Chapter 36
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CADENCE
I’m still recovering from the shock of noise when Drake shoulders me roughly aside, striding ahead to face his father, arms raised. “It’s just us. I lost track of time and forgot the alarm would be set.”
“Get inside,” Arnold shouts, jaw clenched, a vein bulging on his forehead. He lowers the shotgun barrel to the floor. “You’re late. I gave you a curfew of midnight and it’s well after one a.m.”
“Sorry,” I say, edging around Drake to face Arnold, wanting to read his expression. On top of the jumpiness from the alarm, him answering the door armed has my stomach in knots. “That was my fault.”
“No, it wasn’t,” Drake interrupts, eyes sending a warning message I can’t interpret beyond shutting my mouth. He turns to his father. “There was a vehicle at the party that caught fire and between calling emergency services and trying to stop the fire spreading, we ended up staying far longer than we intended.”
“Is that true?” Arnold glances to me and I nod, unsure of the undercurrent flowing between them.
“Yes. And it’s my fault for unlocking the door without turning off the alarm. I completely forgot about it.”
“You woke me. I’ve barely had any sleep, and the noise gave me such a fright, I doubt I’ll be getting any more.”
His glare is so hot, I retreat behind the broad safety of Drake’s shoulders. “Sorry. I should have—”
“I was teasing her outside,” Drake explains with another step towards his father. “That’s why Cadence forgot. It’s entirely my fault.”
The events of the night catch up with me, leaving me too tired for another round of blame sharing. I let him take it all, drooping with exhaustion.
Arnold notices. “You get up to bed,” he says in a far more subdued voice. “But next time I give you a curfew, get home on time. If you’re not going to make it, you could easily have called to let me, or your mother know instead of blasting us both awake in the middle of the night.”
I nod, already turning to head to my bedroom. “Thank you,” I belatedly say. “Good night.”
Father and son are still facing each other when I reach the top of the stairs, neither meeting my eye. I slip through my bedroom door and close it, resting against the inside for a couple more minutes, ears peeled.
The only noise is a door closing on the far side of the house. Arnold’s office.
I change into my pyjamas, expecting Drake to return any moment. When ten minutes have passed, I check across the hallway in case I missed him but there’s no answer to my knock. I hear nothing beyond the thump of my heartbeat.
Worry fills me with jagged energy.
His refusal to allocate blame where it belongs irritates me, but I didn’t want to hurt him. I remember the vicious expression on Arnold’s face when he berated me over the stained blouse and my concern spirals.
I wouldn’t be able to sleep anyway, so pull a chair close to the door, sitting sentinel until I hear Drake’s careful footsteps slowly winding up the marble stairs.
The downstairs lights don’t cast enough glow to see much beyond his shape. One hand rests on the wall, sliding along with each step, like he’s using it for guidance or balance.
“Are you okay?”
He jumps a little at the noise, face glowing with sweat as he turns and shakes his head. When he takes his hand off the wall, he gently sways on his feet. “I’m fine. Go to bed.”
“Did Arnold—”
He straightens as he walks into his bedroom, gently swinging the door closed.
Leave it.
He doesn’t want your help.
My heart thumps louder and louder as I shift my weight, tugging at the hem of my sleep shirt. I hear a soft curse and can’t stand it a second longer, flying across the hallway to open his door. Not bothering to knock because I wouldn’t respect his answer if he told me to stay away.
“Drake?”
He’s turned away from me and I slap a hand over my mouth, eyes wide. His back is raw, crisscrossed with thick wells from a belt or strap. The edge of one mark is deep enough to ooze blood.
“Sit,” I order, grabbing his arm when he looks set to fall and guiding him to the edge of the bed. “I’ll just...”
I don’t finish, rushing for my bathroom, pulling supplies from the shelves and hurrying back.
“It looks worse than it is,” he murmurs. “Don’t fuss.”
“We need to call the police.” I clean the deepest wound, nearly crying as I get a better look at the damage. “No one’s allowed to treat you like this. He’s really hurt you.”
“We can’t.”
I don’t answer, concentrating as I apply an antibacterial spray, then apply a nonstick gauze, securing it with tape.
Drake reaches behind to clutch my hand, turning even though the movement must hurt him. “Promise me you won’t. He has friends in the force. If you try to report him, they’ll tell, and he’ll punish you.” He squeezes my hand. “Promise me.”
I don’t want to promise any such thing. Arnold is a rich, middle-aged man, not some invincible god.
But his expression is twisted with worry, and I don’t want to make things worse for him. “Okay, I promise.”
He relaxes as I clean the rest of his wounds, then help him into bed. “Please stay,” he says when I go to leave. “I know you’re mad at me but—”
“I’m upset, not mad,” I say, carefully fitting myself next to him. He’s on his side and I face him, careful not to touch, but he scoops me closer until I’m snug against his chest, head tucked under his chin.
“And what’s the difference?”
“It doesn’t matter. Not now.” I place my palm over his heart, closing my eyes to better feel the vibrations. “Has Arnold hurt you before? Is that why you sleep in your car?”
His voice is cautious. “One reason. It’s hard to like a man who sends a lawyer to school instead of responding himself.”
I instantly know what he’s referring to. “Maybe he thought a lawyer would be better.”
“He didn’t care what happened to me. The man was to ensure nothing reflected poorly on Arnold. He could easily have sent me to a shrink but punished me instead.” His chest rumbles with a soft laugh. “And that was the day after I first met him. That plus the constant threat of being sent away again got tiresome.”
“We made things worse for you, didn’t we?”
His expression is confused as he disentangles from me. “No, you—” He breaks off, swallowing hard. “It’s actually nice to have other people in the house.”
“If you want, I can come with you to the school counsellor. We could—”
But he’s already shaking his head. “No, thanks. And I strongly suggest you avoid taking your own advice. Anything that happens in Ashcroft gets back to him. The counsellor probably has his number on speed dial.”
“But they have mandatory reporting.”
A glint of amusement shines in his eye. “Poor schools have mandatory reporting. Rich people handle things in-house.”
“A doctor, then?”
“Do you know one well enough to trust they can’t be bought?” He arches an eyebrow at me, and I wrinkle my nose. “Just stay out of his way when he’s in a mood. You’ll pick up the warning signs easily enough.”
That sounds a horribly familiar way to live. I’ve been scolded to avoid antagonising men before, but this time is harder because it was less expected. I’m guilty of equating his pleasant manner to a good heart rather than a reaction to his easy life.
I thought rich people were better.
“Is his violence why your mum left him?”
He shrugs. “We never talked about him. Whenever I raised the subject, she just said my dad was a fling, and he didn’t want to know.” There’s a long pause and Drake lets out a shuddering breath. “I think he hurt me when I was a baby.”
“Your head injury?”
He nods, eyes closing as his arms wrap around me. His breathing slows. Even though I’m wound up, wanting to poke and prod and question, I keep silent. He needs rest more than he needs to tell me his dark family secrets.
As I listen to him sleeping, I think of the reporter and the card that must still be sitting in my jeans pocket. I wonder if this was part of what Maggie revealed to her.
Maybe the police or school counsellors aren’t a good bet. Maybe Arnold really does have them all in his pocket.
But there are other ways to fight. If I can get Drake to agree.