Chapter 57
ELLE
Mom calls the second I finish explaining everything to Dad.
I probably left out a good number of details—like the fact that I’m sleeping with my professor after promising to lie low—but all the stuff about LA, the truth about my acting roles, and a rundown of the student organizations gets pushed out into the open, where I guess Sutton wanted me to put it.
Irritation lights up my spine at the fact that my dad was called at all. Like I’m some little girl incapable of handling things on her own.
Which…maybe has some merit to it right now, all things considered.
My face burns as Dad gets to his feet, my gaze falling to the ice pack resting on my knee. Point taken.
Still, I focus on the anger and annoyance because it’s easier than dealing with the reality of my situation.
Percy is dead. I’m officially a Death’s Teeth member, I guess. One bound to Incarnate, the man I slept beside all night.
Percy is dead. I close my eyes for a moment, sadness filling my chest.
I killed someone. In self-defense, sure, but no matter how many times I scrubbed my hands after Sutton’s departure, the blood still seemed embedded into my fingerprints—a part of me, the way it was always destined to be.
Dad sighs and heads into the foyer, as if that might dilute any part of her emotional breakdown when he answers Mom’s video request.
“Little one,” is the only thing he says in lieu of a greeting.
“Don’t little one me,” she spits. I swear he adjusts the volume on his phone, but I can hear her plain as day. “First, you don’t even tell me you’re leaving, and I wake up to an empty house this morning—”
“There were three canines in the bed when I left it.”
“—and then I get texts from Quincy about Noelle being in some sort of trouble and her sending pictures of bruises and blood? What the fuck is going on in Fury Hill, Kallum?”
“I’m not sure,” he answers, his voice so level compared to the unevenness of hers. “That’s what I came to find out.”
“You told me this wouldn’t happen again,” she whispers harshly. “After last semester, you said you’d keep them safe.”
He doesn’t reply.
My stomach twists, guilt and shame mixing into volatile little knots.
“It’s on us if anything…” She trails off, sucking in a deep breath.
“She is fine, Elena.” His use of her first name makes me cringe; it’s so rare. “No signs of broken bones or internal bleeding. A mild concussion, skin abrasions… Honestly, all things considered, I anticipated much worse.”
“Can I talk to her?”
“Let me interrogate her first, and we’ll call you back.”
She sniffles. “You don’t think I can get answers out of our child?”
“I think you need a drink.”
“Already on it.” Aunt Cora’s voice joins the fray, and I can imagine her slinging a tattooed arm over Mom’s shoulder, squeezing in close for the camera.
“Isn’t it a little early for that?” Mom mutters.
“Keep your hands to yourself, Astor,” Dad warns, referring to Cora by her maiden name, even though he and her husband are the closest of all the adults in their social circle. Too close, if you ask me. Same with their wives.
“I always do when you’re away,” Cora replies, her smirk audible. “It’s way less fun when there’s no audience.”
Horror settles on my face as he hangs up and strolls back into the room, arms at his sides.
Dad settles on the arm of the sofa, staring at me with those unreadable, almost black eyes. Impassive on the surface, but I’m sure he’s just as upset with me as Mom is. “Your mother sends her—”
“Emotional instability?”
His eyes crease a little, the crow’s-feet at the corners deepening. “One of my favorite things about her.”
“You like that she’s volatile?”
“Immensely. I struggled to show emotion due to environmental and psychological factors. Your mother was raised in a similar fashion, but she rejected the sentiment and did whatever she wanted anyway. I’ve always admired how readily she wears her heart on her sleeve.”
Glancing down at my hands, I interlace my fingers and pull, discomfort settling in the pit of my stomach.
“You’re just like her, you know.” Dad lifts his chin, looking out the front windows where he pulled open the curtains.
Probably the first time Sutton’s living room has seen light during his residency.
“Ever since you were little, anyone within a mile radius could tell what you were thinking or feeling just by reading your face. Even when you were onstage or rehearsing for a part, whatever that character needed to convey, it all shone so brightly in your expressions. The honesty was refreshing.”
Which is what makes the admittance of lies more unsettling. He doesn’t say it—doesn’t have to. But I hear the unspoken words anyway and feel the disappointment swelling up alongside them.
“Asher wasn’t an open book, but he’d tell us anything if we asked. Getting information out of your sister was never an easy task. I guess I wrongly believed your honesty would carry over no matter what situation you were in.”
I chew on my lip, swallowing hard.
“So where is this Jean-Louis Dupont? When was the last time you had contact with him?”
Confused, I meet his gaze. “I didn’t tell you his name.”
A long, weighted pause ensues. He gives me a look. “Noelle. Did you honestly think I wouldn’t have done any homework after being summoned to my injured child’s side?”
Scoffing, I cross my arms over my chest. “So why’d you make me tell you about it all?”
“Well, there had to be some sort of recompense. I think you’re getting off fairly easy, but I can’t speak for what your mother will do when you’re home.”
“Home?” I blink, frowning. “I don’t want to go home.”
His features strain. “Noelle, the deal was—”
“I know, but I’ve made a life for myself at Avernia. You didn’t make Asher and Lucy go home when they got into trouble. Why do I have to?”
“You don’t have to. You’re a twenty-five-year-old woman. Despite how I may want to on occasion, I can’t force you to do anything… Though I do want you to consider the consequences of staying.”
“If I leave, Sutton has to deal with it all alone.”
“Sutton?” Dad’s eyes narrow. “The professor?”
“Yes, the one whose apartment we’re currently sitting in.”
Dad glances around the living room, his gaze lingering on the stack of Shakespearean tragedies sitting atop an old record player. “I don’t like him.”
I snort. “You don’t know him.”
“A father doesn’t need to know a man to see whether he’s good enough for his child. Clearly, he’s not up to the task of protecting you.”
“This wasn’t his fault.”
He cocks an eyebrow. “Anything that happens to your mother or you kids is indirectly attributed to me. That’s the lot you pick when you start a family.”
“Jesus,” I say, cringing. “Who said anything about starting a family with the guy? I just like him is all.”
“Like?”
“Yeah, it’s this feeling you get when someone makes your heart race and—”
“No,” he replies, huffing. “I mean, is that all?”
“Why wouldn’t it be?”
He shrugs. “Not every guy would stare down the barrel of a gun with no reaction because he knew you were inside and wanted to keep you safe.”
Behind my rib cage, my heart skips a beat, fluttering. “You just said he wouldn’t be able to protect me.”
“I said I wasn’t certain he could, not that he wouldn’t try.” Exhaling, he looks at the screen of his phone, and I glare down at my hands.
How does Sutton feel about me, and do I feel the same?
Last night at my absolute worst, there was only one person I trusted to care for me. To hold me close and provide comfort.
My Incarnate.
I think I already know the answer.
“In any case,” Dad continues, “while I can’t force you to leave this godforsaken school, I will advise you to be smart about your decision to stay.
Don’t do it because you wish to keep making googly eyes at your professor or to spite anyone.
Both of those reasons are dangerous, and I will intervene if you put yourself in harm’s way again. ”
Nodding, I squeeze my fingers together. “I know you and Mom kind of forced me to come, but I was looking forward to being around Quincy and Asher again. Los Angeles was fine, but making deep connections was hard.” I look at him, my bottom lip wobbling. “No one gets you like your siblings.”
The corner of his mouth lifts, and I wonder if he’s thinking about his sister, Violet, or the de facto siblings he acquired over the years. Either way, he just wraps his hand around the back of my neck and pulls me into his side, where I wish, deep down, I could just stay forever.
We leave Sutton’s a while later, with me limping on a set of crutches that keep getting stuck in the fucking cobblestone pathways.
Dad decides to have an impromptu meeting with Dean Bauer about the state of his school, which appears to be in jeopardy by the harsh set of his jaw when he leaves me in Asher’s care.
A part of me wonders if there will be a Dean Bauer when Dad leaves Fury Hill.
“You know, I never really thought we looked all that much alike,” Asher muses, kicking a rock down the path. “But I guess all you needed was a little bruising to highlight my features—your best ones, by the way.”
I shoot him a dirty look. “I wish Dad would’ve asked Q to come watch me.”
“He did. She declined.”
Ouch. I swallow, staring at my feet. “Why?”
“Probably felt bad for calling him in the first place. Who fucking knows what goes on in her head?”
Pausing in the middle of the walk, I frown at the ground, replaying Sutton’s words from earlier over and over in my head.
I called your sister.
Why had he done that when there’s an open investigation into his behavior going on? Why run the risk of telling another faculty member?
Unless she’d already known.
“Hey, Ash?”
He stops ahead, twisting around to look at me. “Yeah?”
“Do you…” Trailing off, I consider the end of that question. What exactly do I want him to say? That he thinks Quincy was the one to rat out my relationship to the dean or that no, he doesn’t, which means there’s someone else who knows and wanted us to suffer.