Chapter 15
15
REMI
Slutty fairies.
Black mini dresses with a corset top, see-through front panels, a sparkly tulle over the skirt, and of course, silver wings. My heeled boots have straps and buckles and stop mid-calf, which means plenty of skin. The costumes are sexy. Attention-grabbing.
And fucking freezing.
Even with the arm warmers I insisted on wearing, covering wrists to elbows, I can’t pretend we are anywhere except Ashfield, Ohio, in late October. As much as I’d rather be anywhere else.
The Halloween carnival my town puts on every year loses its appeal after about an hour. Not that it had much to begin with—outside the room of mirrors. That was by far the most fun I’ve had all night.
Dimitri Sinner might have made his living photographing wildlife, but he completed a series out of college involving mirrors. Some kids read bedtime stories with their dads, mine told me about shoots, showing me the prints. He went into detail about his processes, how he framed each photo. With the amount of information I absorbed simply from falling asleep as he talked, it would be shocking if I went into anything other than visual media.
Specifically film studies.
He captured stills of the world, and I want to capture it spinning.
Document all the beautiful things.
It just so happens, I found someone interested in seeing all those things, too.
As I wait for Sage to come out of the lovely portable toilet she avoided for as long as possible, I tug my black arm warmers higher. I tug one anyway. For the left one, I carefully ease the fabric back up to my elbow to avoid pulling at the wrap farther down on my forearm. Other than tonight, I’ve gotten away with long sleeves to cover the bandage.
But, slutty fairies required some improvising.
“Bitch”—Sage bounds over and grabs my hand—“it’s trick-or-treat time.”
She drags me behind a booth for pumpkin carving, but then keeps ahold of me, sidling right up beside me while she bends over to dig in her boot.
“You won’t be cold tonight, huh?” I ask.
Sage tosses my hand away from her, fishes in my boot, and holds her chin a little higher when she straightens. “I’m not cold. I was just trying to show you affection. Sor-ry.”
I let her have it, even if she goes rigid, fighting off a shiver through the attitude.
She swaps the two matching flasks she retrieved back and forth before she wiggles them for me to pick. I reach, but she pulls them away, giving me a look.
“Trick or treat,” I say through my teeth.
A smug smile appears on her shimmery black lips, and I grab one of the flasks. We tap them together and drink. My entire face feels the lemon vodka. My eyes water, and I breathe through my mouth, loathing whoever gave her this idea. Her lips twitch. The Fireball truly is a treat compared to the trick flask I’ve gotten twice in a row.
“I feel warm again.” She snags my flask and tucks it in my boot, then she slips the other in hers.
I head back toward the midway before someone notices us.
“Now,” she says, catching up, “do we bail? I mean, there’s not shit to do other than that house party that chick in your class is throwing. Oh.” Sage grasps my arm, right over the bandage, and I flinch. She doesn’t notice, though, releasing me just as fast. “If we go, you can show me which football players you’ve banged.”
“I have never once said I’ve banged a football player.”
“Right, because you don’t tell me the juicy shit—as we’ve discussed. Regardless, lame party or stay.” She links her arm through my other one. “Those are the only two options.”
“I might have a third,” a deep voice says from behind us.
We both stop, me calmly and Sage stumbling. Then we both smile, hers a little manic and mine wide because Miles and I successfully pulled off his surprise visit. As soon as she turns around, she launches herself at him.
He catches her with a grunt and grins at me over her shoulder. “Hey, Rem.”
Once her feet hit the ground, she pushes her hands into his sandy hair and drags his face down to hers.
“Hi, Miles. How was your flight?” I ask.
“Good,” he mumbles with a thumbs-up beside Sage’s head.
She detaches, and he swipes over his mouth in case her black lipstick transferred while she spins on me. “You bitch. Is this why you whined about girls only tonight when I wanted to call him?”
I shrug, not admitting to anything. Now that I know it works, I might need to use it again in the future.
“This is hot.” Miles thumbs her bottom lip and then glances over to me. “Pretty swirls, Remi. Very slutty fairy.”
“The face paint mask was necessary.” Sage slides her arms into the front of his jacket, not cold . “Nothing else was going to cover the black eye she’s rocking.”
His brows pull in, gaze jerking to me. “Who the fuck gave you a black eye?”
Before I can even open my mouth to lie, Sage answers, “She got it having wild car sex.”
I force a laugh, his eyes still on me, and I shake my head. “I got elbowed by a girl in gym, but that’s boring, so…”
One side of his mouth lifts, but the undercurrent’s sad. Like Miles knows I don’t take gym class.
The look vanishes a second later, and he shrugs off his coat and drapes it over Sage. “Let’s take a lap, and then we’ll get out of here.”
She latches onto my hand and cuddles against his side, and we wander the midway with her as if the exchange never happened.
But I want it that way.
When Sage and I were nine, my mom went to rehab. I lived with my dad full-time until she came back. I have no idea how long she stayed clean, but I got a real mom for a few weeks. Sage didn’t understand why I was so sad after she relapsed. If rehab fixed everything, I just needed to tell my mom to go again. It was simple. After she smiled and hugged me, so excited we solved the problem, I stopped telling her the bad if I could help it.
Sometimes I wish she’d see it, though. Like tonight when I told her I got elbowed in my nonexistent gym class. We were on the floor in my room by the mirror, pillows against the door. She gave a psshh and accused me of not sharing the juicy shit . I stared at her while she painted a picture about hot car sex, simultaneously painting swirls of black and silver and teal on my face, burying the truth I desperately wished she would notice.
Except Sage doesn’t even know what to look for.
The worst thing in her life is dealing with a long-distance relationship with a boyfriend who adores her. Mr. and Mrs. Teller love her, praise her, and support her. They’ve been happily married since they graduated college and have a fund for Sage’s tuition set up—whatever she decides to do with her life. Her mom gets tipsy on wine once a week at her book club. Her dad still drags her to father-daughter dances. She lives in a stable home. A safe one. My best friend gets to not know the bad because she doesn’t have to survive it.
I want it all to stay simple for her for as long as possible before the world inevitably turns on her.
Miles wins her a big pink skeleton stuffy at a ring toss booth. She beams, names it Pigeon, and then he plays again to win me one too. I get a wink as he hands it off.
We’ve circled back on the midway, reaching the carnival’s entrance when Foster texts back about the video I sent him of the mirrors.
Why do you hurt me like this?
I bite down on my smile, staring at the words like they’re the actual man. At this point, the fever of him burns hot enough that I quit trying to cool it. The delirium feels too incredible.
Feeling the stare, I rotate to face Sage a few feet away, likely trying to read my mind. Miles went for his car in the parking lot, offering to pick us up to save a heels-and-gravel situation. The man gets shit.
Sage tips her chin up and flits her gaze everywhere but at me, clearly uninterested in what’s on my phone.
I sigh.
“His name is Foster,” I tell her, and her grin spreads.
“And he is…” She raises her eyebrows, waiting for me to finish the sentence.
I shrug. “He’s Foster, the wandering boy.”
That earns me a squint, but I don’t know what Foster is. I just know I want him to be.
“So, just some guy you’re lamely talking to? Ugh. I thought maybe he was the car ho, but I do applaud you for keeping them lined up.”
Before I can remind her there was no car sex, we hear a deep, “Remington Sinner” behind us.
I spin, catching the black police uniform first. The spike of anxiety only lasts a second because above it waits possibly my favorite smile in existence.
“Are you a stripper cop tonight?” Sage asks Roman as he stops in front of us. “Because there is an ATM…”
His expression changes to the one he always gives her—like he wishes she’d find a filter. “I am a normal cop, like always, and no, I don’t want to know what you’re dressed as, Sage Teller.”
“Slutty fairies,” I supply, punctuating with a bratty smile.
Roman runs a hand over his face. “Christ.”
“Oh, come on, Officer Moore.” Sage pops a hip toward me. “We’re both eighteen now. You get to enjoy the view without being pervy.”
I press my lips together, suppressing a laugh at the absolute regret on his face. He gives me a look and then nods behind us. “And there’s the boyfriend with wonderful timing.”
We both glance over our shoulders to see Miles pull up. He’s from Ashfield, so he’s seen Roman around over the years, patrolling streets and events, and he gives the cop an easy nod back.
When I swing my head around, Roman smiles at me again, a slight tip to his head. I smile, too. It’s been weeks since I’ve seen him. Even longer since hearing his voice.
Sage sighs. “As much as I love being a third wheel, I have my own wheel to mount.” She zeros in on Roman. “You taking my girl home in your sexy cruiser or what?”
I shake my head. “You don’t have to. Miles is perfectly capable of?—”
“He is, but so is Roman,” she interjects. “I imagine you two don’t get nearly as much time together as you’d like.” She waggles her brows, causing Roman to close his eyes.
He opens them, narrows them at me in question. Enough of an affirmative for Sage, apparently.
“Perfect.” She bumps the popped hip against mine and winks. “Love you, bitch.”
“Love you,” I say as she walks toward the car.
Miles must piece it together because he rolls down his window. “It was great to conspire with you, Rem. Be safe for me, yeah?”
His eyebrows slant with the last part, and I nod, my mouth hitching up.
“He means no more black eyes.” Sage cocks her head, swinging open the passenger door. “So, use the back seat. There’s more room.” And because she is Sage Teller, she slips in, “You drive a spacious SUV, right, Officer Hottie?”
Before my glare fully lands, she ducks into the car. They drive away as I turn, and Roman’s already staring down at me.
“You have no idea how glad I am she’s only minimally rubbed off on you.”
I laugh and fall into step with him when he heads down the sidewalk to his police-issued SUV parked at the curb. “She still has time, Officer Hottie .”
He chuckles, and I crawl in, smashing my poor wings against the seat.
Roman Moore is handsome, though. Dark brown skin and strong features that don’t go unnoticed, his beard trimmed short, and wavy hair in a low fade. And his eyes—deep brown and warm. They’ve always been so gentle. What you’d want to see in a crisis, which is why he says his grandma wanted him to become an officer. It took a while for life to get him there, but he made it.
Even when I first met him, he could make me feel safe. That was when I was eight, and he was a strung-out twenty-two-year-old, fucking my mom. I fully ignore the last part in my mind. I think he does too. Especially after Daniel married her and became Roman’s chief.
He’d been clean for years by then, got out of Hunts for a fresh start. I remember how bad it got for him before that. Before he told me he had to leave, and he was so sorry, and I didn’t see him for a long time.
By the time my mom and I moved to Ashfield, he’d been working here as a cop for a few years. The chief at the time thought his recovery and commitment to sobriety showed resilience. Too bad the man retired. From what I’ve witnessed, Roman’s one of the few cops under Daniel that stays clean.
As we pull out of the parking lot, Roman flips on the heat for me. He shakes his head when he looks over at my skirt, illuminated in a streetlight. But then his lips turn up, and he reaches over, squeezing my shoulder.
“I missed you,” he says.
“I’m pretty damn missable.”
He nods. “That you are. How have things been since the last time I snuck you away?”
“Nothing all that exciting,” I tell him, infusing it with pep. “It’s senior year, so everyone’s choosing colleges and hunting down scholarships and filling out?—”
The words stop when he hits the brakes, pulling into an alley behind the library that sits off our town’s square. He throws the cruiser in park and shuts off the headlights but keeps it running for the heat.
Then he unbuckles and twists toward me, gripping the back of my seat. He studies me in the dim light, and I swallow.
“Remi,” he says quietly.
My lids fall closed when he grasps my chin, but I still know when the dome light turns on. Tears sting the backs of my eyes. I wait until it stops before I open them, Roman’s gaze hard. His jaw’s even harder, his focus on the sliver under my eye not covered by face paint—where the bruising shows.
“What’s the lie you’re going to tell me?” he asks.
I half-smile. “Some chick elbowed me in gym class.”
The words are weak, little effort behind them since he already called me on it.
Then he looks down at my arm warmers, and my chest constricts.
“And what did she do to your arms?” After a second of me not answering, he lets his hand fall from my face. He slowly reaches for the top of my right arm warmer. He gives me every chance to stop him. Instead, I exhale and carefully draw down the left one and show him the bandage over the underside of my forearm.
“I landed on a broken wine glass,” I whisper the truth.
Roman’s nostrils flare, his head shaking. I can tell he wants to unleash on something, his fists clenched. He forces a slow inhale, hands loosening. “Is this the first time he’s hit you?” His voice sounds strained, the calm surface level.
My entire body hurts, and I can’t bring myself to say it aloud.
When no answer answers him, he laughs without humor. “Of fucking course it’s not.”
“It’s not normally bad for me. He usually…” I swallow and have to push the words out, “I got in the w?—”
“Finish that sentence, and I’ll lose my fucking shit.” He swings his gaze to mine, his eyes safe to me even when he’s seething. “The only way to get in the way is if it’s happening. If it’s happening, not a goddamn part of it is an accident.”
I nod because what else can I do? Disagree? Daniel accidentally gets loaded and fights with his pilled-up wife, and then unintentionally beats her? And me when I try to help too much?
The little girl always tries to help.
As I put the fabric back in place, I glance down.
Roman touches my other cheek, and I look up. I look up, and I see the tear inside him.
“I would kill him if I could. Fuck, I’d report it if it would do a damn thing besides make it worse.” His thumb sweeps back and forth before his hand returns to the back of my seat.
“I don’t have that long left,” I say, putting more behind it now. “I got approved to graduate early.”
I haven’t told anyone since Sage will doom about me leaving her. But when his lips twitch the tiniest bit, I feel less alone in it.
We still lived in Hunts when I started taking extra classes freshman year. My mom pissed off a boyfriend before locking down a new one, which meant nowhere to go after he kicked her out.
Us out.
At four in the morning, lying on my back on a merry-go-round, staring at the sky for another night, I needed a reason. Coming up with a way out that kept me from having to sleep on playground equipment or hold my pee to avoid cracked-out creeps near the park’s restrooms served the purpose. Graduating early became the first item on what developed into the escape plan.
“So,” I tell Roman, “I only need to last in the step-house for a little over a month. After that I won’t have to worry about finishing school without a place to live.”
“You don’t have to worry now if you move in with me.”
I sigh. “Because harboring the chief’s teenage stepdaughter would turn out well for you? I’m eighteen, so Daniel can’t have you arrested, but I have a feeling he’d fire you without hesitating.”
Roman snorts and gives me a I dare him to try look. “I’m one of two officers in that department who isn’t white. He won’t fire me without a legit cause—just like he hasn’t tried to kick me for being his wife’s ex. He can’t even have the other guys give me shit, given how much of it Martinez and I already put up with every shift.”
Another reason to hate it here. But I’m so fucking close, and despite what he says, we both know it could get worse for him. They’d probably target Martinez, too, for being his partner. So incredibly convenient the only Latino man on the force was partnered with the only Black man.
“It would make sense for me to move in if we finally got married.” One side of my mouth curves, and I sink into the seat. “I asked you to marry me years ago, so…”
He smirks, but it turns soft. “I’m going to steal you away more then, and you’re going to text me more.”
Once I nod, he blows out a defeated breath. His gaze sweeps over me one last time, then he turns off the light and drives.
I adjust the arm warmers once we’re close. This time less to hide anything but because I’ll need them in a second. Roman eases to a stop by the curb a few blocks from the step-house. My throat’s actually tight as I climb out, and his jaw’s clenched again.
“You’re too pretty to not smile, officer,” I say.
He gives me one. “Same goes for you, pretty girl.”
I give him one, too. “Thanks for the ride.”
“Anytime.” His brow furrows. “Do you want to maybe?—”
A flash of headlights has his eyes darting to the side mirror. Without another word, I quickly shut the door, heading to the sidewalk while he drives away.
I don’t recognize the car that passes, and my muscles relax, even though I’m freezing within thirty seconds. Thank God it only takes a few minutes before I’m rounding the corner to the house. But all that tension returns with a vengeance when I see the chief’s unmarked car in the driveway.
The trellis it is, then.
Except, the front door opens, and Daniel charges out in uniform. His head jerks up, destroying any hope I have of him not noticing me. He halts by the hood of the sleek BMW—better known as most of last year’s department budget.
I have every intention of ignoring him on my way inside, but he has other plans.
“You went out looking like that?” he spits at me.
With a sigh, I stop closer than I prefer to be to him. “I went to the carnival.”
But the tracker app he installed on my phone likely already told him that. Other than location, it doesn’t give him anything, so I haven’t bothered fighting him over it. It’s not like I go many places but school anymore. I have more important shit to worry about, and if the need does ever arise, I can set it to Airplane Mode.
“You went to the carnival,” he repeats. “With half the town there to see you dressed like a slut?”
I look away, my lips twitching. I can’t argue with that one. Even if we have different connotations of the word.
“Is that funny?” The step he takes twists in my belly, but it stops at one. Because we’re in the goddamn front yard. The mask can’t come off out here where anyone could see the ugliness it hides. His voice does lower, though. “You and your pathetic mother are wearing on my patience. When you leave my house, you’re representing me. Be fucking respectful and stop begging for it.”
My jaw locks as I hold his glare with one of my own until someone drives by. He breaks into a smile, waving at the minivan. The expression harshens once they’re a safe distance away.
“I know the need for men’s attention is bred into you”—Daniel jerks open the car door, his words only as loud as they need to be—“and the man who should have taught you to keep your legs together is long dead, but you won’t leave my house looking like that again. Not without consequences.”
I bite the inside of my cheek, nails buried deep in my palms.
“I have plenty of my guys ready to treat you like the whore you clearly want to be, so just give me a reason.” The chief, sworn to serve and protect, drops into the driver’s seat. “Clean up the fucking mess inside.”
No part of me moves until he’s backed out of the drive and disappeared around the corner.
And then I walk to the front door. I pretend he didn’t just threaten to have men rape me if he doesn’t approve of the way I dress. I remind myself I’m so fucking close.
I go inside and clean up the mess.