Chapter Ten
Rocky
“I’m a member here.” I rest my shoulder on a locker. He stays impossibly stiff. Guy needs a back rub and a laxative. I try to stay casual. “I’d ask you what you’re doing here, but you own the place.”
“My family owns it,” he corrects me, like there’s a distinction. He looks me over, and lines crease the spot between his brows as confusion builds. “What do you mean you’re a member? You said you were just visiting.”
“I am,” I say and survey the hall of lockers. “But I’m considering moving here. I’m in a transitionary period in my life so I thought... Why not?”
Jake’s confusion persists. “You can afford this place.”
It’s not a question. He knows I can. I’m here. I wait. He just stares. My brows rise. “Was there a question in there, champ?” Shouldn’t have said it like that.
He rolls his eyes. “Your sister is a server here and you’re a member. Make it make sense, Rocky.”
“Grey Thornhall.” I reintroduce myself using my new alias. The ID is already in my wallet. I think it’s a white flag of amnesty. A let’s start over, Jake declaration.
His eyes tighten. “And you don’t go by Grey? Why?” He sounds accusatory.
Jesus Christ. Why wasn’t I nicer to him when I met him? Because I didn’t think I had anything to gain. Because Phoebe and Hailey aren’t here on a job.
Because I’m not a nice person.
I could’ve been “fake nice”—easy enough.
Yet, I wasn’t with him. I don’t know why I couldn’t pretend for a hot second, and that honestly is disturbing me.
He might be wealthy, but he’s still like a little baby deer. As far as I can tell, he’s not oozing all the nefarious traits that typically come with being the heir of a billion-dollar corporation, and he’s not rude or entitled or showboating.
Is that why it’s more difficult to be fake nice with him?
Because he might not be an asshole?
That’s dumb. I also hate that it might be the answer.
“You can call me Grey if you want,” I tell him. “I’m just more used to Rocky.”
He digests this in silence.
Okay.
I stand straighter. “My sister is stubborn. She wouldn’t take a handout if I force-fed it to her, and I’m not into forcing anyone into anything. She wants to make it her way. On her own.” That’s not a complete lie, and I’m surprised I’m still not slathering on the bullshit.
Maybe somewhere, deep down, I know he’d sniff it out. Because I didn’t sign up to “be honest in Victoria” like Hailey and Phoebe did.
“And I don’t come from money like you,” I add. “Some of us had to build what we have.”
Jake doesn’t take this as an insult. He just nods like he gets it. Interesting.
We’re both quiet for a second.
And then he asks, “Your ex-wife didn’t get anything in the divorce?”
“That’s what prenups are for.” I hesitate to deepen the lie. To imply she’s the kind of girl you’d make sure to file a prenup with before marrying. It turns my stomach.
Jake might not be the kind of person who’d chuckle and grin and say, I get that, man.
He might not get it.
Just like I don’t.
There isn’t a type of woman who’s “made” for a prenup, but I feed off the type of men who believe there is. And I sure as hell don’t want to put Phoebe down, so I keep that thought to myself.
“That’s what prenups are for?” Jake repeats with heat. “So you took everything and left her nothing?” He says it like I’m a piece of shit.
“She took the car.”
Jake glares.
“It was a Porsche.” I purposefully use the incorrect pronunciation to put us on better footing. It’s the common pronunciation. Common ground.
“Por-shuh,” he corrects.
I blink. “Por-shuh,” I repeat how he says it, trying not to roll my eyes.
He’s already rolling his.
God, this guy might be my worst nightmare.
He looks me over again. “Now I really don’t feel bad about kicking you out by Tuesday.”
“I’m still friends with my ex,” I remind him. “I’m not some abusive fuckhole, and you’re not saving the day by housing her and my sister.”
He stares at me like he’s Luke fucking Skywalker, and I’m Darth Vader. I do have dad problems. I blame Nova for the comic book references circling my head.
Fuck him.
Fuck Jake.
I’m about to self-eject from this conversation, but Jake beats me to it. “You have money to go somewhere, make sure it’s not my loft.” He leaves the locker room, irritation springing off him like a musky cologne.
I exhale a heavy breath, and my phone buzzes again. This time with a call. I check caller ID, then I let it ring out before slipping into the bathroom.
It’s a single stall.
Private.
I scan for cameras.
None.
I’m quick to call back.
He answers on the second ring.
“Nova,” I greet.
“Why isn’t Phoebe answering our calls?” He’s whispering.
“Hi to you, too.”
“I’m not bullshitting today, Rocky.”
I knew this was coming. With my back to the mirror, I lean on the sink, and I scratch an old scar at my neck. “She’s done with clip joints.”
A long pause. “Why didn’t she just say that?”
The truth is, Phoebe would’ve done anything to ensure Oliver wouldn’t end up in her role during clip joints. She’d do the same thing for Hailey and Trevor and even Nova, if given the chance. Maybe partly because she believes that’s all she’s good for.
“She’s embarrassed,” I lie.
“I’ll talk to your dad—”
“And say what?” I step away from the sink.
“I’ll think of something.”
I tense. “Don’t Dean Winchester this.”
He mutters something that sounds like fuck you. “You know I hate when you call me that.”
“You’re named after a comic book character who flies in space with a dorky gold helmet, and you have a problem being called the guy on Supernatural who goes to Hell in exchange for his brother’s life?”
“Nova is a part of an intergalactic police force with hundreds of comics—you call me Winchester not because you think Dean is cool but because you think Dean kisses his dad’s ass and doesn’t protect his brother in the right way.”
I exhale again.
He’s not wrong.
I lift my brows. “Dean is the cool one, though. I could call you Sam.”
Nova bypasses that comment and says, “If I was up your dad’s ass right now, I wouldn’t be whispering in a fucking coat closet. I would’ve told him who I’ve been calling when he asked. I would’ve lied and said Phoebe is on her way, even though I have no goddamn clue where my sister is.”
Connecticut.
I want to be on the same page as Nova. I could even use his help. I trust him more than I’ll ever trust our parents.
Turning around, I face the mirror and rake a hand through my hair. “She’s safe.”
“Is this just about the clip joint?”
I pause. “Phoebe should tell you herself.”
“Clearly she doesn’t want to.” His hurt constricts his voice. “So give me something. Is she coming back?”
“Probably not anytime soon.”
“Not before the job starts?”
“Doubtful.” I take another beat. “She might not come back at all. She’s taking a break. Her and Hailey.”
“A break?” His worry cascades over the line. “Is this because of Carlsbad?” He was in the car with me that night. He knows something happened, and like me, he’s in the dark.
“I think so.”
“But you don’t know?” He’s on edge.
“It hasn’t been confirmed. Look, I’d tell you and Oliver to come out here, but you’re going to need to cover for the girls. Don’t let our parents know where they are.”
“You never gave me a location.”
“Do you need one?”
“If Oliver and I can get out there after the job, yeah, I do.”
I shouldn’t.
Should I?
I want us all together. It might be the fucking death of us. “Victoria, Connecticut. And, hey, I’m being serious, Winchester. Don’t tell them where we are. If you come out here, it better be without a tail—or I’ll never call you Nova again,” I whisper with heat.
“Understood. I’ll cover for the girls. Any suggestions?”
I stare up at the ceiling. “Tell the godmothers the girls are caught up in another job in Indiana. It started as Phoebe being a catfish online. I swung around to help. We’ll be late to the clip joint.”
“What happens when it starts and you’re all not here?”
“Tell them we’re held up, and I’m only communicating with you. It’s easier.”
“Got it.” I hear scribbling.
For fuck’s sake. “Are you actually taking notes?”
“No one will see it. It’s in a journal.”
“If you think my dad doesn’t go through your diary, you need to have a new four-letter name. Starting with F. Ending with L.”
“Fool? Thought that one was your middle name.”
“No, that’s fuck you.”
“That one belongs to my sister.”
I almost smile.
“Yeah” is all I say.
“The journal won’t leave my pocket, Rocky. You have nothing to worry about. Just... fucking trust me.” He lowers his voice again, and I wonder if he hears people outside the closet.
“You’re not the one I don’t trust,” I mutter, and I’m not sure if he hears me. I don’t care if he does or doesn’t. I appreciate that he’s helping keep Phoebe and Hailey safe in Connecticut, but if any of this leaks to our parents, they could so easily manipulate him and I doubt he’d see it.
“I have to go,” Nova whispers.
When we hang up, I stare at the phone, my muscles coiled in taut bands. Why am I trying to help Hailey and Phoebe succeed here?
It’s not so they can live without deception. I still don’t believe in that.
But there has never been a point where it felt possible to truly ditch our parents. Let alone leave them in the dark across the country. Hailey and Phoebe have done it, and with Nova’s help, maybe this will actually work for longer than a couple weeks.
I feel inflated with an optimism more suited for my sister. But still, this might be the way out from them.
Our parents.
I’ve wanted to knock over the queens and king since I was a teenager. Since I felt the insidious grip they have on me.
It’s seemed too impossible to escape out from under them.
It might still be. Because if they find out where we are, they’re going to see what I see when I look around Victoria.
The perfect marks.