Chapter 45
“A re we ever going to get to see you again?” Crue’s mother, Phoebe, asks, her voice coming through my car’s speakers.
Crue shakes his head. “It’s only been one month, Mom.”
I love listening to their conversations. They’re never long but they’re always a surprise. Phoebe really does care about her son. She checks up on him all throughout the week.
“It feels like it’s been forever.”
Even without seeing her, I can sense her misery. To her, it does feel like forever. She genuinely misses her son.
A knife twists in my gut. My mother spent entire summers away from me and not once did she call to check on me, and certainly not to complain about the time apart. She didn’t care and she never missed me. My father, I understand, but me? Why didn’t she miss me? I was just a child. I wasn’t bad. I didn’t talk back. I played any game she wanted to, whenever she wanted to, for however long she wanted to. I would’ve done anything to make her love me. Or even just like me.
Crue takes a right into my neighborhood using only one hand. I love when he drives one-handed. I’m going to miss watching him drive. I’m going to miss watching him.
“Maybe this weekend I can stop by the house to pick up some more stuff,” Crue offers while shooting me a questioning look.
He’s so hopeful. So ignorant.
I make myself nod, then drop my gaze. Crue will be returning to his childhood home this weekend…whether he wants to or not.
Focusing on the amethyst bracelet on my wrist, my other hand finds my throat, my thumb and middle finger gripping the sides as my palm massages the center.
I don’t know how I’m supposed to live without him. He hasn’t even left yet and I’m already having difficulty breathing.
This entire last week of classes, I’ve had a lump in my throat that no amount of water’s been able to get down. If I didn’t have a bodyguard adamantly opposed to truancy, I would’ve skipped them all. I’m one hundred percent confident I would’ve passed them regardless—not like it’d affect anything even if I didn’t—but with each class finished, that lump seemed to increase in size, and now that my classes are over, it’s nearly clogging my airway.
I’d rather the noose than this feeling. This is from the inside. This is me. I’m doing it. My body is killing me.
I can’t fucking breathe.
If this is a glimpse of what life without Crue will be like, I don’t want it.
Unfortunately, I never get what I want, only what I don’t.
Except for when I’m with Crue, then I get pretty much whatever I want.
I have to tell him.
I don’t know what to tell him.
“Ooh, that would be lovely,” Phoebe croons. “Dad was just saying how nice this weekend’s supposed to be. Maybe we can have a beach day.”
“We’re not gonna be there that long.”
“We? Your…protectee…has to come, too?”
Squeezing my thigh, Crue chuckles. “We do everything together.”
I envision it happening, all of it—meeting Crue’s parents, letting him give me a tour of his home, us all going to the beach together…like a family.
I tear my attention from the purple beads to regard Crue again.
“What if we went today?”
Today might be all we have left.
“Today?” he mouths, then says, “It’s your last day.”
“Last day of what?” his mother questions.
“Classes. My protectee …” He rolls his eyes for my benefit. “…finished her first year of college today.”
Last year of college, technically, but I can’t tell him that. What can I tell him? We’re running out of time and I still don’t know.
There’s a long pause before Phoebe says, “I bet it’ll be nice to have the summer off from enduring that every day.”
“It’s fine,” Crue says way too quickly. “I’ll, um, call you later, okay?”
“Okay.” His mother sighs. “I love you. Be safe.”
“Love you, too.”
Another twist of the knife. They say it to each other so easily. No hesitation, no calculation. Just real emotion, real connection, real love.
“Why can’t we go over there today?”
“I just figured you’d want to celebrate.”
“What? Like with a party? My father would never—”
He scoffs. “I know. I know he wouldn’t. It’s just… It’s a big accomplishment. Not everybody makes it to college.”
Crue didn’t.
I hadn’t considered how difficult it’s been for him having to go to Littoral every day.
“You could still go, you know. Considering the human brain isn’t fully developed until twenty-five, it’d probably be more beneficial for you to attend college now that yours is.”
“The schools around here…” Instead of finishing that thought, Crue just shakes his head.
“You don’t have to stay in Sea Haven. You can go to any college in the country.”
It’s a while before Crue responds.
“I’ll think about it…in three years…when I can afford to.”
Now I’m the quiet one.
“So, about tonight…”
“What kind of celebration did you have in mind, Major?”
I don’t want to go anywhere outside of this cocoon Crue and I have built for ourselves.
Ryan’s finally gone, my father’s been too busy getting caught up from his unexpected sick leave to even be around at mealtimes, Crue is…everything. When I’m not in class, we’ve either been running or swimming or stunting, or in the atrium, his bed, or shower. He’s become my partner, my best friend, my lover, my everything.
“We can have Frederick make a clafoutis tart and eat it while watching a movie,” Crue suggests as we pull up the winding driveway to Munreaux Manor.
A clafoutis tart?
“How did you—”
“Ryan told me. It’s the only good thing he did.”
That and leave.
“In your room or the theater?”
“‘The theater,’” he mocks, but I can’t laugh because the manor comes into view and with it, Edwin. He’s standing out front, waiting.
Why is he waiting?
At the sight of my father’s valet, Crue instantly removes his hand from my thigh, returning it to his own with a muttered, “What does Eddy want?”
Ticktock.
I contemplate grabbing that hand and telling Crue everything, to hell with the consequences, but I can’t . It won’t make any difference anyway.
The whole time he’s putting my heels on, I study Edwin. His eyes do not touch on us once, yet I know with absolute certainty that he’s out here for us. For me.
“I need to go to the atrium,” I announce loudly as soon as I’m out of the car, Crue beside me.
Without missing a beat, Edwin steps forward. “Miss Munreaux, if you could follow me, please. Your father would like a word.”
“I need to check on my butterflies,” I repeat with a tremble in my voice.
“I can do that for you.”
“No. I—”
“Your father insists.” With that, Edwin spins, leaving me no choice but to follow.
“I’ll come with,” Crue assures me, but Edwin hears.
Over his shoulder, he says, “That won’t be necessary. Mr. Munreaux does not require your assistance in this matter.”
My heart starts racing. What matter? It’s only Friday. I was hoping I had another day. I was counting on having another day. I need another day. I…want another day.
Ticktock. Ticktock.
Damn it. I’m not going to get another day. I should’ve known. I should’ve prepared for this. I was too blinded by all the good, I didn’t want to plan for the bad. I purposely shoved it away, out of my mind, so I could be fully present with Crue and just enjoy my time with him. I knew it was fleeting. I knew the end was coming.
But like Crue said, it doesn’t make it any less sad.
I muster up a soft smile for him, but not empty promises. I don’t know if it’ll be okay. I don’t know if this will be over quickly. I don’t know if I’ll ever see him again.
I don’t know anything…except that I love Crue more than drawing, more than butterflies, more than the feeling I get when I’m airborne because he makes me feel free and loved and needed all the time, not just momentarily.
That’s exactly what this was though—momentary. Now comes the plunge back to earth, back to reality.
Entering my father’s study, all he says is, “Close the door on your way out,” to Edwin.
“What did you want to see me about, Father?” I ask as demurely as I can.
“We’ll be leaving for Nantucket tonight.”
“Why?”
“There are things you need to do. Tasks you must complete. Decisions you must make. It’d look bad if you weren’t. For you, for everyone. You need to be there.”
“What can I do to change your mind?” I ask him.
His eyes glued to his computer screen, he releases a hearty laugh, one I haven’t heard before, more of a guffaw.
“You have a lot to learn when it comes to negotiations, my dear.”
“I’m not your dear.”
“No, but you are my greatest disappointment.”
“Then why—”
“Because this is all you’re good for.”
I can’t stop that knife from earlier plunging all the way in, catching more than one vital organ. I’m not killing me. He is. He’s responsible for my mother’s death and he’ll be responsible for mine.
“I’ll give you anything. I’ll do anything. I just… Give me one more night.” Screw negotiations. I’m desperate. “Please, Father.”
“One more night to do what? Run away? Fill your belly with some bastard child I’ll be forced to cut out of you myself? I wasn’t born yesterday, Never. We’ll depart as soon as it’s dark enough. End of conversation.”
A tornado of white-hot rage swirls inside me faster and faster, building bigger and bigger, until there’s nowhere else for it to go but out.
“Why? Why can’t you let me have this one thing? I ask you for nothing! Nothing! Grant me this one fucking wish and I’ll do whatever you want for the rest of my Goddess-forsaken life!”
Finally, he looks directly at me. “What has you so emotional?”
“You mean other than you commandeering my entire future?”
“Commandeering? I have no need to commandeer that which I already own. From the moment you were born with the last name Munreaux, your future’s belonged to me. No, this little outburst of yours is something different. Something deeper.”
He’s right. I am too emotional. I’m usually the opposite around him.
I immediately attempt to rein in the twister churning all around outside of me, stuffing it back inside, under the perfectly put-together outfit and flawless makeup. I even raise my chin for good measure.
“What do you expect? My life as I know it is over and you’re not even giving me enough time to mourn it properly.”
“You’ve had nineteen years to mourn it.”
“That’s not true. I only became aware of your plan last year.”
“Now you see, that’s what makes you my greatest disappointment. You should’ve been prepared all along for your servitude to Munreaux Motorcycles.”
“That’s why? I thought it was because I let the entire O-line of Littoral’s football team run a train on me.”
Surging to his feet, he slaps me across the face, making my head whip to the right, my brain feeling like it’s between the prongs of a tuning fork after it’s been struck. My head is vibrating.
At least my lie worked. Now he’s the emotional one.
Vision blurred and ears ringing, I slowly turn back to face my flushed father, his finger already thrust at me as he fumes, “You will learn to hold your tongue or you’ll find yourself without one!”
Since the idea of bleeding out from a severed tongue sounds a thousand times better than going to that island this weekend, I snark right back, “But won’t my new—”
Crack!
The violent sound has me bracing for the second slap but nothing comes.
I glance over my shoulder to see the door open, almost at an unnatural angle—half hanging off its hinges maybe. Crue’s lowering his foot to the floor just before he storms into my father’s study, his face red as well.
Wiping the tears off my cheeks, I face forward again to hide the left side of my face from my bodyguard.
“Mr. Brantley!” Edwin calls after him, hot on his heels. “I apologize, Mr. Munreaux. I tried to stop him.”
Father puts up a hand to silence his valet.
“I hate to interrupt,” Crue says, zero pleasantry in his tone whatsoever. “But Ever has an appointment she can’t be late for.”
“Ever?”
Crue tries to correct his mistake too late by saying, “Miss Munreaux.”
When he latches on to my forearm and pulls, I lean the opposite way.
Stop, stop, stop, stop, stop. Please just fucking stop. I don’t care what my father says to me. I don’t care what my father does to me. I only care about what he can, and will, do to Crue if he finds out we’re together.
“Yes… Miss Munreaux…” my father parrots, his narrowed gaze alternating between me, my bodyguard, and his hold on me.
Shit. He already knows. Or at the very least, suspects.
I rip my arm from Crue’s with a disgusted scoff.
He tries for me again, so I take a step away from him, out of reach.
“Enough to kick my door down?”
“It’s important,” is all Crue offers for explanation. No apology, nothing.
Father studies us for another minute before saying, “Whatever appointment my daughter has, cancel it. Never’s busy this weekend.”
“What’s going on this weekend?” Crue asks.
“That no longer concerns you.”
Here it comes. The snip severing all ties between me and Crue.
I grip the edge of the desk for support and hold my breath, wishing that lump in my throat would expand right this second to keep me from having to say what needs to be said next. This is going to hurt and not just me.
“As Miss Munreaux’s personal protection agent, all her whereabouts are my concern.”
“Not anymore, they’re not.”
“Sir? I was hired to get her through school. She’s not done—”
“Oh, yes, she is. Today marks the last day of her college career.”
I can feel the weight of Crue’s stare on the right side of my face.
“But…she still has three years left.”
“Three years? Munreaux Motorcycles doesn’t have that kind of time. We need this now.”
A shake of my head causes me to lose consciousness briefly. How hard did he hit me?
“You actually thought it was for three years?” I taunt with laughter I can’t seem to control. Or hear.
Crue steps forward, into my right eye’s periphery, but I don’t let myself move a single muscle to see him better. If I do, he might see me better.
“You knew it wasn’t?”
That I can hear just fine. The betrayal.
“Never didn’t tell you?” my father asks Crue.
“Of course I didn’t,” I’m quick to answer. “I wouldn’t tell this renta-cop wannabe if his ass was on fire.”
Even with one fuzzy eye, I can see the pain slash across Crue’s face, leaving behind a deeper cut than that airbag ever could.
Ripping his attention off me, Crue tells my father, “She’s nowhere near ready to run your company yet.”
It won’t make a difference. Nothing will. His decision’s been made for months. Years. Since my birth, apparently.
I am like veal, raised only for the slaughter.
Father pretends to mull that over before ordering Edwin, “See that Mr. Brantley signs the necessary paperwork before vacating the premises.”
He’s fired. We’re over. This is the only goodbye we’ll ever get. And if I want there to be as little damage as possible to Crue, I have to make this believable.
“I told you I’d send you back to where you belong,” I singsong as if I wanted this. As if I couldn’t be happier about this.
Crue crowds me from the side to sneer, “It’s funny, Never …”
I fight not to wince at the name. I fight not to react at all, but it’s like I can feel every cell in my body calling to his. My body burns to lean into his.
Lowering his voice, he finishes near my ear, “I thought that’s where you belonged, too.”
I do belong with you , I long to say, to shout, to etch onto my skin and heart and bones for all of eternity because it’s true. I’ve always felt like an outsider in my own circle, in my own house, in my own life. In Crue’s arms is the only place I feel like I’m where I’m supposed to be, where I feel like I’m home.
Father’s gaze drilling into mine, I reply to Crue without looking at him, “The reeking shack? Please. I’ve driven by salt marshes that smelled better than your little hovel by the sea.”
My father makes a terrible sound in his throat. “That’s why we live up here, away from the odor.”
Although he could easily be referring to the coastal wetlands that stink like rotten eggs, I know Arthur Munreaux better than that. He’s talking about the people. The lower class. Crue.
My Crue.
Nose stinging, I wave a hand under it.
“Edwin, can you take out the trash already? I’ve been counting down the days to be rid of his stink.”
“Right this way, Mr. Brantley.”
Crue doesn’t budge.
“Let the door hit you on your way out,” I tell him, adding a dismissive flutter of my shaky fingers. Go.
“You’re intolerable,” he grits, the emotion still evident in his tone.
I know. I know! I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.
“And you’re trespassing. Leave.”
I feel the air pouring from his nostrils.
Don’t do it. Don’t say anything damning. Please. I’m fucking begging.
“You’re not gonna see me off?”
He’s begging now, too. But I can’t give in. I can’t. I warned him. We were never going to last.
The final nail in the coffin, I close my eyes.
Just go.
Finally, Crue’s body heat recedes, then I hear him stalk away.
Opening my eyes, I spin around in time to just make out his back disappearing through the doorway that has shards of wood sticking out of it.
Look for me. Look for me!
“Better luck guarding the cornstalks!” I yell after him, equally hoping he comes back and that he doesn’t.
Just the two of us once again, my father says, “For a moment there, I was worried you were sullying yourself with the help.”
“I do have some standards, Father.”
“Like the O-line of the football team?”
“Football team of an Ivy.”
“Fair point. Now…let’s go over expectations for this weekend…as well as after.”
Rotating my head over my shoulder, I skim the list filling the screen on the wall, my stomach roiling at the adjectives jumping out at me. None of them describe me. Or even a human. They’re more fitting for a robot. A submissive, emotionless robot.
I’m not a robot though. I’m a flyer. That’s exactly what I’m going to do.
Except this time, there won’t be anybody to catch me.