3. Sable
SABLE
“It’s time to go, Sable,” my uncle’s voice comes from the other side of the door, a rhythmic knock following.
When I was a kid, he told me that if I heard the rhythm, I would know it was him.
It's given me goose bumps ever since. He’s always been weird, but my parents' absence has made things much worse.
I walk to the door, my suitcases already waiting for me.
The last hour has passed in silence and much too quickly since my packing didn’t even take twenty minutes.
I check my reflection one last time before going out.
Blond hair, blue eyes, the old Sable must be in there somewhere, but this impostor will have to do for now.
Uncle Carl is angry that I made this choice, and even that the option presented itself at all.
He was well on track to forcing my hand before I received the scholarship I never actually applied for.
If I wasn’t so damn famous right now, I would be concerned about why the university did that, but it’s obvious that they feel they have something to gain from me, just like everyone else.
He's waiting for me outside my room, positively vibrating with tension. His blond hair shines with excess gel, and while he’s blond like my father, it’s not because they’re related.
My grandfather simply only married blondes, three of them over the years.
Carl is the adult son of his final wife, and he and my father met as young teens. I’ve known the man all my life.
“Morning, Uncle Carl,” I greet him with my stomach still turning.
His smile curls too tight, his eyes pinch with careful anger.
I’m expecting some vicious words about my dead parents or what he lost, but they never come.
I realize a second later that I actually owe his careful demeanor to Parker, the bellman standing at his side.
“Good morning, Sable,” my uncle grits, clearly irritated as he slides a glare over to Parker, who is simply doing his job while he still can.
Another surge of guilt fills me over this morning and what I’m sure is bound to happen to him.
“I wanted to make sure you hadn’t changed your mind about coming to stay with me before you leave.
” He glares so hard my cheeks burn, but I’m so close to getting away from him that I’m not going to back down now.
“No, I haven’t.” I manage to speak above a whisper. I’m so grateful for Parker that my throat thickens. He has no idea just how much his presence is saving me right now.
“You know your father never wanted you anywhere near that school. If he were alive, imagine what he would say.” Minute signs of anger like his tightened fists and angry breaths have my hair standing on end.
I’ve learned very quickly just how dangerous men can be when they don’t get what they want, and I thank my lucky stars we’re not alone right now.
I try to force a smile, but it feels all wrong. “My father isn’t around to be disappointed in where I choose to attend school.” His attempt to guilt me almost works, but I have no interest in honoring the memory of my mother’s murderer.
“This isn’t funny, Sable.” His face reddens, his blue eyes too bright, unnerving me.
“I’m not joking.”
Maybe I should send them both away and drag the suitcase down myself.
I'm not ready to be around people, and it seems like the safer bet than telling my uncle Carl what I really think of him. He’s ranting, and my brain can’t even process what he’s saying anymore as my stress builds.
My hand twitches for my suitcase, but Parker blocks me with his own.
“Not a chance,” he says, snatching my bag before I can. He flashes me a challenging smile as he turns and walks off before Uncle Carl realizes what’s happening.
“What the hell, Sable?” he demands as I push past him to follow Parker and all my remaining belongings. I may never have access to the contents of my childhood bedroom again, so I don’t plan on losing these to eBay.
“Give me back my stuff!” I yell and run after him, managing to catch up to his ultra-long strides only because he pauses at the elevator to wait for the next car to arrive. The door slides open, and I follow him inside.
His mouth curves, and he winks as if we’re old pals.
“Why did you do that?” I demand.
“Couldn’t stand listening to him any longer.”
I rub my temple. “He’s going to complain and?—”
“I'm already fired, don't worry.” His tone is teasing, like he doesn’t really care, but that guilt stabs deep.
Uncle Carl’s sweaty, enraged face pops up, and I nearly scream in fear as he balls his fist. The elevator door slams shut, preventing him from touching me.
Parker’s finger rests on the close door button, and I’m so grateful that I forget what I was about to say as I stare at him in open-mouthed shock.
“You didn’t,” I say.
“I did.”
“Why would you run off with my stuff?” I ask, finally remembering how to speak as we’re whisked away from one of my problems and off to another.
A laugh that resonates low in my stomach fills the space. “I knew you could move if I needed you to. You’ve been getting faster on your runs.”
We land at the lobby, and the doors slide open, but I stare instead of moving.
“Your car is waiting, Miss Briarwick ,” he urges, and I might be imagining the hint of mocking, but it feels as if he’s making fun of me. “Fine then.” He takes off ahead of me.
His legs are nearly to my neck, so I have to race to keep up with him.
Why does chasing him make me feel so small?
My throat thickens. These have been the hardest months of my life, and I’ve cried so many tears into ever-changing pillowcases.
Why would I care about him? I don’t, and I should be happy this is all going to end, but what if there’s nothing left of the old Sable but the grief?
The hall ends, the atrium swells, and Parker slows to a walk.
People stare at us, and his expression hardens until he’s a silent but imposing presence beside me.
Up until now, the employees practiced discretion, but exactly as I feared, phones are pointed at me.
Since it’s my last day, no one owes me any more decorum, I guess.
Much to my surprise, Parker hardens his stance even further. He slides me slightly behind him, preventing most of them from getting a view. Disappointed sighs follow his broad back out the door.
A sleek black Mercedes waits by the curb.
I recognize the series from a magazine my dad subscribed to, and it isn’t available to the public.
Who would pay for this? My eyes narrow, trying to catch a glimpse of who sits behind the wheel.
Uncle Carl would send me to Bellthorn on a donkey if he could, so I know this wasn’t him.
The trunk opens automatically, and before I can stop him, Parker loads my suitcase.
Next, he opens the door for me, and as I slide inside, I catch an odd flash of intensity in his green eyes.
I don’t know what he wants from me, and my mouth opens and closes, hoping it’s not another tip because I can’t afford it.
“I’ll see you soon,” he says just before he shuts the door. He waves once as he walks away.
What the hell does he mean by that?
I look out the window just in time to catch my uncle raging on the sidewalk, before marching over to Parker.
There is no way he’s keeping this job.