Chapter Forty-One
Phoebe
I give Trevor my bed. He’s already woken up, but he’s weak. No one has told him what we found out yet, but Oliver’s been tasked with keeping a steady watch of his vitals tonight. Rocky wanted to do it, but Trevor kept complaining that Rocky was staring at him with “Bambi eyes” like he’d already died.
So now Rocky is helping me clean the living room floor. Blood has stained the hardwood. We’re on our hands and knees scrubbing.
Hailey is fast asleep in her bedroom, wiped from the transfusion, and Nova left to clean the droplets in the stairwell. Fake blood, he’s planning on lying to anyone who asks.
Halloween, my fav, came through in the clutch tonight. Then again, Trevor only risked leaving the loft because it’s Halloween.
I’m just going to disregard that.
Just like you’re disregarding your mom’s deception, Phoebe.
No, no, that is right in my face. If Trevor isn’t Addison’s son, then that means she had it in her to possibly steal a kid from another mother. My mom wouldn’t be partners in crime with someone like that if she didn’t have it in her, too.
I don’t want to believe it’s true, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t.
To know for sure, we’d have to take a DNA test, but we can’t risk having that information on file in some lab. We’re supposed to be anonymous, invisible, off-the-grid.
Imagining my mom stealing me and my brothers is sickening enough to send me to the toilet. I did yack privately in the trash.
I think only Nova saw.
“This isn’t coming out,” I say, my fingers raw from scrubbing with a Brillo pad. The stained couch is the least of my concerns. We can throw that in the dump.
Rocky sighs heavily and tosses a sponge into the soapy water bucket. “Fuck it.”
“Fuck it?” I frown. “There has to be something we can do. What about replacing the floorboards?”
“That is definitely not in your rental agreement,” he says with a dry smile.
He’s joking—kind of. But he is right. Jake would know and ask questions and definitely wouldn’t be happy.
“Fuck it...” I mull over those words again.
“I’m done with all this shit, Phoebe. Just tell Jake the truth,” Rocky says in almost a defeated, exhausted voice. “My brother got stabbed. He bled a lot. Done.”
“He’s going to ask why we didn’t take him to the hospital,” I reply softly. “You want me to tell him we’re awful people?”
“You can tell him it was my choice. I don’t care what he thinks of me.” He leans back against the couch. I look around at the disarray. The bloodstains. A garbage bag of Trevor’s bloodied clothes and used blood-typing kits.
All right.
I crawl next to him and toss my Brillo pad into the soapy water bucket. “Fuck it,” I say with certainty now.
He wraps an arm around me, and a wave of guilt festers in my stomach. “Rocky,” I whisper. “I’m sorry I didn’t believe you sooner.”
Rocky clutches my gaze. “I’m glad you didn’t, and truthfully, I’m glad you all didn’t.”
I frown, a pain in my heart. “Why?”
“If you were all easy to sway, I think I would’ve questioned how much I influenced you. How much I was just tricking you into believing what I wanted you to believe. I never had any doubts because you all constantly challenged me.”
That’s good to know. I exhale a little, and I love leaning into Rocky and how he brushes hair off the nape of my neck.
He holds me close. “And there should only be one hard-core cynic among us.”
“Jake thinks I’m hard-core angsty.”
He rolls his eyes. “Jesus. He’s a little soft-core bitch...” Rocky trails off seeing my glare, and his brows jump. “Protecting the fake ex-boyfriend?”
I stiffen. “I thought you liked Jake?”
“Like? No. But I don’t completely hate him...” He’s trying to read my face. “What’s wrong?”
I just come out with it. “I didn’t break up with Jake.”
His wince plunges a sharp dagger in my gut.
Hurriedly, I add, “I was going to, but then you left the pool party, and I was looking around for you and then you sent the text—”
He puts his arms around me, hugging me into silence. “It’s all right.” His voice is tender affection.
“It’s not okay. I’m fake dating Jake Waterford when I’d rather be fake and real dating you.”
“I know that, Phebs,” he whispers, and his loving gaze bathes me. “You don’t have to convince me. I know...” He looks me over in a heavier sweep. “I know you.”
My heart swells, and our love is an unspoken light between us, radiating among the darkness of our many lives and lies.
It has always been unspoken. Rocky has never needed words to see how much I love him. He’s never asked for them. But he deserves to hear them. He’s already said them to me. He’s told me, verbally, he loves me.
But I haven’t... and this is the time.
This is it.
To tell him how much I love him. To tell him exactly the depth of what I feel. I open my mouth, and as his fingers brush against my cheek and our lips near, those three words completely escape me.
Something else replaces them instead, and very softly, I whisper, “I’m your Phoebe.”
The purest emotion brims his eyes. “I’m your Rocky.”