Chapter 25
“How did you get that?”
It’s hard to stop the tremble in my voice when I ask, the meeting with my mom still eating my insides.
“How do you think?” Hannah asks, her glittering nails wrapped around the phone like a prize. Her white dress is fit for a celebration, short and frilly. “Let’s cut the nonsense, I’ve seen the rest of the video. I know you were there when Beau died.” Hannah steps forward, but hearing those words makes me step back.
“We-we don’t know he’s dead,” I hate that I stutter.
“They found his body,” she says. “And I know you had Greta”s scrunchie.”
Her accusations make my stomach twist and the feeling to hurl gets stronger. “Then you also saw the end of that video. You know how it ends. You know?—”
“I knew you were trouble when you showed up here,” Hannah cuts me off. “And now I have the evidence to prove it. If I release this thing, I promise you’ll be the one to blame. So what I suggest is you turn yourself in. Better yet, just fucking leave.”
She doesn’t let me say another word before she flips her hair and saunters into the building, that phone still in her hand. My back hits the cold brick as Hannah’s words echo.
How the hell did she get his phone?
Don’t be stupid.
My body tenses and my knees buckle. My hand on the wall, I try not to pass out from the weight of what’s hitting me.
We’re a team.
That’s bullshit.
Because Malcolm McKinsley has a team of his own.
And I’m not on it.
Focus.
Focus.
Focus!
Keeping my eyes on my canvas is impossible as I tap the end of my brush against my face. Glancing at my phone again, I grab it, checking if the volume is on. It is. I swipe up on the screen anyway. No new notifications.
I texted Mac the minute I left Sun House. Told him it was an emergency but I’ve yet to hear back from him. Almost twenty-four hours later.
I hoped Riviera’s classroom would bring some solace but I’ve stared at this stroke of red on this canvas all evening. I can’t get into my groove. I can’t get that conversation out of my head. Both of them. My mom. Hannah.
The person I need the most right now, my “teammate,” isn’t around when I need him. But that’s the usual.
The stool beside me gets the brunt of my anger when I slam my phone on it. Gray hasn’t been around either. Another thing I want answers to but Mac is as avoidant as my mother.
“Fuck this.” Grabbing the phone, I sling my tote over my shoulder and move towards the door, sketchpad in hand. If I want answers, I’ll get them. I’m tired of waiting.
If Mac won’t come to me, I’ll go to him.
Leaving the classroom, Ryung is the first person I bump into. I don’t hesitate before asking, “What are you doing right now?”
He stops in his path, duffel bag on his shoulder, stick in his hand. “Isn”t it obvious?” Then he continues on his path down the shiny SBU hall.
“Wait!” I call. He stops but he doesn’t turn around. “Can you give me a ride before practice? It’ll be quick.”
He looks over his shoulder, his long black hair falling over it. “You? No.”
My brows furrow, Hannah’s conversation still whirling my brain. “Ryung, do you think I did it?”
He turns around, sighing. “Did what?”
“Wait, why not me?”
He tilts the tip of his stick towards his angled face. “This face doesn’t deserve to be on the other end of Mac”s fist. The Crowns have been through enough, thanks to you.”
“Is that what happened to Gray? Mac’s fist?”
“I don’t know what happened to Gray.”
“You sure? ‘Cause it sounds like Mac did something to Gray.”
Ryung stomps towards me, looking around him. “Are you fucking with me? I said, I don’t know what happened to Gray. Lay off it.”
“Well can you bring me to him?” His shoulders drop like I’m an idiot. “Not Gray,” I clarify. “Mac. I’ll ask him myself.”
“I guess bringing you to him won’t be a problem,” he muses. “If I do, will you leave me alone?”
It’s the easiest deal I’ve come across in Paradise Hill. “Promise.”
“Out.”
It’s the only word Ryung says to me when his vintage Mercedes pulls into Mac’s massive driveway. It’s the only thing he’s said the entire ride. He doesn’t even play music.
The door swings up when I open it, like the wings of a bird. The minute I step out, I hardly close the door before he speeds away, throwing my bag and sketchpad out the window.
My shoulders fall as I move towards my belongings, picking them off the pristine pavement. Turning around, the massive mansion greets me again, the clouds above matching the ominous vibe.
The good thing is, I’m here.
Right back at the monster’s lair.
My heart pounds, my arms sticking to my sides with anxiety sweats under my shirt. Despite that and the bomber jacket over my shoulders, I’m still cold. My Oxfords move towards the main entrance as I try to temper my breaths.
You can do this. You can do this.
Glancing around, only two cars are in the driveway. Mac’s spacemobile and a sleek expensive SUV. With a deep inhale, my finger lands on the doorbell. My other hand grips my sketchpad as chimes ring from beyond the door like a grand cathedral.
When no one answers, I try again. My brows lower. He’s clearly home. And I know he has staff.
One more try leads to nothing before my hand reaches for the iron handle. Heat rushes through me when the door opens.
“Mac?” I call, the grand entrance much bigger without a crowd of people. But that also makes the space more eerie, more threatening. “Mac!”
Standing on the checkered print marble, my thoughts spiral. Is Mac really able to get me fifteen thousand dollars for my work? Or was it just a job to keep me quiet? Like the mural. Was this all just a giant payback plan?
I know the way our bodies feel when we’re together. I know how how much we crave each other. But I also know the comedown from Malcom McKinsley is no fucking joke. He’s like Ecstasy. Heroin. The ride is incredible. But the risks outweigh the rewards.
Drugs will only dim your light and cloud your judgment. And Mac is the worst one.
“Get your physical back in shape and we’ll have you drafted in the new year.”
My chest tightens, a familiar voice ringing from beyond the patio doors.
“Mom?”
There’s no mistaking her coldness. A business robot.
“I’m very happy to work with you Mac. We almost lost an opportunity. Maybe you can get it back with more therapy.”
“Thank you, Cara.” I can hear Mac’s smile and that makes my stomach spin.
They share a laugh. My fists tighten.
They’re both here cackling together and getting ahead while I’m about to get blackmailed out of my future.
Following their sounds, my Oxfords lead me to the sitting room with the bar before my eyes land on them in Mac’s backyard. Mac signs a paper on an iron table like they’re making a deal.
And now? Now there’s no stopping me.
I’m outside before I know it, both their heads whipping in my direction.
Mac looks like the business fucker he is, dressed in a white collared shirt and slacks. While my mother, Cara, looks like the careless, self-centred human she walks around as, her long orange dress matching her hair.
“I’m a fucking idiot.” My eyes glare at the paper on the table, Mac’s signature scribbled in ink.
“Ember,” Cara sighs. “I didn’t know you were joining us today.” She swings a look at Mac like he’s responsible.
“Hey mom. There’s a whole lot of stuff I didn’t know. Like you and Mac working together?”
He doesn’t say a word. He just glares at me, those iron eyes boring into my head. His knuckles turn white gripping the iron chair but I know he’s nowhere as mad as I am.
“He’s a brilliant hockey player,” Cara says. “Of course, we’re working together.”
“Who let you in here?” It’s the first thing Mac says to me.
My focus shifts to him. “Was this the plan all along? To get close to her?” Once I start, there’s no stopping me. “And how the fuck did Hannah get that phone? And the video? Mac, you’ve been…” It hits me and so does that burn in my eye, a sting in my nose. A heaviness fills my chest when I say the words I knew have always been coming. “You played me.”
“Malcolm?”
Another familiar voice comes from behind me.
“Sterling,” Cara greets. “How nice to see you again.”
Mac’s father steps out in a suit matching his son’s. He straightens his black tie, looking between the three of us. “What’s going on?” His eyes lock on me, his thick brows lowering. “And why do I keep seeing you?”
Cara laughs, “I’ve been asking the same thing. She’s my daughter if you can believe it.” Her cringe sends a punch to my gut. “Meet Ember Everett.” She waves me off before gesturing to the paper on the table. “What”s more important is I just signed your son to a tentative contract in Montreal. But he has to get his physical together or I’ll be in trouble.”
“Come again?” Sterling’s eyes narrow further, his attention turning to Mac. But I’m thinking the same thing.
“Were you just using me to get close to my mother?” I ask, my voice as shaky as my legs. “For hockey?”
“You have to go,” Mac says. “Now.”
That night flashes back to me, his eyes wide as he tells me to run.
But this time, I’m not going anywhere.
Sterling follows Mac’s gaze to me. He steps forward, his shiny pointy dress shoes approaching me. “Everett … Everett…” His mouth twists like he’s thinking about it. “I know that name, don’t I?” Then it hits him, an anvil dropping on his head. “Everett.” He smirks, taking another step.
“Father…” Mac calls.
“Here’s what’s going to happen.” Sterling ignores his son. “You’re going to leave this home. You’re going to leave this town.” He grabs my sketchpad from my grip, flipping through it. He lands on a page with a drawing as he reaches into the pocket of his blazer, pulling out a silver lighter. “You will regret it if you don’t.” He throws my sketchpad on the ground, opened to a drawing of Mac, those iron eyes the focus. Then he flicks his lighter open, my eyes moving to the flame.
“Wait,” I call, reaching for the sketchpad, but it’s too late. He throws the lighter on it. I reach for it but Sterling’s hand comes to my chest, holding me back. He’s as strong as Mac. All I can do is watch. My work, old and new including everything Mac asked me to do burns. Then Mac’s father kicks it away as Cara titters behind him.
He moves closer to me. “Beau? That’s your fault, isn’t it?”
“No!” I respond.
“My son’s failed body is also your fault.”
“It’s—”
“Ember Everett, I can ruin you in ways my son hasn’t.” His face hovers in front of mine. As stoic as both McKinsley men are, he doesn’t have a resemblance to Mac beyond the suits and coldness. He reaches forward and I flinch before he flicks a finger against my nose. “I promise.” He turns around, moving to the iron table before picking up the paper Mac signed. Then he looks over his shoulder. “I advise you to get out of Paradise Hill as soon as you can, little girl. Or should I say, little whore?”
Rrrriiip!
Sterling rips the paper in two.
“Father!” Mac calls again, a croak in it.
“Now, Sterling, why would you do that?” Clara asks, her voice filled with exhaustion.
“My son isn’t going anywhere,” Sterling responds. “He has a business to run.” Then he turns to me, his voice getting louder. “Why are you still here? If you think you can fuck your way into this world, you are very mistaken. And if you think I won’t end your sad little life, well, you clearly haven’t learned much being here.” He yells towards the mansion behind him. “Get the police. We have a murderer in our midst.”
My head whips to Mac, that word lingering in the air but he doesn’t say a thing. Turning to my mom, my heart pounds as I make my final plea, the smell of burnt paper filling the air. “You’re going to let him do this to me?” It’s hard to stop that tear from rolling down my face before I wipe it away with a knuckle of a clenched fist.
Cara shrugs. “This is all too much drama for me.” She picks up her designer bag from another iron chair. “I need another cocktail. Good luck to all of you.” She pushes past me on her way out of the room, leaving nothing but a clenched chest and citrus perfume.
Sirens wail in the distance as the space around me tilts.
“Ember,” Mac says, his voice calm, stoic. “Run.”
We havea murderer in our midst.
If you think you can fuck your way into this world, you’re very mistaken.
Get out of Paradise Hill as soon as you can.
My arms cross against my body, my hands on each of my arms as cars whip past me. Walking back to The Valley is long and gruelling, but the words in my head distract me.
I’m just another girl from those movies: too hopped up on good sex and a hot guy to think straight. I ignored all the warnings.
For nothing.
Approaching the broken door of our mobile home, it’s time I confide in Uncle Jake. Chances are, he won’t even hear me. He’s already given up on life and fuck, at this point, I don’t blame him.
“Uncle Jay?” The door creaks open as I drag my exhausted body back into my old life, fully accepting it this time. I can’t go back there, they’ve all made it clear. That was all a pipe dream. A fairytale.
This is where I belong.
Hockey plays in the background, comforting me as that damp, earthy smell surrounds me.
“Uncle Jay?” I call. “I’m home.” For good. “Uncle Jay?” I call again, not hearing the drunken excitement I expected. “Are you home?”
More beer cans and bottles litter our home with a few expensive whiskey bottles between. Moving to where he usually sits, my body stills.
My throat closes as a lightning bolt strikes my chest when I see what lies in the middle of our living room floor.
“Un-Uncle Jay?” I’m scared to check, his body sprawled out on the ground with a bottle in his hand. His white t-shirt stained with brown spots sits above his stomach, the belt on his worn jeans unbuckled.
No.
No, no, no!
“Uncle Jake?” Rushing to him, I fall to my knees, tapping his cheek. “Uncle Jay!” A slap to his face doesn’t wake him up before I shake him again. “Please… please…”
He doesn’t respond, my chest caving in as my head comes to his chest.
“Uncle Jay?”