17. SKYE
SKYE
Who the hell was Kira, and why did I care this much?
I shouldn’t have cared. That woman was none of my business, not one bit of her.
But I’d caught the look in her eyes when she clocked me standing in that living room, and it read plain as a billboard.
Envy. Like she’d stamped her name on that man years ago and planted her flag in him.
And here I came, just a little caregiver, standing too close to what she’d already decided was hers.
But I clocked how he talked to her. He seemed tired of her, so he kept his responses short and curt. I could tell he was a man handling a woman, not wanting her. She was into him a whole lot harder than he was into her, and any fool with two eyes could see it.
Or maybe he was performing for me? But why would he be? Who the hell am I, but the help?
This was not my business. I kept telling myself that. None of your business, Skye.
I had to get these feelings under control before they cost me everything. I couldn’t be sitting up in this man’s house with butterflies going crazy in my stomach like some sophomore with a high school crush.
I had goals and none of them included falling for Justice. I just needed to do a good job, stack this money quietly, and get up out of Dodge before anybody looked at me too long.
That was the plan. That had always been the plan.
But the plan didn’t know that man had a voice like a warm hand caressing the back of your neck.
Dream was buckled in the back in her little gown, vibrating, because her Justice had texted me with strict instructions.
Keep her in the car when we got there. He had some big magical princess entrance cooked up for his baby and did not want it spoiled.
So I had precious cargo and a job to do, which suited me fine, because the other passenger in this car set my teeth on edge for a reason I couldn’t name yet.
Storie sat up front beside me. She’d picked my car over her own father’s, which still made no sense, and she’d been quiet most of the ride, looking out the window with her hands folded in her lap like a girl in a church pew.
I tried, because trying was my nature and sitting in silence with this child felt like stepping around a pit viper in tall grass.
“So how’s school going?” I asked. “You got a boyfriend yet, or you breaking hearts and taking names?”
A small smile touched her mouth. Almost real. “There’s a boy I like.”
“Mm. Okay. He cute?”
“He’s cute enough.” She turned from the window, and she seemed to warm up, ease open a crack.
“What’s your favorite subject in school?” I pried a little more since she seemed like she was ready to open to me. I can understand that I felt like a threat. A new woman living in her house. But I was just there to do a good job with Rita and manage the house. Nothing more.
Mehar had picked Rita up hours ago because she wanted to take her to get her nails done.
“History.” She looked out the window. “Everybody thinks it’s just dead people and dates.
But it’s not. It’s cause and effect. Somebody does something, and it doesn’t just go away when they want it to.
It follows. Twenty years later, thirty, thousands, and it’s still shaping people who weren’t even born when it happened.
” A small pause. “That’s the part I like.
Nothing really stays buried. The truth always finds its way back up and it always repeats itself. ”
“That’s deep for a Saturday morning.” And it was. For a second I forgot to be wary of her, because a girl who talks like that has a real mind in her, and I’ve always had a soft spot for a real mind. “What do you want to be when you grow up? You’re very intelligent.”
“A lawyer.” She said it easy, watching me. “A defense attorney, actually. For criminals.”
Everything in me went tight, but I kept my face pleasant, curious. “Oh yeah?”
“Everybody deserves a defense, right? Even the worst person you can think of. Especially them.” She tilted her head at me.
“The law says you get somebody in your corner no matter what you did. Because everyone deserves a fair trial. Everyone deserves the chance to clear their name. So somebody’s got to be willing to stand next to the guilty ones and fight like they’re innocent. Don’t you agree?”
My chest pulled tight, and I didn’t let it show on my face, because letting things show on my face was a luxury I’d given up years ago. I’ve had too much taken from me because of showing emotion.
“Of course,” I said, smooth. “Everybody’s entitled to a defense. It’s not about guilt or innocence, it’s about the process being fair for all of us. That’s a civil right. That’s the spine the country’s supposed to stand on.”
“Exactly.” Her eyes stayed on me, bright and interested.
A little too interested. “See, you get it. That’s what I keep saying.
So I think I want to go to law school. For undergrad I’m working on getting in to an Ivy.
I have a 4.0 and I plan on taking AP and IB classes next year.
” A little pause. “But what do you think I should major in? I was thinking criminal justice.” Another pause, lighter than air. “Did you go to college?”
And there it was, the question sliding in soft, and I felt the trap even if I couldn’t see the shape of it.
“No,” I lied. “College wasn’t in the cards for me.”
“Of course you didn’t.” Storie turned back to her window. Her voice went light, pleasant, and absolutely lethal. “You wouldn’t be a booty-wiper and a babysitter if you’d gone to college, would you.”
The car went quiet.
Lord, this child. This nasty little girl. I felt the old me rise up in my throat, the one who ate people alive across a courtroom for a living. I set my hand on my chest and pushed her right back down where she lived now. I kept both eyes on the road and my voice pure honey.
“Taking care of people is just as important as defending them.” I said. “Maybe more. Anybody can debate. Not everybody can love on folks when they’re at their lowest and can’t do a thing for you back. That takes a different kind of strong.”
“If you say so.” Bored. Dismissive. A queen waving off a servant.
I let it go. But under the honey, under the caregiver, under the soft harmless woman I wore like a coat, something cold uncurled in me and paid close attention.
Because that wasn’t a bratty teenager talking.
Brats lash out. This was aimed. Every question placed careful, every word set down like a hand of cards she’d already looked at.
I couldn’t shake the feeling I’d just been walked through a conversation this child had planned before she ever got in my car, and I could not for the life of me figure out what she’d been fishing for.
I told myself I was tired. I told myself she was fifteen, grieving and mean, like Aubrey said.
I did not believe one word of it.
The Castle rose up ahead of us, stone towers against a bright blue sky, and Dream lost her entire mind in the backseat.
“We’re HERE! Miss Skye, we’re HERE!”
“We sure are, baby. But you gotta wait right here for your daddy, remember? He has a surprise.”
I parked. Storie was out the door before I got the car in park good, done with me, done with all of it. She marched off a few steps ahead, and that was when Dream’s little voice piped up behind me, helpful as a fire alarm.
“Storie. You got red on your dress.”
Storie stopped cold. Reached back. And I watched it hit her the same second her hand found it, that warm damp bloom spread across the back of her white dress, right where a girl never wants it.
Her period had come and announced itself at the worst possible moment.
White dress. Little sister’s birthday party. A whole lot of people about to pull up.
For one second the mask cracked clean off her face. Pure teenage horror flooded in behind it, because whatever else that child was, right then she was just fifteen and mortified by her own body doing body things in public.
“Oh my God.” Her voice came out small and panicked, nothing like the girl who’d sliced me up in the car. Her eyes filled fast. “Oh my God, oh my God, is it bad, how bad is it—”
And see. This was where being a booty-wiper came in handy.
“Hey. Look at me. Breathe.” I was already digging in my tote, cool, calm and collected.
“I got you. I have pads and tampons. There’s a spare outfit in the trunk and you can tie this hoodie around your waist until you get to the restroom to change.”
She stood there gripping those clothes, chest still heaving, looking at me like she couldn’t understand why I’d help her after the way she’d done me in that car.
My God, I thought, keeping my face soft and easy. I just saved this little bitch’s life and she still can’t stand me.
Because I watched the gratitude try to come up in her, and I watched her shove it right back down, and watched a harder look click into its place instead.
“You went in my room.” Low. Shaking. “To get these. You went in my room.”
“Little girl. I grabbed you a backup outfit off your desk chair, that’s all. Same as I did for Dream.”
“Don’t.” Her jaw was tight, her eyes wet and furious at the same time. “Don’t ever go in my room again. Ever.”
Then she spun and stormed off toward the castle like I’d done her wrong instead of helping her.
This job is temporary, Skye.
I stood there a second with my heart going, trying to understand what I’d actually stepped on.
Because it wasn’t the blood. That child was drowning in embarrassment and I threw her a rope, and instead of grabbing it she came up swinging at me.
It wasn’t the clothes either. Nobody flips like that over a spare outfit.
It was the room. There was something in that room she did not want me anywhere near. I filed it away with everything else.
Justice came striding across the lot toward me. He caught the tail end of Storie stomping into the building, and his eyes came back to me with a question in them
“What’s that all about?” he asked.
“Aunt Flo,” I responded as I shook my head.
“Ahh.” He cleared his throat. “Say no more. She good? She need anything, you—”
“She’s fine. Embarrassed. But fine. Don’t worry about her. Get your other princess. She’s about to bust out that car window waiting on you.”
His hard face went soft at the mention of his baby girl. And for just a second, standing there in that parking lot, I forgot every reason I’d listed in the car for why I couldn’t want him.
Every last one.