Scandalous

8am/Tobago Beach/by the surfing club.

I walked into the house to find my father sitting at the dining table, which meant he was about to initiate a conversation. One that I most likely didn’t want to have. I slowed my steps, watching him dragging out the chair opposite him with his foot, silently ordering me to take a seat.

Reluctantly, I did.

My life was not seamless. It was made out of patches. There was the surfing and Bane patch. The mentally ill mother patch. The controlling father patch. The Theo patch. And even though they were stitched together, there was never an overlay. Each square stood as its own island. And if there was one thing I hated, it was bathing in the softness and cleanness of the Theo patch before jumping to the rough, worn-out Jordan patch. Which was what was happening right now.

“How is Theodore doing?” He surprised me by asking, but predictably did so while he checked the stock market on his laptop on the table. His eyes were glued to the screen and I tucked my hands between my thighs, trying not to gulp.

“He’s been better.”

“Oh?”

You don’t care, you cold-hearted bastard. So don’t ‘oh’ me. “There’s this special program where they let you visit your family at their house and monitor you throughout. Two nights. He wanted to go.” This time I did swallow the lump in my throat, because how could I not? It sounded too much like a plea, and hearing a ‘no’ would crush me.

“That’s wonderful for the families, Edie. Any news on Rexroth?” He shot me a look, and I faltered.

For the families.

As in not ours. I didn’t have a family.

Talking to Mom about this would get us into an argument again. She’d tell me that she needed to run this by my father and that she was feeling pressured. And Jordan…he took pleasure in ripping us apart. Besides, he’d just said no in his own way.

“Edie?”

I looked up, blinking. He gave me a tight, warning smile, shutting his laptop screen and pushing it aside, folding his arms on his chest. “Rexroth’s flash drive?”

“Still working on it.”

“Why is it taking you so long?”

“I only ever have time with him on Tuesdays,” I said, conveniently leaving out the fact that I’d babysat for him on Friday. If my father cared at all about my whereabouts—which he didn’t—he might’ve thought to ask. Telling Trent not to say anything was pointless. We both knew how dangerous it was—especially after he’d given me so much money.

If he’d felt like a secret before, now he was covert sin.

“And he carries the flash drive with him everywhere. That’s the only place where he keeps everything important.”

“Huh.” Jordan stroked his chin, looking out the window. The sun was beginning to set, and a bluish glow filtered through the curtains. It was time to show him what I’d managed to retrieve from Trent’s apartment when I’d gone there on Friday. I wasn’t proud of stealing it, but that was before he’d given me the money. The fact that he’d barked at me, degraded me, practically thrown me out of his place only helped a little to soothe my burning guilt. I stood up and walked to my backpack, taking out a paid invoice I’d found on his counter, tucked under a bunch of other invoices which were neatly stacked, waiting to be filed, no doubt.

“What am I looking at?” My father frowned at the invoice.

I tapped the upper left side of it. “Amanda Campbell, PI. She is a private investigator. He is using her for something.”

“Where did you find this?” Jordan asked.

The lie slipped from my mouth without a blink. “His office.”

“What do you think this is about?”

“I don’t know him very well, but I’d be surprised to find out it’s about you.” Trent never spoke about my father. Not to me or anyone else at the company. He seemed to disregard him completely. But then what did I really know about the guy? Other than he didn’t like me one bit.

“I know who it is.”

“Oh, yeah?” I cleared my throat, trying not to sound too eager.

“His child’s mother.”

His child’s mother. After I’d found out Trent was Luna’s dad, I’d snooped around with Camila, finding out that her name was Val, she was from Brazil, and that they’d never been together. Not in a relationship, anyway.

I watched Jordan’s face carefully. Watched how it morphed from boredom and disdain to interest. He really was fascinated with this guy, and it irked me. He folded the paper, pocketing it.

“More,” he said. “And soon.”

Deflated, I pushed some hair from my eyes, groaning. “Can I please fill out the papers to have Theo visit me sometime this summer? Just for the weekend.”

Me.

Visit me.

Be with me.

Heal me.

“Absolutely not.” Jordan got up from his chair, making a show of preparing my mother a cup of tea like he was Husband of the Year. For him, this conversation was over. For me, it had only just begun. He took the steaming cup and sauntered out the kitchen. I jogged after him down the hallway, the sleek marble, the beautiful arches, the ugly truth beneath these walls. Tempted to yank the sleeve of his Prada suit, I decided against it when I considered the consequences.

“Please,” I said.

“Parading him around for a weekend is going against our agreement, Edie.”

“Jordan…”

“Father.”

“Focus on your Rexroth task and forget about this. You need purpose. This is it. Helping your family. Theo is my family!”

My father stopped in front of the closed door to the bedroom and spun in place. The expression he wore told me I’d crossed the line.

“If you don’t deliver—I will make sure Theo is thrown out. I want everything there is to know about Rexroth. Everything. And I do not negotiate with children.”

“You won’t do this to me.” My voice trembled. What if I couldn’t find more dirt on Trent? What if finding this dirt made it so difficult for me to look in the mirror I’d want to throw up on myself?

“I will. You know I will.”

“You’re breaking my heart.” The admission felt sour on my tongue, like defeat.

“It’s all broken anyway. There’s nothing left to be ruined.” He meant Theodore. I knew.

I opened my mouth to answer when he slammed the door in my face.

My father had given me two choices—take Trent down to save the person I loved, or compromise the person I loved to keep an innocent man safe.

I knew what option I was going to choose.

It just made me sick to my stomach.

I WATCHED TOBAGO BEACH FROM the comfort of my terrace, smoking a fat blunt in my designer briefs, my Bling H2O water still at room temperature despite the unforgivable heat thanks to my housekeeper, who kept sliding one ice cube into it every ten minutes. I tipped my Wayfarers down, staring at the black dots spread around the golden beach. I didn’t fucking know why anyone would buy water at forty bucks a bottle, but I still did it because I could. I did it because, once upon a time, I’d been so poor that the soles of my old shoes were too thin and I’d had to smear superglue on them and let them dry in the sun so my feet wouldn’t burn against the concrete.

I was fascinated with my bank account, as all poor boys who grew up to be rich men were. Flaunting my money was almost mandatory—a flaw I wasn’t proud of—and money made Edie Van Der Zee sick. It was easy to see why we disliked each other.

Anyway.

I tapped the ashes into the ashtray beside my lounge chair, smoke rising with lazy spirals from my mouth. When I looked back down, my eyes focused on my targets, the ones who’d poured out of my building moments ago. They were walking closely next to each other. My mother, Luna, and Edie.

They were moving almost in slow motion, and I couldn’t see who was who. Other than Luna. She was the smaller dot. One of the women set a red towel on the beach—my mom, probably—the color barely recognizable from the distance. The two other figures ran to the ocean closely, maybe even hand in hand. My heart stuttered in my chest as I put the water to my lips, my eyes chasing them before they slowed down close to the wave breaking on the shore. They were just dipping their toes. Nothing more.

Calm the fuck down. Luna is fine.

I needed a distraction. I took out my laptop and started working, glancing down every now and again, trying to guess which dots were the girls I cared about. And Edie. Half an hour later, my phone began to vibrate and I snatched it. It was my mother, calling through a video chat. I slid my finger across the screen. My mom appeared, blurry but happy, smiling to her phone camera and waving. “Hey!”

“Mom.” I couldn’t help but smile. For all the shitty things I had to say about growing up poor, I wouldn’t trade places with any of my friends. My parents were the bomb, which no one else in my group could say.

“This girl.” She turned her head to the ocean before whipping it back and laughing. “She’s amazing! You have no idea how much fun she is having with Luna. She’s been teaching her how to surf.” My eyes must’ve bulged out of their fucking sockets, because she was quick to add, “On the sand. She just put Luna flat on her stomach on a surfboard and showed her what to do. They’re collecting seashells now. Edie said she will surf out to the deep part and get the real special ones. Luna…she’s never looked so happy, Trent.”

I swallowed, standing up and taking my phone with me as I slid open the screen door and entered my living room, dragging my hand over my face.

“Show me.” I nearly choked on the request. “Show them to me.”

Mom’s phone danced in her hand as she tried to zoom the camera to the two girls sitting by the ocean. I saw Luna in her little black bathing suit (no pink for this girl), on her knees, watching carefully as Edie counted, or examined, a pile of seashells. Both their heads were down, their tongues poking out from the corner of their mouths, like they were concentrating hard. Edie was wearing a red bikini bottom and a long surfer’s elastic top—red, too—and her long, wavy hair was partly tied into a bun at the top of her head, with the rest cascading down her shoulders.