2. Sable
SABLE
THREE MONTHS LATER
Feet strike the pavement as the morning lightens around me. I got a late start, and tension claws up my spine, the trees and buildings drawing into focus. It’s more dangerous to run in the dark, but at least no one recognizes me.
Music blares in my ears, doing its best to drown out the repetitive words playing in the back of my mind. A nywhere, anytime, anyone . The mantra helps me breathe since my own father killed my mother and attempted to take me too.
But if I’m strong, I can fight. If I’m fast, I can run. I’m still not able to get into a bathtub since I’m so terrified of water, but when I can do it without passing out, I’ll become a better swimmer too.
About two blocks up stands the outline of the hotel. Sweat coats my skin, and my lungs struggle with the last leg of my run. I’m scared as always, but positive I’m in the clear until a bulb flashes, momentarily blinding me and destroying that dream. People swarm, cameras flash, and questions fly.
“Sable, Sable, how long have you been staying at the Olympic?”
“Miss Briarwick, are you having nightmares?”
“Why do you think he tried to kill you?”
Their questions are daggers to my heart, echoes of my own doubts and fears.
My breath comes even shorter, but rather than freezing up and letting them descend on me, I push a frantic burst of speed into my legs and fly past. Much to my dismay, I knock one of the paparazzi over as I go, and I just know I’m going to leave another nasty article behind me.
Their most recent title still sits on the credenza back in my room: Are They Cursed?
What Can We Learn From the Latest Briarwick Tragedy?
Feet pound behind me, and while I’m faster, the feeling of being pursued nearly cripples me.
If I thought that would get rid of them, I would be disappointed, but I’ve learned over the past few months just how obsessed the press is with the curse of the Briarwicks.
Some days, I can’t tell if they want my pictures, my breakdowns, or my blood.
I plan to give them as little as possible of all three.
“Sable, how does it feel to have nothing?” one of them yells.
I’m not paying enough attention, too focused on my feet and the person hot on my tail.
Right as I’m about to turn into the hotel, where they’ll follow me as far as they can, I smack into a wall of a chest. What was left of my breath whooshes out of me, and the impact would send me flat on my ass, but he catches me before I hit the ground.
The masculine scent crushes me when I drag in a breath, desperate to fill my lungs and feeling far too much like I did on the bank of that river.
His hand is firm against my back, and I’m too weak to fight his hold.
Fear claws up my throat with a scream, but the golden flash of his hotel name badge makes me swallow everything back again. Parker .
“Please take me inside,” I say, face still pointed at the name tag.
My eyes flit briefly to the scar on the back of my hand.
I really did a number on myself while escaping that car, and I’m already too mentally close to that day.
My lungs flex, struggling to fill, and a tear falls, an obvious crack forming along my curated exterior.
“Just one minute,” he says, and his voice alone settles me. I’m pretty sure I’ve seen him around the hotel. Profoundly tall, short brown waves, and bright green eyes—he’s so handsome I automatically find myself embarrassed.
“Please,” I say quietly, not realizing how close to us the paparazzi still stand. None of the others were bold enough to chase me. Parker reaches out, snatching the camera out of his hands.
“Hey,” he shouts, lunging for it, but before he has a chance to stop him, Parker pitches the camera into the sidewalk, resolutely smashing it.
The pap screams as he goes to grab the remaining pieces, but Parker reaches down, pulling the film and exposing his entire roll to the early morning light.
“Do you know what you just did?” he rages, eyes wild and spit flying. “Do you know how much of my money you just fucking wasted?”
Parker boldly laughs in his face . The guy seems to rethink attacking him.
He might be just a hotel employee, but Parker is huge.
I bet he’d win any fight. The pap takes a nervous step back after bending to pick up the remnants of his camera.
With an angry sneer, he looks at Parker’s name tag, then the hotel.
“You’re going to lose your job for this.” He stomps off, and the other paparazzi stay back, seeming not to want to repeat his misfortune.
Parker grabs me around the back and leads me into the hotel. My adrenaline is beginning to wear off, and I’m shaking from head to toe. All I really want to do is go back to my room and spend the day sobbing in bed, but that’s not possible. I’m out of money, and I’m leaving today.
How does it feel to have nothing, Sable?
“I am so sorry,” I start to apologize, sure there is a very real chance he will lose his job for that, and Jesus, can my curse stick to affecting me? Isn’t leaving my fucking life in shambles enough? I don’t even have the money to make this up to him if he loses his job.
The police sealed and taped the house before the hospital could discharge me.
They froze the money, the vacation homes, and all Briarwick assets my father came within spitting distance of.
He wasn’t lying when he told me he wasn’t the man I thought he was.
It was perhaps the first time in my life he ever told me the truth.
“Don’t worry about it. I wasn’t planning on staying at this job anyway.” He winks at me, and there’s a mischief in his green eyes I don’t quite understand. He leads me through the lobby to the elevator, pressing the buttons for my floor when we step inside.
I’m surprised, given I didn’t tell him where I’m staying, but I’m a hot topic of discussion, and I’ve been here for three months. Is it really that weird for them to know what floor I’m staying on? I decide it’s not.
When the door opens, I walk ahead of him to my room. I expect him to leave when I open the door, but he steps in behind me. “Umm…” I give him an accusing look, hoping he doesn’t have some nefarious plans in following me. He smiles and blushes, eyes hitting the floor and immediately calming me.
“You’re checking out today. I thought you might need help.”
“How did you know that?”
Before I can get worked up, he laughs, defusing the tension. “I’m sorry to be crass, Miss Briarwick, but the staff talks about you as much as the paper.”
It’s my turn to blush. That was obvious.
“Can I ask where you’re headed? Just between the two of us.”
As grateful as I am to him, I believe it will stay between us as much as I believe the pap who lost his camera will get over the damage and move on without retribution.
“No, sorry,” I say with a smile, but Bellthorn Academy is now heavy on my mind. After the truth about my father’s crimes hit the press, they were on the very short list of my options. Another is going to live with my step-uncle, but his interest in housing me doesn’t feel… genuine.
My uncle lost access to about half his holdings, and while he’s still rich, he’s extremely angry, and I am the only one left to pay for my father’s mistakes.
He’s made a couple of comments that made it clear to me exactly how he would like to be compensated, and the idea makes me sick. I’m not willing to be my uncle's whore.
“That’s fine. Keep your secrets, Miss Briarwick,” he says with a smile, and I’m sure he’s thinking the news will tell him in a few days anyway.
No one is forced to wonder for long when it comes to me.
If there isn’t something real to print, they’ll simply make it up.
The articles started the same day my father’s crimes were exposed and hung out for everyone to see.
“I don’t need anything else,” I say, ready for this interaction to come to a close. I sense he wants something from me, and I realize, stupidly, it’s a tip. I pull my last twenty out of my pocket and hand it to him. He looks at it strangely for a moment before tucking it in his pocket.
“I’ll be back to help you with your bags later. Don’t open the door for anyone but me.”
You don’t need to tell me that twice.
Parker closes the door behind him as he leaves, and I’m struck by what an odd thing that was to say. Why would I trust him when my own father drove me off a bridge?
The feds have everything that I considered mine locked up tight, and I may never see them again because of my father.
Self-hatred bubbles in me now that I’m alone.
I wish I wasn’t the spoiled rotten girl the papers accuse me of being, but I am.
I have no clue how to live without money, and I never wanted to learn.
Money is power, and right now, I’m powerless.
Fuck you, Dad , I think to myself for the millionth time in the last three months.