4. Helen
HELEN
I check Anna’s shower. It’s leaking, and for once she wasn’t exaggerating. She won’t pay for it. But problems like this don’t fix themselves, and the longer I leave it, the worse it gets.
“I’ll panic about it tomorrow.” I blow out a breath and head to my bedroom.
The rain is still hitting the window when my phone rings.
“Helen,” Olivia says.
I frown. She usually calls me Leany. “Hey, sis.”
I’m about to tease her about her escapade. The Cane Toad of all people. Son of Sugar Cane, if the rumors are true. But the words stall on my tongue. There’s a pause instead, and it’s filled with her breathing.
“Via?”
“Um…do you think you could pick me up?”
“Via, where are you? Are you okay?”
“Yeah. Yeah. I just…I need a ride home. I’ll drop you a pin.”
“Are you with Gordon?”
The brief silence tells me this isn’t just about an after-party pickup.
“Yeah,” she says. “He can’t drive me home. Please?”
“I’m on my way.”
The address hits my screen. I’m out the door before the map finishes loading.
The Cane house sits back from the street behind a wide stretch of lawn. I park crooked at the curb and don’t bother fixing it. The grass turns slick and dark from the rain, but I don’t slow down.
I knock.
Nothing.
I call Olivia on the phone. Straight to voicemail.
“Olivia!” I shout over a thunderclap, stepping back to crane up at the second floor as the downpour lashes my face. The lights are on. The curtains are drawn. “I’m here.” My voice strains. “Where are you?”
Silence. Then a scream.
“Shit.”
I run around the side of the house, my shoes slipping on wet stone. The back porch is all glass, floor to ceiling. I grab the nearest thing I can find—some ridiculous ceramic ornament perched by a planter—and hurl it.
The glass shatters inward and the alarm detonates instantly. Wind rushes in as I climb through, tossing my hair and stirring the pendant lights overhead. I sprint for the stairs, orienting toward the scream through the echoing wail. My heart slams so hard my vision blurs.
Upstairs. Left. No—right.
I kick the door.
It gives way on the second hit.
Olivia stumbles back, eyes wide, face blotchy and terrified. Gordon Cane is between us, glassy-eyed, and unsteady on his feet.
“Leave my sister alone,” I say.
He smiles like the world is funny when it shouldn’t be. “Look who’s—”
I hit him.
My knuckles explode with pain as his head snaps sideways.
“You bitch!” he slurs as he reaches for Olivia again.
I shoulder him aside and haul my sister clear.
“Leany…” Olivia’s shaking. She can barely stand.
I shove my keys into her hand as Gordon recovers and comes toward us. “Get in the car. Now.”
She doesn’t move.
The alarm keeps screaming. Gordon laughs—actually laughs—and takes a step closer. “Fuck you, bitch.”
“Stay away from my sister!” I say, shielding Olivia.
Then I see his hand dip, and my stomach drops with it, because I know exactly what he’s reaching for.
A gun.
I move before thought can catch up. He’s slow, mercifully so. I hit him once more, and the impact knocks the breath out of both of us. But I manage to wrench the gun free.
I stumble back with it raised. “Not tonight.” My arms locked because I don’t trust them not to shake. Water drips from my hair, tracking down my face.
Gordon grins, unfazed. “You don’t even know how to use that.”
He’s right. Even drugged out of his mind, he can see it. I’ve never held a gun in my life.
Still, I lift it a fraction higher. “You want to find out?” I curl my finger tighter around the trigger.
“Whoa—hey,” he says, his hands coming up. “Easy. Easy.”
“Olivia!” I shout, the gun still raised. “Get in the car!”
She finally moves, stumbling toward the door, sobbing. Somewhere outside, doors slam, followed by shouting and footsteps.
“Put the gun down!” The command comes from behind me.
Cops.
I freeze, the gun suddenly weighing a thousand pounds. My heart is trying to claw its way out of my chest.
“Alright,” I say quickly. “Alright. Don’t shoot.”
I lower the gun and set it on the floor slowly, then step back, hands up.
“Nobody move!” the other officer says.
“This man tried to assault my sister,” I say.
“She’s the one waving it around,” Gordon slurs. “Come on, officer. You know who I am. You know whose house this is.”
Hands grab me from behind. Cold metal closes around my wrists.
“You’ve got it wrong, officer,” I say. I should stop talking, but just because he’s Gordon Cane doesn’t make him right.
“That’s enough.” The officer pins me against the wall.
“Officer, please,” Olivia cries. “Don’t hurt my sister.”
One of the officers moves to her side, guiding her away. “Come with me.”
“No—wait,” Olivia says, panicked. “She didn’t do anything wrong!”
Then she turns back, eyes wild, and points. “Look—there. Above the bed.”
Gordon lunges for it too late.
The other officer reaches the phone first. The screen is still lit, still recording. She taps it twice, then watches. Olivia’s voice bursts from the video. “No! No!”
The officer’s face changes. “Sarge!” She turns the phone so the one holding me can see.
My eyes clamp shut to cage the fury. Maybe I’m lucky I’m cuffed, otherwise Gordon Cane might already be dead.
When I open my eyes, the prick won’t look at me. He’s finally out of places to hide.
The pressure on my back eases. The cuffs come off. I cross the room and pull Olivia into my arms. She shakes against me.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“Yeah,” she says, her voice small. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know—”
“Hey.” I hold her tighter. “This isn’t on you.”
“I’ll need statements from both of you,” the officer says.
They take Gordon outside while Olivia and I give our statements in separate rooms. Then they let us go.
I drive us home in silence, my hands tight on the wheel. Olivia is folded into the passenger seat like she’s afraid of taking up space.
“Don’t tell Mother?” she begs.
I glance at her. She’s had Anna in her life since she was three. To her, Mother still means something.
“No,” I say. “I won’t.”
Anna wouldn’t rush to Olivia’s side anyway. She’d ask what Olivia did. She’d talk about reputation. She’d find a way to make it smaller than it was.
After we’ve both showered, Olivia comes into my room. Thunder cracks outside, the rain still relentless. Alaska is on my bed, curled beneath her blanket, the one meant to calm her during storms.
“That was a hell of a fight, sis,” she says. “Thank you.”
“I’d do it again,” I say.
She lingers by the door, then takes a breath. “I do have some good news, though.”
“Yeah?”
She hands me an envelope. Stanford University.
For a second, I just stare at the letter.
“I didn’t tell you,” she says. “I applied for undergrad. Biology and neuroscience. It’s the pre-med track. And Stanford School of Medicine…it’s not impossible.” She swallows. “I thought it was a long shot. But they accepted me.”
“Via,” I say. “This is—this is huge.” I hug her, hard. “That’s incredible.” I mean it. Every word.
She pulls back, chewing on her lip. “I know it’s a lot. Stanford isn’t cheap. I’ll work. I promise. I just…I know it won’t cover everything.”
I don’t let the pause stretch. “Don’t worry about the money. I’ll figure it out. If I have to, I’ll kidnap Anna’s mink coat and hold it for ransom.”
She laughs, then hugs me again. “Thank you. What would I do without you?”
I hold her until her breathing evens out.
After she leaves, I sit on the edge of my bed with the letter still in my hands.
I think about the Summit Tail contract. About me squealing like a kid, spinning in my studio because the joy had nowhere else to go. That part still counts. I don’t take it back.
The rest slides down the list, because some things matter more.