2
After driving a few blocks in silence, I can’t take it anymore.
“Why did you do that?” I ask the windshield, not able to make my eyes shift to Zander.
“You mean, why did I lie to a police officer for a woman who just stole my car and kidnapped my brother? I have no fucking idea,” he snaps, and I have to bite my lip to prevent myself from telling him not to swear in front of Van.
“She’s not a bad person,” Van angrily defends me from the backseat, his previous gratitude toward Zander vanishing quickly.
“It’s okay, Van,” I tell him softly, feeling my own annoyance deflating a little in the face of his own. “I sort of am a bad person at the moment.” I am well aware that stealing and kidnapping do not make me a contender for the best citizen award.
“But you didn’t have a choice. You should tell him about—”
“Vaughn, that’s enough,” Zander barks, anger tightening each word.
I close my eyes. The tension in the car is rising to uncomfortable levels as I wait for the outburst. I’m not disappointed.
“Stop calling me that! I hate when you do that!” Van screeches, and I wince at how it echoes loudly around the small interior.
“It’s your name!” he shouts back.
“It’s not my name. My name is Van!”
“Your nickname is Van,” Zander is quick to retort. “I am not your friend. I am your brother, and our parents gave you Vaughn, and I refuse to not call you by your proper name!”
This feels like an argument that has likely happened many times before.
I glance back at Van to see tears in his eyes. My heart breaks to see him so upset.
Doesn’t Zander see this? Why can’t he give Van a break? He’s supposed to be the adult here, and Van isn’t asking for something unreasonable, even if I don’t understand the big deal. Still, Van is clearly saying this is a big deal to him.
“I hate you so much. I wish you were—”
“Van,” I quickly interrupt, glancing at Zander to see him grimacing at Van’s words, clearly hurt, before I face Van again. “I know you’re angry, and I definitely think your brother is being a tool-bag to you right now.” I watch as his shoulders drop a little at my agreement. Zander clears his throat as if to remind me that he can hear everything. “But yelling at him and saying hurtful things is not going to change that. I have a better idea.”
“You do?” Van eyes me warily. He seems torn between hoping my idea is awesome and assuming my idea will be an adult-type—boring and sensible.
“Yep.” I don’t. I have no idea why I said that.
Since being on the run, I have learned new things about myself. Like, I am nosy and enjoy listening in on other people’s conversations. I am incredibly cynical, and have assumed the worst of every person I have seen the last few days. Well, except for Van, but he’s a kid. I am also apparently able to steal a car, although not too successfully. And now I know I am a pathetic liar.
But, since he’s staring at me expectantly, and even Zander is giving me a side-eye, I have to say something. So, I give myself a moment to let my mind race and piece together a likely stupid idea.
“How about, every time your brother upsets you or is being a mega tool-bag, you tell me something embarrassing about him? I bet he’ll learn much quicker to not be so hard on you,” I suggest, my voice getting louder and more confident as the idea sparks happily inside Van’s eyes.
“Ava …” Zander growls, and I involuntarily shiver at how that sounds coming from him.
Brian was a quiet guy whose voice barely rose above or below a flat monotone. He never said my name in anger or excitement. Hearing Zander say my name, all grumbly and annoyed, gets my heart racing a little.
“Are you for fucking real?” he finishes. His eyes leave the road briefly to direct a glare my way.
I wince at the swear word. I’m not entirely sure tool-bag is now appropriate, but it’s better than saying fuck every other sentence.
These are newer things I have just learned about myself. I don’t agree with swearing in front of children, and I have zero concept of keeping my nose and opinion out of people’s business.
I bite my tongue to stop myself from speaking, but even that doesn’t hold me back.
“I think it might be appropriate to not swear in front of your twelve-year-old brother,” I tell him, completely aware that I have stepped so far over the boundary of what is acceptable that I’m in an entirely different city.
I think I must be in some sort of hysterical state, just without the uncontrollable laughter. Maybe that is still coming. And maybe that is why I’m being utterly ridiculous right now.
What am I doing? I should just shut up and hope to not be dropped off at a police station.
First, I steal this man’s car and kidnap his brother, then he lies to a cop for me, and now he’s driving me somewhere, hopefully far away from that cop. And what do I do? I lecture him about how he speaks to his brother.
What is wrong with me?
Zander’s glare is piercing, freezing me in place, as he carefully growls out, “How about you stay out of what is most definitely not your—”
“Zander used to have dreadlocks. And once, a spider set up a nest in there. He screamed when Mom told him,” Van rushes to say all in one, long breath.
My mouth drops open in shock for a second before I find myself laughing at the image.
Zander had dreadlocks? This bulky, Navy SEAL, commando-looking guy once had dreadlocks and screamed over a spider in his hair?
“How in the hell do you know that?” Zander gasps, his cheeks reddening when he glances at me and sees me laughing.
“Mom told me once. She had some photos of you, and you looked stupid.” Van doesn’t hold an ounce of apology in his words, obviously happy to embarrass his brother.
“That is”—he takes a deep breath, his hands turning white as his grip tightens on the steering wheel—“never to be repeated again.”
I look back at Van and wink.
“Dreadlocks? How long did it take you to get them?” I ask, grateful to focus on something easier than my own situation.
“Doesn’t matter,” he mumbles.
“They went halfway down his back,” Van supplies.
“How long did you have to not wash your hair for that?” I grimace at what the likely answer will be, which is way too long.
“Doesn’t matter,” he grits out again.
“Mom said his hair smelled so bad that she thought a rat must have died in there.”
“She did not say that!” Zander glances back at Van to glare before facing forward again.
“She did, too.” Van sounds smug, his smile telling me he’s unperturbed by Zander’s grumpiness.
I laugh again, appreciating this lighter topic and the moment it gives me to forget about my own pressing matters.
“I bet you looked a real sight back then,” I tell him, then listen as Van laughs from the backseat.
“I think the photos are in a box somewhere in Zander’s office. I’ll show them to you. So funny!” he says between giggles.
I feel a small pang of sadness that I’m not going to get the chance to hang around Van much longer. He seems like a good kid, and he’s likely the only reason Zander didn’t hand me over to that cop. He’s also the only reason I came back to return the stolen car. So, I guess there is that.
“If such photos exist, they’re being destroyed!” Zander snaps.
I think maybe he’s putting this angry act on a little thick since I see some humor in his expression that wasn’t there before. The twitching of his lips as he tries to hold back a smile, the mirth in his eyes, and the way he tracks Van by watching him in the mirror.
Then silence descends over us. It feels stifling how the lighter mood begins to give way into the darkness that likely surrounds them as much as me. Theirs comes from grief, and mine is from a monster I can’t seem to get away from.
To keep the lighter mood, I share a story I haven’t repeated to anyone before.
“Once, my sister gave me a haircut. I thought she would screw it up and I could get her in trouble, so I agreed to it. But she cut it perfectly. I was so annoyed that I took the scissors and chopped off a huge part of my bangs, and then another random chunk in the back. I looked ridiculous and laughed as my mother told Amanda off. Then I realized I had to live with the haircut. It was too short to make the rest match, so I had to wait until it grew out a little. It took a year before it started to look normal.” I smile, recalling the look of horror on Amanda’s face when she saw what I had done, which then quickly transferred over to my face when I realized what I had to look like.
Van laughs at me, stretching his seatbelt as he leans forward until his head is near ours in the front. “That is hilarious. How old were you?”
“I don’t know.” I think back, surprised that these memories don’t hurt to think about as much as they used to. “Maybe ten or eleven.”
“Was your sister mad at you?”
“No.” I look back and give him a small smile. “I think she caught on quicker than I did that I had just made myself look like an idiot. I sort of dealt myself my own punishment.”
Van laughs again, and I can’t help noticing Zander again tracking Van’s movements, his expression a mix between surprise and maybe a little sad.
“My friend at school stuck gum in his sister’s hair once. They had to cut it out, and he was grounded for a month,” Van informs me.
“Now that is definitely not cool. I hope you’ve never done that.”
“No, no way. Never.” He shakes his head vehemently, which makes me wonder if he’s protesting a little too much. “I thought about it once, but I was too chicken,” he finally admits, his eyes on Zander.
“You thought about it when?” Zander asks.
Van ignores him, stating, “I’m hungry.”
I suppose there is no point in implicating himself in an act he never went through.
“There are leftovers at home.” Zander’s tone is short and final, not that Van heeds it.
“But I want pizza.”
“Too bad.”
Immediately, the mood in the car plunges again.
We drive for a while in silence, and I begin to wonder where exactly he is taking me.
“What are you going to do with me?” My voice shakes as I dare not to hope for too much.
“I haven’t decided yet.” His tone is still harsh from his previous talk with Van. Or maybe he’s just as annoyed with me as he is with Van.
“Where are we going, then?”
“Home.” He doesn’t elaborate, and while it insinuates his own home, I have to wonder why he trusts me in his domain. Is this guy just super stupid or super cocky?
“Oh,” is the only lame response I have.
As if he hears my thoughts, or maybe just my surprise, he explains further, “I need to hear exactly what is going on, and that means everything. You leave something out, I will call the police.”
My eyes widen at that, yet Van appears satisfied with Zander’s words.
“You can have my room. I don’t mind sleeping on the couch,” he excitedly offers.
“That’s sweet, Van, but I won’t need your bed.” Like I could kick a twelve-year-old out of their own bed.
“Are you going to sleep with Zander in his bed?” he asks innocently, or perhaps he is purposely trying to embarrass me.
“No! I’m not sleeping in anyone’s bed,” I rush to declare. That isn’t what this is about, right? Surely Zander isn’t that hard up for sex. He’s far too attractive for that to be an issue, two-second wonder or not.
Yet, it is a good point. While I haven’t seen any reason not to trust Zander, after what I now know, my faith in people is shaken to my core.
Should I blindly trust him? Should I walk into a place I don’t know? With people I don’t know? Ignoring how much of a sweetheart Van is, that is. Shouldn’t this whole experience have taught me to be more cautious and smarter?
But what choice do I have? I have to eventually trust someone, right?
“Where are you sleeping, then?” Van asks.
This is a good question. Assuming Zander is going to want me out of his house as quickly as possible after he hears my awful story, where am I going to go tonight? After two nights out on the streets, am I ready to go through that hell again? Would it be safe to find a women’s shelter? Brian and his friends will have to give up searching for me sometime … right? Even if that will one day be the case, it likely won’t be three nights into his search.
I might be in for many nights on the streets if I can’t get out of Chicago. Even then, will there ever be a place safe for me? One that is truly out of Brian’s reach?
“Vaughn, just let it go and sit back.”
Van grumbles under his breath as he does as he’s asked, and then the remainder of the drive is done in complete silence.
We pull into a small apartment block in the West Town district. The area looks modest and secure, yet I know nothing is quite that safe anymore.
After parking the car underground, Zander walks past the elevator and opens the door to the stairs.
I wonder if the elevator is broken before Van confirms that it isn’t.
“Zander thinks using the elevator is a wasted opportunity to get some exercise. We are only allowed to take it if we’re missing a game on the TV, or there is a serious bathroom emergency.”
I look to Zander to see what his reaction is, but he’s already racing up the stairs, so my gaze focuses on his ass and legs as they effortlessly charge up the stairs, leaping several steps at a time.
Wow, this guy is truly fit.
“I would just walk if I were you. We’re on the eighth floor,” Van helpfully suggests.
“Good idea.” Before all this, I never cared for fitness. The only time I ran was when I was late for the bus. Even then, I often just missed it rather than make the effort. My lack of a decent sports bra means my boobs don’t make the best jogging partners.
“I am going to be faster than Zander one day. I’ll beat him up the stairs and slam the door on his face.” Van smiles at just the thought.
“Then you should probably start practicing.” I nudge him, and he nods determinedly at me once before he begins his quick ascent.
Soon, I’m alone with only the echoes of shoes scuffing along the cement floor and the sound of heavy breathing as Van begins to get out of breath.
I stand in the doorway, the door still open, and stare back out at the parking garage and the sliver of the outside world I can see, giving myself a moment to consider making a run for it. I won’t have to answer any awkward questions or get Zander and Van involved in something that is way bigger than they realize. But, what do I do then? I have nowhere to go, and for right now, Brian has no clue where I am. I’m safer inside this building.
Having the door close on me as I turn away and head up the stairs feels momentous. Like this is a decision that will change my life. Maybe that’s a stupid way to feel, but I just know deep down I have made a huge decision that will impact everything.
I just have no idea if it was the right choice or not.
I’m ashamed to say, by the time I reach the fourth floor, I feel a little out of breath, and I’m just walking! I’m only halfway there. This is torture. Who the hell can run this?
I could use my exhaustion and lack of eating lately as an excuse, but I know, even if I was well-rested and fed, I would still be struggling.
Before my life was so recently thrown upside-down, I was stuck in the same routine. Wake up, eat breakfast, rush to work, finish work, come home incredibly excited to take off my bra, and prepare dinner. Then I would watch TV, maybe go online to chatrooms or reply to emails, and sleep. Wake up and repeat. The only times it varied was when I would see Brian. Even then, I would just go to his house between coming home and taking off my bra. He was always happy to stay indoors rather than go out.
My work as a temp receptionist means I am sent all over the city for any amount of time. My longest was a maternity cover, which was eight weeks. Otherwise, I get details the day before for where I need to be the next day. I usually have a consistent four days a week, and since I do temp work, I get paid at a higher rate, which is nice. Then the rest of my time is spent website designing that I do from home.
Brian’s job means he spends many weeks at a time away from home. I understood that and was happy to oblige him wanting to stay in and have quiet nights with me.
Except, now I realize I was completely wrong about him.
It probably says something about me that my entire life is unplanned, yet still locked into a routine. I might not know where I will be working the next day or in a week’s time, but I do know how that will fit into my structured, drama-free life.
By the time I make it to the eighth floor, I am flushed, sweaty, and my legs ache.
Van is sitting on the top step by the doorway, resting his arms on his knees and cradling his head in his hands. His warm smile is so sweet that I almost give him a true smile in return. However, I would need to be able to catch my breath to do that, so I just wince and grab my belly instead.
“You’re even slower than I was when I first tried running!” He sounds amazed.
I grimace further when I realize he thinks I’m in this state because I tried to run up the stairs.
“If I ever come here again,” I say between panting, “there better be a game on we’re missing.”
Van laughs at me before bouncing back to his feet and racing through the stairwell door.
I’m less enthusiastic in my exit from the stairwell, and suddenly extremely self-conscious over my lack of bathing in the past couple days when I walk through the open apartment doorway.
When I hear water running in what I assume is a shower farther into the apartment, I know I would do anything to have a shower myself.
I try to inconspicuously sniff my armpit to see how bad I am, but when Van turns to face me, I barely get the chance to smell a thing before I am straightening up.
“Are you hungry? Last night we ate some disgusting risotto. Nothing ever lasts in this house longer than a meal, but neither of us had seconds. I always have seconds.” He sounds a little dramatic as he says this, but I don’t think he’s doing it on purpose.
“I’m sure it’s not that bad.” Considering I haven’t eaten properly in a few days, I’m sure it will taste amazing.
“It is.” He sounds grave now and is much less enthusiastic as he takes out the bowl and places a large spoonful on a plate, doing this a couple more times until I’m sure he’s put too much on for one person to possibly finish. Even a starving person like me. I suppose he’s hoping I will eat so much there won’t be enough left for him.
He dumps the plate into the microwave then pours me a glass of water without me having to ask.
“You have some nice hosting manners,” I tell him, taking a seat on the stool by the breakfast bar as I inhale the smells wafting around us from the warming food. As it is, I finish the water almost in one gulp, and then Van quickly refills it for me.
I’m tempted to gulp this new glass down, but I don’t want to fill up on water and ruin my dinner. I’m just grateful to be eating and drinking again.
“Mom used to have her friends over all the time. She would always make me serve them. She told me it would instill good manners in me that would one day make me a good husband.” He frowns as he says the obviously repeated words his mom must have said to him many times. “Girls are pretty gross, though. They cry a lot. Why would I want to marry one?” He tells me this in a very matter of fact way.
I nod for lack of any other reply, guessing it’s likely a true statement for someone his age.
With a beep from the microwave, I prepare to consume my first proper meal in three days. One mouthful in, though, and I understand why Van said it was terrible.
What the hell is in this thing? I can maybe taste something like fish, but also something smoky and spicy. And what the hell has the texture of jelly?
My eyes widen as I search for an answer. I can’t possibly swallow it, but it would be rude to spit it back onto my plate. Gross or not, Van and Zander have both helped me.
“Spit it out,” Zander’s voice booms from right next to me, and I almost swallow the food in my surprise.
I glance down at the trash can he is holding up to me, and then glance over at Van, who is laughing hard behind his hand.
“Just do it. I can tell from your face you hate it. No one holds food in their mouth that long, looking panicked, if they like something. Just spit it out.”
When he lifts the trash can up higher, I lean over and embarrass myself eternally by discarding the food. Van then hands me some paper towels, and I wipe my mouth profusely before he takes my plate and tips the contents into the trash can.
“I told you it was disgusting! Can we get pizza?” Van quickly whines to Zander.
“No. We eat too much takeout. Go take a shower and get changed for bed. I’ll figure something else out.”
Van grumbles as he stomps his way into what seems like his bedroom before he slams the door shut.
“Sorry about that,” I apologize, staring down at the trash can Zander is still holding.
“I think I should be the one apologizing. I tried something new and think maybe I got the ingredients wrong.”
“I think you might have gotten all the ingredients wrong,” I blurt out.
I shouldn’t be picky—food is a luxury right now—but I’m not sure I’m at the stage where I’m contemplating poisoning myself.
“You might be right about that.” He looks a little sheepish, making me wonder if he’s embarrassed to have made something so awful. “Are you still hungry?” he asks, finally placing the trash can back down in the corner before opening the fridge.
I normally would never still have an appetite after what I just tasted, but again, I’m three days without any proper food. I’m surprised I haven’t had to worry about passing out yet. Although, now that I’m sitting down, my exhaustion is quickly catching up.
“I am,” I answer, just as my stomach grumbles. Teasing it with almost food has apparently upset it.
“I can make a cheese omelet?” he offers.
I take a moment to assess this situation. How did I end up here? How did I find myself in a stranger’s home, being offered omelets? Have I already passed out? Is this some delirious dream? Well, after that risotto, maybe it’s more of a nightmare.
“Ava?” Zander grabs my attention, and I nod, agreeing to omelets that will hopefully be more edible than the risotto.
“Do you want some help?” I finally think to ask, wincing at how delayed my manners are. I have no issues chiding him on how he speaks to his brother or spitting his food into a trash can, yet I can’t think to offer him a hand while he makes me dinner?
Maybe something else I’m learning about myself is that I can be thoughtless.
“No, what I need from you is to explain what exactly happened to put you in a position where you think you needed to steal my car.”
My stomach drops, and I sort of do lose my appetite then.
“Right now?” My voice comes out more like a squeak.
“No time like the present.” He shrugs, and I realize he’s changed clothes, now wearing a navy colored, baggy sweatpants and a crisp white T-shirt that doesn’t cling to him, yet shapes him well enough that I see his obvious muscles. His arms are drool-worthy as his sleeves stretch out over his biceps. I doubt there is a shirt in this universe that wouldn’t be tight over those guns.
The ends of his hair are a little damp at the back and front. His hair is still wavy on top and disheveled, like he just ran a towel over it. I take a deep breath and smell the soapy freshness coming off him.
If I wasn’t so stressed out over this turn in the conversation, I might have been distracted by how good-looking Zander actually is.
Instead, I scramble for a way to get out of having to tell my story.
“What about Van? It’s not really appropriate for his ears,” I quickly rebut.
“Talk to me until he comes out, and then we can continue later. He takes forever to shower, so you have some time.”
I glance down at my hands and think over the fucked-up story. How did my life come to this? I was just a webpage designer who did temp office work to subsidize my wages. Now I’m someone on the run with almost zero cash and no idea what I’m supposed to do. I used to have things figured out. Now I have nothing.
“Ava,” Zander says on a sigh. “I made a choice back in that parking lot to not say anything to that officer. You need to give me something to make me believe I made the right choice. There is no reason I can’t just take you down to a police station right now and hand you over. What you did was a felony. Not to mention you took Vaughn, accident or not.”
“I know. You’re right.” I shake my head, hoping to clear my thoughts, but they remain jumbled. “It’s just that this is hard, and I don’t know where to start.”
“Start with why you’re hiding from the police,” he says calmly, and for some reason, his voice is reassuring. He exudes assurance and control. There is something about him that makes you think he’s got this, can handle it, and not to worry. I’m sure it comes in handy with his work.
“I can’t trust them,” I admit, my situation beginning to press down on me again. “I went to the police before, and they just handed me over to him. I don’t know who I can trust there.”
“Handed you over to whom?”
“Brian.” Just saying his name aloud gives me shivers and the urge to rub some soap in my mouth.
“Your ex?” he confirms.
I begin to nod, then realize he should have no idea who Brian is.
“Y-yes.” I begin to shake in earnest now, my thoughts going to the worst place, assuming how Zander could know that. “How did you know about—”
“Vaughn never disconnected the call,” Zander quickly assures me, his eyes leaving the frying pan to give me his full attention and for me to see the truth in what he’s saying. “I was listening to you talk in the car the entire time.”
“You were eavesdropping?” I gasp, somewhat worried over the number of things he would have overheard and wondering how many times I called him a tool-bag. However, I’m more relieved there isn’t some sinister reason he knows Brian is my ex. What if this had been a trap and he was holding me here until Brian came to get me? I would have been screwed.
“You called me; how is it wrong if I didn’t hang up?” he points out, turning back to the frying pan.
“But that was a private conversation.”
“Yes, and it was held in my car, which you stole. I don’t think you can make me out to be the bad guy here. Besides, I know you’re just stalling now. Keep talking.” He flips the omelet over, and my mouth waters a little at the sizzling noise.
I can’t say he’s wrong about me stalling, but how am I supposed to say out loud what I saw? Especially after what happened last time!
“Fine.” Just that one word has me trembling. “Brian Clarke is my ex-boyfriend and an FBI agent. We dated for almost a year and a half and, up until three days ago, we were still dating.”
“What happened three days ago?” Zander’s tone stays gentle, and while he’s not looking at me, I know I have his attention.
I take a deep breath. Am I ready to say this out loud? The last and only time I told someone, I ended up back with Brian. I will be dead if he gets his hands on me again.
“Look, I really want to trust you, and honestly, I know you probably have zero connection to Brian and what I discovered. I know Van is a good kid, and you did me an incredible favor when you didn’t have me arrested tonight. On top of that, you let me into your home and are cooking me something that smells so delicious my stomach hasn’t stopped growling in about five minutes.” I wince at revealing that part, but quickly move along before he can interrupt me. “But I also had my entire life turned upside down three days ago. I trusted someone who turned out to be a monster. I learned I can’t even trust my local police. My life is in shambles, my future I once saw is gone, and instead, I’ll be lucky to even live past this week.”
I pause in my rant to take a deep breath before setting off again, not allowing Zander to say anything when it looks like he is about to speak. “I’m not saying I won’t tell you what I saw. I just need a minute to clear my head, to think this through and to be sure I want to get you involved. Because, once you know, you can’t unknow. And if he finds out you know, then you might be in as much trouble as me. You have Van to think about.” I’m breathing heavily now and have to grab the counter to keep myself from falling off the stool.
“Are you done?” He has his eyebrows raised and has taken the pan off the stove.
“Umm … I think so.” I consider if I missed anything, but I’m quickly brought back to the present when Zander begins his own rant.
“I don’t ask questions lightly. I understand you’re in trouble and that your troubles have meant you need to be hidden from the police. I can see you’re scared and likely homeless with what I assume is nothing with you since you carry no bags. I see no visible outline of a purse so, unless you have stashed your personal items somewhere else, then you are probably incredibly screwed when it comes to food or a safe place to sleep. If the police are looking for you, then that not only means no home, but also no friends or family you can be sure aren’t being monitored. So, unless you actually think strangers are as helpful and generous as I have been tonight, then you better take your chances with me.
“I run a private investigative company and, though we might be newer and less experienced than many of our competitors, we’re fucking dedicated and have many resources and connections. I can help you with this situation; however, I’m going to need to know what the fucking situation is. If I deem it’s too much for me or my people, then I will put you in touch with someone who can help. Got it?”
Now it’s my turn to raise my eyebrows, and I manage to get in a nod before Van stumbles out of the bathroom, steam following his retreat.
“What smells so good?” he asks, jumping up on a stool next to me and eyeing the plate in front of me hungrily as Zander places a mouthwatering omelet on it. “Breakfast for dinner!” he cries, smiling at me before searching for his own food.
Zander places the pan back over the stove and gets to work on the next omelet.
I take a tentative bite, not ready to give it the benefit of the doubt like the risotto, and find this omelet to be perfect.
My stomach overrules any embarrassment or table manners as I quickly scoff it all down.
“Wow. I’ve never seen a girl eat like that,” Van says, embarrassing me, before his focus shifts to his own food when Zander places his plate down. “So, what is your favorite video game?” he asks me between bites.
“I don’t really play video games.” Somehow, I don’t think The Sims counts to Van. “How about you?”
I barely have the words out before Van goes off on a tirade, his fork waving wildly around as he tells me about several games he loves and ones he was disappointed in. They all involve some sort of violence, which is likely a prerequisite for a twelve-year-old.
Eventually, he ends his video games tirade and seems to be thinking hard about his next question. “What is your favorite movie?”
“I don’t know … I loved the movie Juno. How about you?” I smile my thanks at Zander when he gives me another omelet. I eat this one much more sensibly.
There is a dining table behind us that is half covered in papers, newspapers, and other things, yet there is still enough room for the three of us to sit comfortably. Instead, Van and I stay on the stools, eating at the kitchen counter, while Zander leans against the sink as he eats his own omelet. It feels relaxed and casual. I like it.
It’s nice to not be tense and stressed, even if this isn’t likely to last for long. Soon, I will be back out on the streets and all on my own. Well, unless Zander thinks he really can help me.
Dare I hope?
“I like Olympus Has Fallen,” Van says proudly.
“Aren’t you a little out of the age group for that movie?” I glance over at Zander, who just shrugs at me.
“It’s cool. There are guns and helicopter crashes, and the good guys win.”
I nod, trying to think if I have seen that movie. “Well, Gerald Butler is hot,” I concede, which gets me a frown from both guys.
“What is your favorite sport?” Van finally asks, finishing up his food and dropping his fork loudly.
“I used to play basketball, but I admit I enjoy watching baseball. Cubs all the way.”
Zander groans, while Van cheers beside me.
“Zander hates them. He’s all about the White Sox. He thinks they’re great, but I think they suck.”
“They don’t suck. You just hate them because I like them,” Zander complains.
“They do, too, suck. You agree with me, don’t you, Ava?”
“Well …” I give Zander an apologetic wince before I finally agree with Van. “They did lose pretty spectacularly to—”
“Nope!” Zander quickly cuts me off. “We don’t bring up losses in this home.”
“Yeah, because they sucked last year, and they will this year, too,” Van grumbles.
“Shut up and clean up your dinner, Vaughn,” Zander snaps, making the light mood quickly dissipate.
Van glares at Zander before turning to face me, an evil smirk over his mouth. “All of Zander’s baby photos are of him in pink dresses because Mom thought she was having a girl. He had a pink nursery, and everyone told her what a gorgeous little girl she had when they saw him.”
Zander’s mouth drops open in surprise. “How do you know that?”
“Mom told me loads of stories about you, so stop calling me Vaughn.” He growls that last part.
“It’s your name. I won’t stop using it.”
“Then I guess you won’t mind me telling Ava about the time you brought that girl over for dinner and were so nervous you threw up all over her,” he snaps, his voice rising with his anger.
“Seriously, I couldn’t care less about that. You think you’re embarrassing me, but really, you’re just embarrassing yourself,” he barks at Van, and I see the hurt cross his face as if Zander had physically struck him.
This needs to stop now before these boys say something they can’t take back.
“If your mom thought she was having a girl, what was his name supposed to be?” I blurt out, my quick thinking only extending to that.
“That’s not import—”
“Agnes, after our grandmother,” Van talks over Zander, a triumphant smile on his face when I can’t help laughing.
“That’s an awful name for a kid. But I don’t know … I guess I could see Agnes.” I wink at Van, and he smiles even brighter. “Perhaps, if he can call you Vaughn, then you can call him Agnes,” I suggest, ignoring the scowl coming from Zander and wondering if I’m not just ensuring that he won’t help me by purposely antagonizing him. Is this some sort of self-sabotage thing?
“That’s a great idea!” Van beams.
“You steal my car, take my brother, and instead of having you arrested, I take you to my home and feed you, and this is how you thank me?” Zander grumbles.
“Shut up, Agnes,” Van growls, wasting no time in implementing the new nickname. “So, Ava, what is your favorite food?”
I hesitate a moment, fearful if I open my mouth, I might say something else I shouldn’t. But with Van staring at me expectantly, I can’t be rude and not answer him.
“I love pizza and usually pasta. Maybe not risotto any longer.” I smile as Van laughs.
“I love those, too. My favorite used to be my mom’s apple pie. She made it the best.” His smile dims a little. I can practically feel the grief swirling around these two guys. They are both still heavily grieving.
“Wish I got the chance to taste it,” I say softly.
“She would have liked you,” he tells me confidently.
“Really?” I glance at Zander to see him staring at Van in confusion and shock.
“Yep,” he replies, as if what he’s suggesting isn’t at all outrageous.
“Why? Did she like people who stole cars?” I joke, knowing I’m no mother’s favorite right now.
“She would have liked you because I do,” he states in such a matter of fact way that it touches my heart.
“Well, I like you, too. Not many twelve-year-olds would have been so calm being in a stolen car with a stranger. You were brave,” I compliment him, not that either of them take it like I expect.
“He could have taken you if he wanted to,” Zander says assuredly, and now it is my turn to glare.
“I can be scary. I could have hurt him if I wanted to, which I didn’t,” I quickly say.
Both are shaking their heads.
“You might have gotten a lucky shot in—maybe. That’s it, though,” Zander concedes.
“You have no idea what training I have. I could be a black belt in karate,” I blurt out, feeling more indignant than I likely have a right to feel. Who am I trying to kid here?
“Okay, what training do you have?” Van asks, his smirk an easy indicator that he doesn’t believe I know a thing about fighting.
I frown at being called out on this so quickly. Do I really look that pathetic?
“That’s what I thought. Zander can teach you some moves. He knows how to kill someone with one move.”
“Vaug—” Zander freezes midsentence, and I watch Van smile at this. “Van, you don’t say things like that to people.” He looks at me now. “I’ve never killed anyone. However, if either of you think you will be calling me Agnes, I might make an exception.”
“Call me Van and we won’t have a problem.” He shrugs easily.
Zander seems to think this over, his expression not one that says he’s overly happy right now. Then he sighs heavily and shakes his head. When he opens his mouth, I wonder if he’s about to get into another argument with Van, or if he realizes this is a battle not worth fighting.
“Clean up the dishes and get ready for bed,” Zander says instead.
“Oh!” I gasp, manners kicking in a little faster this time. “I think I should clean up. It’s the least I can—”
“Nope. This is one of Vaughn’s chores, and there are no excuses to not do them.” Zander’s voice is stern. This is probably another topic they fight over.
“Whatever you say, Agnes,” Van retorts, grabbing my empty plate and his own before stomping over to the sink to begin filling it with water.
Zander narrows his eyes on Van for a moment, but soon he shifts his attention to me. “Do you want to clean up? Have a shower? I have some clothes that might work for you, and I think there is a new toothbrush somewhere in the bathroom.”
“That would be great,” I immediately agree.
I might mainly be saying yes for selfish and hygiene reasons, but I also think Zander might want a talk with Van in private. Since I have now forced a new nickname on him, I can’t blame him for wanting to do this talk alone.
I take his offered towel, sweats, and toothbrush before closing myself into the one and only bathroom.
I don’t know how long before I am kicked out of this house and back on the streets, or how much longer I have away from Brian, so I am going to make each moment count. It’s just an added bonus that taking my time also means a little more time before I have to go through the story again. Living it has been hard enough. Too much, actually.
I probably should have realized that I will have to tell my story more than once in the coming days. In fact, I soon have much more to add to my horrible story.
Why couldn’t life just give me a freaking break?