Chapter Sixteen
Rocky
NOW
At the two-person glass kitchen table, Hailey scribbles on a notepad. Tucking blonde hair behind each ear, she scratches out numbers and writes new ones in a frenzy.
I play a puzzle game on my cell from the beige couch. Keeping an eye on my sister and an eye on connecting three cherries isn’t too hard. Should I be looking for another place to stay? Sure. Jake’s weak threat about making sure I’m moved out of here by the end of the week hangs over my head like a limp pi?ata.
I’ll deal with that later. Right now, it’s hard to ignore the large exhales and huffs coming from my sister.
When I focus back on my phone, the timer has run out on the game. FAILED flashes across the screen. Great. Just what I love to see.
Pocketing my cell in my black leather jacket, I head to the kitchen. “Hails...”
She pins an elbow on the notepad, trying to be casual about hiding it from me. “Yeah?” She tilts her head, an attempt to appear all innocent and shit. She’s wearing a black baseball hat with red embroidery that says, satan’s lil helper.
“What’s wrong?” I eye the notepad.
She quickly unburies it from her elbow and flips it over. “Nothing.”
“You should be thankful Mom and Dad aren’t here to see how bad you are at lying.” I tsk dramatically. “They’d be so disappointed.”
Hailey studies me and my unpleasant tone. “One would think you’d be better at hiding your hatred toward them.”
“Do I need to hide it from you?” I question.
She shakes her head, and I sink into the vacant seat across from her. Stuffing my hands in my leather jacket, I slouch against the chair.
Hailey keeps her arms folded over the notepad. Her nose piercing glints in the light. “You should be happy that we’re here, away from them, and that I don’t need to be good at lying anymore.”
Happy?
My face twitches into a grimace. “Happy.” I try to remember real happiness. Not something fabricated, not anything warped.
The word is thick and heavy in my mind. Infused with tar and toxins. I’ve had happy childhood memories, but so many are twisted into stark reality now. Ones where I played soccer at a Manhattan prep school. I made a friend and laughed at his house over chicken parm and ice cream. Just to realize later in life that I was a tool used to screw over his father. A stepping-stone for my parents.
I was stepped on.
Repeatedly.
I was so happy.
Pain flares inside my chest, and I look at Hailey. “I’m fucking thrilled they’re not around. I’d be happier if they were dead—”
“Rocky,” she hisses.
“They can’t hear us.”
Her cheeks redden. “I wasn’t scared they would.” Her eyes fall to her notepad. “You shouldn’t talk about Mom and Dad like that. They taught us everything we know.”
God, I wish my sister could see what I see. Why am I stuck here alone? Is my vantage that fucking distorted from everyone else’s?
I stare at her black chipped nail polish. In most cases, she would’ve always needed a fresh manicure in the past. “You just said you don’t need to lie anymore, Hails. So what use do you have for what they taught us?”
Hailey is quiet again. “I don’t want to con anyone anymore.” The conviction in her voice startles me. “They taught us we have the power to do anything and be anyone, and we can make anything work, Rocky. I have to make this work.”
“Why?”
Why is she so adamant?
Hailey says nothing.
I roll my eyes, frustrated, and I end up asking, “What about our parents? You think you’ll be okay with never seeing them again? Because I don’t think they’ll ever let you go.”
“I don’t either,” Hailey agrees. “But they’ll have to get used to Phoebe and me living two very normal and moral lives.”
I’d say she’s dreaming, but fear tightens her collarbone and elongates her neck.
My jaw clenches. “You are scared.”
“I know it might be... hard for them to accept this if they find us.” She chooses her words carefully but doesn’t mask her anxiety. “And that if might be more probable as a when.”
“I can’t argue with that logic,” I mutter quietly, ire bubbling beneath my blood. Should I be happy that my sister isn’t best friends with the devils beneath our floorboards? Sure—maybe there’s a teeny-tiny fucking chance she’ll see our parents for what they are.
Maybe she won’t.
It doesn’t change the fact that she’s sitting across from me afraid of the people we’re supposed to trust with our entire lives. Hell, they have our entire lives in a vise.
Hailey catches my raging glare, and she intakes a deeper breath. “I am really glad you’re here, Rocky.”
“In case they find you?”
“Yeah, and because I love you more than I could ever love them. I hope you know that.”
I’ve never distrusted my sister, but she’s saying exactly what I want to hear instead of proving that in an action. She’s not our mother, I remind myself. Hailey wouldn’t toy with my emotions to get what she wants.
The longer I’m silent, the more Hailey frowns. “I love you, Rocky.”
I push aside any gnawing doubt. “I love you, too.” I stand from the chair. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t love you.”
“And Phoebe,” she adds.
I force a smile. “And Phoebe.” Saying her name pumps a heat through my veins and twists my insides. Did I forget her?
Never.
I could never.
I walk to the humming fridge and scour the barren shelves for leftovers. “The difference is that she doesn’t want me here.” I take the aluminum container of fettucine, and I find a fork, then return to my chair.
“I think she’ll come around,” Hailey says.
She thinks. “So she hasn’t secretly told you that she loves me hanging around town?”
“If she’s thinking it, she hasn’t told me.”
It stings. I don’t know why I pictured Phoebe gushing about me to my sister. It doesn’t sound like a Phoebe Graves thing to do. These days, she’s more likely to stake my picture with a knife.
I stab the pasta.
Hailey peers down at the notepad again. Her gaze flits nervously to the bathroom, where a shower runs. Phoebe currently occupies it. I make a habit to try not to pick apart my sister’s friendship with Phoebe. They feed off each other in a way that seems toxic to me, but I don’t have a fucking best friend. So what do I know?
I fixate on Hailey’s caginess. “Is this about Phoebe?”
“Is what about her?”
“Your anxiety.” I point my fork at the notepad. “And that.” I eat the cold fettucine.
“I’m just crunching numbers...”
After I swallow a bite of pasta, I stab at a piece of chicken. “Let me guess.” I look up. “You can’t survive off your meager savings and hourly work at the country club?”
Hailey lets out a soft, resigned sigh.
“That’s a yes, you’re right, Rocky. And I’d say I’m shocked but that’d be a lie, and apparently, you’ve outlawed my favorite thing to do.” I flash a dry smile that vanishes as soon as her eyes grow wide.
She glances nervously at the bathroom again. “Just be quiet. Please.”
What the hell?
I frown deeply. I’d ask her when she started keeping secrets from Phoebe, but it wasn’t long ago that my sister blindsided Phoebe about the price of this loft. I’d rub in the fact that living honestly for Hailey has meant being more deceptive toward one of the few people she’d never deceive.
But I love my sister, and I won’t rub salt into a clearly infected, open wound.
“I don’t get it,” I say. “You didn’t crunch these numbers before coming here?”
She rereads her notes. “I did the math correctly. But every other country club I’ve been to didn’t have a no-tipping policy. We were going to rely on tips.”
Seeing Hailey’s plan foiled before my eyes is expected. It’s what I thought would happen, but dread slowly churns my stomach. I want this to work for them. Or else they might pack their bags and head to Seattle, returning to the world where our parents dictate their every move.
“And now what?” I ask her.
She opens her mouth to speak, but the shower cuts off. Her eyes flit to the bathroom again.
I lower my voice to ask, “Is there a reason you’re keeping this from Phoebe?”
Her lips flatline. “I just don’t want to worry her.”
“Because you’re worried.” I look her up and down. “Are you throwing in the towel already?”
“No,” she says strongly. “I can’t give up this fast. We’re staying here.”
Relief washes over me in a wave.
She continues in a whisper, “At the rate we’re working, we’ll only be able to afford the loft for three more months. Then... we’ll have to either get different jobs or a different place to stay. Chelsea Noknoi at the country club—a friend, not a mark,” Hailey cuts herself off quickly. “Add that to your mental Rolodex, please. I know she’s in it.”
Of course Chelsea is logged in my fucking head.
Server at VCC.
Father is Thai and British. Mother is American. Brother is a family doctor in town. Both of her parents are divorce attorneys, and Chelsea is dating a local rowing coach. Her entire family would be considered upper class or at least upper middle class almost anywhere, but in Victoria, doctors and lawyers are lumped in with the “working class” of society.
If you work too hard to earn your money, you’re not rich enough.
Old money runs Victoria.
“She’s not a mark,” I confirm to Hailey. “What about her?”
“Chelsea told me some people rent out their sailboats to live on. Maybe we could find an affordable one?”
I twirl fettucine on my fork. “Or you accept my generosity.”
“Your generosity comes from conning.”
“And your savings don’t?” I eat another dry, chewy bite.
She lets out a long breath. “You’re not a solution, Rocky. You’re a temporary Band-Aid to the problem, and this has to last. It has to.” Her desperation heightens to a new level.
I swallow, and the pasta sticks like a rock in my throat. Once I steal my sister’s glass of water, I wash down the lodged food.
“Everything okay?” Phoebe’s voice pulls Hailey and me from our conversation.
I take one look at her. “Phoebe,” I groan. “Put some clothes on.”
She grips the towel loosely around her hips. Topless. And I’m doing everything not to stare at her tits. But the fabric at her thighs hypnotizes me, the hem of the towel slipping against the soft flesh between her legs. I watch a bead of water roll down to her knee before I find the willpower to avert my entire fucking gaze.
“I’m in a towel,” Phoebe combats. “And this is my loft, and it’s not like...” She trails off with a frustrated growl.
I stake another noodle, knowing what she was about to say.
It’s not like you haven’t seen me naked.
But she won’t speak it out loud. Those words are tucked close to a memory, a night, that both of us agreed to forget.
But it’s hard forgetting. In the back of my head, I can still feel the warmth of her body in my hands, and I hear the quickening of her heartbeat and I taste the strawberry off her lips. Being close to Phoebe is like being drowned in ice water.
It wakes every nerve ending. It makes me feel out of control. And so, so alive.
That night two years ago was the worst con we’ve ever agreed to, and surfacing that baggage is uncomfortable—for both of us.
I chew on a gristly piece of chicken.
“Are you seriously eating my leftovers?” Phoebe accuses, coming to the table. Thankfully she’s tightened the towel above her tits.
“This takeout is from Wednesday,” I retort. “It’s Saturday. If you weren’t eating it tonight, it belongs in the trash.” I make a point of eating another noodle. “I’m saving you from a trip to the bathroom.”
“Hope you have fun taking one there.”
I flip her off.
She ignores me. “You okay, Hailey?” She carries real worry for my sister.
Hailey tries to hide her notepad again. “Yeah. Everything’s fine.”
“Actually, it’s not,” I interrupt. “Hailey crunched some numbers, and you two won’t survive three months.”
Hailey’s jaw drops like I just took her ball of trust and free-throwed it into the trash.
I’m helping you, Hails.
She throws her pen at me.
I catch it midair.
Hailey groans and buries her face in her hands.
Phoebe’s brows knot. “Hailey?”
“Okay, it’s kind of true.” Hailey cringes as she comes up from her palms. “I just don’t want to worry you.”
I stand, and I slip the pen behind my ear and pick up the aluminum container. “This is a good time to remind you both of the skills you’ve been taught.” I dump it in the trash. “We can do a short con tonight at the party—”
“What party?” Phoebe and Hailey ask in unison.
“I was invited to a boathouse party by a girl at the club.”
“Valentina,” Phoebe realizes.
“You both can come along with me—”
“I’d rather eat sawdust than go to a party tonight,” Phoebe cuts me off and shoulder-shoves me to reach the fridge, still in nothing but that damn towel.
“We’re not conning anyone, Rocky,” Hailey reinforces. “We’re done for good.”
I know she wants to be, so I look to Phoebe. “A little three-card monte, Phebs?” I ask with raised brows. She swerves around with a bottle of Yoo-hoo, considering.
I lean on the kitchen counter. “You need the money, and it’ll be fun.”
After she takes a long swig from the chocolate drink, she wipes her mouth with her wrist, and I can tell she’s really thinking about it.
“No.” Hailey looks between us. “She’s not doing it. Phoebe?”
Phoebe winces. “We need the money, though.” And there it is... Phoebe’s weakness will always be protecting my sister.
It’s likely mine, too.
“There are other options,” Hailey says. “We can still do this the right way.” She slips a tiny scowl at me. “And you need to find your own place soon. Before you get us in trouble with Jake.”
They’ve let me crash on the couch every night since we arrived in town, and if I want this to pan out for them, I do need to abide by Jakey-poo’s rules and help them make rent.
“I won’t get you two in trouble,” I assure them. “That’s the antithesis of what I’ve ever fucking done.”
They relax.
Phoebe caps her Yoo-hoo. “Hailey is right. We’re done conning. But I changed my mind about the party. I’ll go.”
I’m about to ask why when she adds, “I’ll be a sec. I have to get dressed.” I watch her exit the kitchen with a quick, lengthy stride.
“I’m not going,” Hailey says from the table. “I want to plug this into Excel.”
“You’re leaving me with Phoebe?”
“As if you two aren’t always alone together.” She stands up from the table, nose in her notepad.
I aim a faraway stare at the brick fireplace, letting those words sink in.