to end them.”
I stare pointedly. He sighs.
“Gently. And in accordance with UN humane procedure.”
Jack leans up for a kiss, and I lean down. He nibbles playfully at my bottom lip before he pulls away.
“I’ll see you later, then.”
“Your room or mine?” I ask. He smirks knowingly.
“I was thinking something a little different tonight.”
“Oh yeah?”
“I have to report to my superior,” he says. “But we’re trying to make it look as casual as possible. So she’s put me on a dinner reservation with her. If you came, I’m thinking it would look even more natural.”
“See, hell no, I’ve watched enough movies to know this is where you bring me to the CIA and they kidnap me for experimentation.”
“There’ll be no kidnapping. But there will be crème brûlée.”
I consider this proposal for an astonishingly lengthy two point five seconds.
“Yes.”
“Meet me in my room at eight, and wear a dress.”
“You just want to see me in a dress, perv.”
He smirks. “I want to see you in everything. And nothing.”
The library is much quieter and contains less sexiness than wherever Jack is currently, but I’ll live with it. For now, I have someone decidedly less sexy to bother.
Nameless has been on my list for so long, but only now do I have the strength to start plotting his ultimate demise. Only now do I have the courage to point all my dire expertise and rage at his throat. Now that I know for sure Nameless is wrong—that I’ve always been perfect and worth loving—I can fight him instead of run from him. Jack must be rubbing off on me in more ways than one; the fact that I haven’t busted down Nameless’s door and shanked him yet is a clear sign I’ve learned to control my anger like a true Ice Prince. Gasp. The horror!
People say you’re supposed to love yourself on your own. And I tried. God knows I freakin’ tried for four years.
But now that I know someone else loves me, it’s so much easier to grow the courage to start loving myself.
It’s not fast, and it isn’t all happening right away.
But it’s a start.
The only dress I brought with me to Ohio State is a green pleated dress I bought for prom but never wore. Jack’s in a white button-down shirt and slacks, which suddenly makes me paranoid I’m underdressed.
“You look lovely.” He smiles and I curtsy.
“Does this place happen to be enormously fancy?” I ask. We walk to his sedan, and I bunch my skirts up and settle in the passenger seat with the grace of a drunk hen with huge buttocks.
“Not especially.” He pulls out of the parking lot.
“Will I get kicked out for spilling soup on myself? Because I really enjoy spilling soup on myself. It enhances my overall life experience of being a slob.”
“As long as you don’t scream about aliens, you’ll be fine.”
“What! Aliens are included in my traditional prayer to the dessert gods!”
He gives me a long look that basically translates to “please don’t scream about aliens.”
“Ugh, fine,” I huff. “I’ll pretend to be normal. Just don’t act surprised when I keel over and die of a pulmonary embolism. Cause: sheer boredom.”
He pulls my hand up with his free one and kisses it wordlessly.
The restaurant is a small black-glass building wedged in at the end of Main Street. Jack opens the door for me and I slip in, the hostess flashing me a brilliant smile and Jack an even more brilliant one. Jack asks for Vanessa’s table, and the hostess leads us through rows of dark-wood booths lit with candles. A woman with severe, long black hair and wearing a fancy blue silk dress sits there, stirring an iced tea. She gets up and makes a weird forced smile as she leans in to hug me.
“It’s been so long!” She laughs and hugs Jack in turn. We all sit, except my butt is slightly more bewildered than theirs.
“Um. Hello,” I say. “I’m Isis, and also confused.”
“Jack’s told me much about you.” Vanessa smiles. The waiter comes along, and she looks up. “Do you two want something to drink?”
“Water will be fine, thank you,” Jack says, and looks to me. I squirm.
“Um, just a Coke would be good.”
The waiter nods, and Vanessa and Jack watch him retreat with eyes so sharp I’m surprised his back doesn’t start bleeding.
“Is he a threat?” Jack asks in a low voice, perusing the menu without looking at Vanessa.
“No.” Vanessa shakes her head. “But he followed me from the hotel earlier today, so we should stay alert.”
“Whoa, wait, that guy?” I whisper. “He looks way normal.”
Vanessa smiles at me. “The best ones always do. Let’s throw him off with a little boisterous conversation, shall we? How are you doing in school, Isis?”
She raises her voice, and I play along and mimic her, even if I have no idea what’s going on.
“I’m failing chem.” I sigh. “I hate it so much—it’s worse than calc by a thousand times. Also, I farted during the exam, and I’m pretty sure Professor Brown knew it was me because he wrinkled his nose and sniffed a lot and gave me a C-minus for ‘incorrect exposition,’ which is chem teacher speak for fart, I’m pretty sure.”
Vanessa laughs. “Well, at least you know what you’re not going to be majoring in, hmm?” Her eyes stay on me, but she lowers her voice and aims it at Jack all in the same breath. “Have you got the recording?”
“I, on the other hand, enjoy chemistry,” Jack says, his voice louder as well. “But I’d never pursue it as a degree. It gets far more complicated by third year, so I’m thinking of something simpler in the sciences.” His voice lowers again. “It’s on a USB in the napkin.”
Vanessa nods sympathetically. “When I was your age, I switched my major from biology to physics. Less icky cells, more clear numbers. Much easier.”
“Yeah, except biology gets all the cool stuff like wombats,” I say. “Have you seen how cute their ears are? A number could never compete with a wombat. Well, maybe the number eighty-three could.”
Jack and Vanessa give me blank looks.
“Because if you tilt it, it looks like someone making a kitty face!”
The dead silence in the face of my utter hilarity makes me squirm. All of a sudden Vanessa lurches, dropping her napkin on the floor and wrinkling her nose.
“Oh, damn.”
“Here.” Jack slides his across to her. “Use mine.”
Vanessa smiles and takes it in her lap. “Thank you. Are you ready for midterms, Isis?” she continues smoothly.
“Honestly I’m more ready for shrimp scampi.” I point at the menu.
“Of course! You two must be starving. Not that your college doesn’t serve good food! On the contrary; I’ve heard they have a wonderful selection.”
“It’s mostly burritos, but I’m not complaining. My intestines do sometimes, though. Speaking of which, I gotta pee. Where’s the—”
Vanessa points toward the back and smiles. “On your left.”
I slide past Jack, who grips my hand and squeezes it.
“You all right?” he asks.
“Uh, I’m about to eat food. I’m all sorts of fine.”
He smiles and lets go, and I start toward the bathroom. I catch a glimpse of our waiter watching me, but when our eyes meet he quickly looks away. Way to be subtle, suspicious guy.
Even the bathrooms are fancy—marble countertops and soap that doesn’t smell like a movie theater’s. I stare at myself in the mirror, my makeup less like a raccoon and more like a cat, and realize I’ve grown up. Not much. But a little.
It’s a start.
When Isis is gone, I turn to Vanessa.
“She’s very pretty.” Vanessa smiles. “Much prettier than I assumed.”
“What?”
“Oh, nothing. The girl you described on the phone…they normally don’t look like that. Humor comes to the plainer girls easier.”
Her backhanded compliment doesn’t faze me. I clear my throat.
“Terrance’s admission is on that USB I gave you. He says both their names very clearly.”
Vanessa smiles, looking over her menu intently, too, but our focus is everywhere except there.
“An admission from a drug dealer isn’t enough,” she says. “But it helps. This and direct key logs should be enough for our team to work with.”
“How are you going to get a key log on them?” I frown. “Will is wary of me—I’ve tried to approach him multiple times, but he always slips away. Kyle is less smart, but Will’s warned him. They both avoid me.”
Vanessa stares at me, hard, and I know enough about her body language now to understand it’s an order to change the subject.
“She and I’ve been going out,” I say quickly. “For several weeks now. She’s my first actual girlfriend in a long time.”
“Ah, that’s right.” Vanessa smiles. “You were always the playboy type.”
“May I take your order?” The waiter comes up behind us, and I grin.
“Yes, thank you. I’ll have an order of the shrimp scampi for the missing lady, and the salmon fillet for myself.”
The waiter nods, eyes scanning our table with a too-focused intensity. Looking for us passing evidence, no doubt. Is he a friend of Will’s?
Vanessa taps her finger on the menu. “And I’ll have the lobster rolls. With the salad. Thank you.”
The waiter nods, taking our menus and briskly walking off.
“He’s definitely not subtle, is he?” Vanessa asks, stirring her tea. I nod.
“Will is nothing if not outwardly friendly. He must’ve told his friends in this town to keep a lookout for me.”
“Now how are we going to go about this?” She purses her lips thoughtfully. “He’ll obviously tell Will you’ve met with me, a suspicious not-college student. Will may bolster his defenses, and you’ll never get anywhere near his computer.”
“Then what do I do?” I ask.
Vanessa muses over this. “Isis. You said she knows Will, right? He hurt her once and is tormenting her at school now. If she could act as bait—”
“I’m not going to put her in that position,” I say quickly. “Ever.”
“You’ll be there to protect her, of course.”
“That isn’t enough,” I say. “I’m not going to ask her to do anything she isn’t comfortable with, period.”
“Very well. It’s just that there are few other options, since Will and Kyle are so careful. There may be hope yet if we let her contribute.”
“Let me do what?” Isis is back, sliding past me into her seat. “Were you two gossiping about me while I was gone? Ten million years’ dungeon for the both of you!”
I’m quiet, as is Vanessa. Isis, ever allergic to silence, squirms.
“I’m serious! What were you two talking about with me in it?”
“It’s nothi—”
“We need someone to plant a device on Will Cavanaugh’s computer in order to gather enough data to arrest him,” Vanessa leans in and whispers. “And I heard from Jack that you know Will.”
I expect Isis’s expression to flicker with discomfort and pain, but instead she lifts her chin.
“I do. I hate him.”
Vanessa smiles. “Fabulous. Then I’m sure you want to see him arrested even more than we do.”
“Or killed,” she says lightly. Too lightly. So lightly it’s frightening. “I’m not picky.”
Vanessa smiles wider. Isis cocks her head as if thinking.
“You’re with the government, right?” she asks.
“Yes.”
“Isis, you aren’t doing this,” I say firmly. She smiles at me.
“The only thing I’m doing is eating my shrimp scampi and then maybe possibly dessert.”
The waiter drops our food off and leaves. We eat, carrying on a false conversation that leaves me uneasy for some reason. Vanessa is being far too kind to Isis, the two of them looking through pictures of cats on her phone. I won’t allow her to drag Isis into something that might get her hurt, or worse. I realized my mistake by bringing her here, in the direct line of fire.
Now that I have her, I’m never going to lose her again.
Dinner ends, and Isis orders apple pie. Vanessa pays our bill and smiles at me.
“I really need to get going. You two stay and have fun a little longer.”
“Where arsh yew goin’?” Isis looks up with a mouthful of pie.
“I have some business I need to take care of,” Vanessa says, and nods to the both of us. “Have a good night.”
“Bye!” Isis waves frantically, then looks at me. “I like her.”
I wipe pie filling off her cheek. “She’s an operative. She doesn’t like you. She’s just pretending.”
Isis frowns grumpily. “I could do it, you know.”
“Do what?”
“Plant that device. Will likes messing with me. I’m sure he’d let me in his room if I knocked.”
“Isis, no. You’re not going to confront him. He’s already put you through enough.”
“Which is why I need to confront him.” She sucks her finger free of whipped cream thoughtfully.
“You’re not,” I say firmly, “going to plant the device. You’ll leave it to me. This is my job, not yours.”
She stares at me, dark eyes so innocent and wide. Finally she shrugs.
“All right.”
“I’m serious, Isis.”
“As a heart attack,” she agrees. “I promise I won’t. It’s all you, baby. Ugh. Did I just call you baby? You are a baby. A whiny baby. With a nice butt.”
I can’t be mad at her for long, my smile strained but still there.
In the car, I clear my throat.
“If Will ever tries something, if he threatens you, you can always come to me. You know that, right? I’ll take care of it.”
“I know,” she says idly, staring out the window.
“I’ll protect you,” I say. “I swear it.”
“Hush up.” She leans in. “And kiss me.”
Her lips are fire and apple and cinnamon spice, driving all worries from my mind. We never quite make it home. I pull over at a nearby park, and Isis straddles my lap, and we kiss until the sun disappears behind the trees. My hand slides up her dress and her smell and pants cloud the car in a deliriously succulent haze. When she’s on the verge of losing control, she buries her head in my neck and bites it.
“I love you,” she whispers. “I love you, you stupid idiot.”
I stop my ministrations, and she whines. I lock eyes with her, watching her pleasure-fogged expression contort with want. Sweat mists her forehead, her chin, and I kiss it.
“Sorry,” she tries. “I’m sorry I called you an idiot. Please—”
I laugh and resume my work, and she gasps.
“We’re both idiots,” I murmur into her ear.
Later, much later, days later, when we’ve drunk ourselves silly of each other’s bodies and brought each other to the brink and back again so many times I’ve lost count, I return to that restaurant and ask after the waiter. The hostess informs me he quit, and to give a letter to anyone asking after him.
Jack,
I hope you’re enjoying her. God knows I did.
Have you checked in with Belina Hernandez recently?
Yours sincerely,
Will
My stomach goes cold. How does he know about that? Did Isis tell him? No—she never would, and I shouldn’t underestimate his sleuthing skills. Of course he knows about that. I’ve been sending the last of the money to Belina, but I’ve never visited her personally. It was always too painful. I’d sit outside her house in my car sometimes, trying to force myself to go in, but it never worked.
If Will knows about Belina, he knows about that night, and Joseph. If he told her what I did—
My feet fly over the cement. He told her first. He ruined what I’d been working up the courage to do for years. She hates me. She’s called the police, and they’re coming to investigate me. I’ll be thrown in jail. I won’t be able to see Isis, or hold her, or protect her from Will. That’s what he wants. He wants me out of the picture, gone, and he knows a grieving widow would throw her rage at the person who killed her husband, indirectly or not.
He’s using that night to get rid of me.
I break more than a few speed limits driving back to Northplains, the setting sun like blood over the horizon. Belina’s house looks the same as ever, yet this time I can’t let my fears keep me from knocking on the door. But those fears are compounded twice now—she knows what I did. I’m walking up to the woman whose husband I had a hand in killing. I feel like puking, but I tamp it down with long, deep breaths.
I have to do this. If I don’t, I may never see Isis again.
That thought is fire in my brain, the pain forcing my legs into motion, my arms into opening the car door. Every stair feels like I’m fighting against the pressure of a thousand blocks of iron on my back.
My hand knocks on the front door in slow motion. The wait is torture, but eventually a round-faced woman answers the door, her hair in a bun and tired lines around her eyes. She wears a dirt-stained apron, as if she’s been cleaning all day. Her dark gaze travels up me, down me with no expression, and then she speaks.
“Jack, right? Come in.”
I blurt the first thing I can. “Mrs. Hernandez, I—”
“Come in,” she repeats softly, holding the door open wider. There’s a thick silence between us, the fire in my head reaching flames into my heart, burning it alive. Is she planning revenge? Is she luring me in just to have me arrested?
No—I’m in no position to suspect her of anything. I took her husband from her. I inhale a breath and walk in, and she closes the door behind me. The house is simple, clean, with yellowing walls and many crosses over the doorframes. It smells delicious, like long-cooked meats, but my nerves are so bad I notice it only faintly. She leads me into the living room with several paisley couches and an ancient TV.
“Please”—she motions to a sofa—“sit. Would you like some water? Juice? I can make coffee, too.”
“I’m fine,” I say quickly. “Mrs. Hernandez, I came because—”
“I know why you came. I saw the video.”
The fire in my body consumes me now, down to cinders. My hands start to shake. Will showed her the video? How does he have it in the first place? It’s over. She’s seen everything, and I’m a monster, solidly and fully. No amount of money can hide that fact. I will never be able to make it up to her, no matter how hard I try.
I feel something in me puncture, deflate. Something I’ve held for so long, so carefully. I bow my head and clench my fists on my knees.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Whatever you want to do, I’ll accept it,” I manage hoarsely. “I won’t run.”
“I know you won’t,” she says, faintly smiling. “You didn’t run when faced with five grown men with dark intentions against that girl you loved. Why would you run now?”
I flinch, but the feeling of her hand on mine makes me look up. Her eyes are soft.
“Joseph fathered my children. He built this house for me, so many years ago. We loved, for some years, and we hated for others. Then the hating years became more and more frequent. And then one day, he took a bottle to my littlest one.”
I suck in a breath, but her smile grows.
“It was the last straw,” she says. “I began filing for divorce. It drove him further into his darkness, and he began to drink.”
Belina puts her other hand on mine, eyes sincere and pressing.
“When I saw him in that video, harassing that young girl, I knew he wasn’t the man I’d married. And I knew, too, that perhaps it was for the best he disappeared. Before he could hurt my children, or anyone else.”
“Belina, I swear to you—”
“Ah-ah.” She holds a hand up. “I saw it, Jack. I know only two things—you were young, barely a child, and he was wrong. You were scared, and he was still wrong. I don’t want any more apologies from you. I don’t want police or lawyers. I only want the truth.”
So I tell her. Everything. Every bat swing, every dollar sent, every cover-up by Avery’s parents, every ounce of Sophia’s life. Of my life. And when it’s over, she puts her arms around me and holds me close.
“You have been very brave, Jack, for a very long time.”
We sit there, watching the moon outside the window, and I feel a single trail of wetness slide down my face.