No Matter What, Fight For Us (No Matter #1)

Prologue

LUCIA

SEVEN YEARS OLD

The freshly painted pink and white petals on the Hidden Roses Hotel sign shimmer back at me.

I’m sitting on a chipped brick wall a few feet away from the hotel’s front door, just off to the left of the parking lot, waiting for my mom to finish work.

A bunch of cars are parked perfectly straight between white lines painted on the ground ahead of me. It’s a small space, only thirty spots, and is for employees only. Mom says it’s first come, first serve.

My eyes cut back to the front of the hotel. Every time the revolving doors start to rotate, I sit up a little straighter, a meerkat on alert, hoping it’s her, but it’s not.

Come on, Mom.

I don’t know how long I’ve been waiting, but the sky isn’t as blue as it was when I waved goodbye to Mr. Lenny after I got off the school bus. It looks a little sadder now, as if someone upset the clouds and, any minute, they’ll start crying.

“Twenty-five!” I yell out to no one as a red car leaves the parking lot. The car-counting game I play with myself usually only gets as high as fifteen before Mom exits and leaves her workday behind her. But today, an additional ten cars have passed by.

I close my eyes and snap my heels together, the same way Dorothy does from The Wizard of Oz, but my green shoes aren’t glittery or shiny as they smack against each other. When I open my eyes, I’m still on the wall outside the hotel.

No magical shoes.

I just want to go home and read my new book, but Daddy says I’m not old enough to walk home alone yet.

When another two cars pass, I jump off the wall.

I’ve had enough, or as Ms. Hazel sometimes says when the boys are being chatter boxes even after she’s told them to be quiet: “I’ve reached the end of my feather.”

I grab my backpack from the ground and swing it over my shoulder.

There’s no road or man with a giant lollipop sign to help me cross, so I know to be extra careful. I check for moving cars, exactly how Daddy taught me when we practiced road safety.

Once I’m safely on the other side, I hopscotch up the marble steps that lead to the hotel’s entrance. I press both hands against the gold metal bar of the door—it’s cold and reminds me of a fridge handle—and keep pushing it until it starts to turn. Then I’m inside.

The lobby smells of freshly bloomed flowers.

My shoes squeak and scuff against the shiny marble floor as I hurry to where Mom’s office is.

I don’t want to be seen. If someone catches me in the hotel, they’ll yell at Mom, and then she’ll give me that look, the one where her eyebrow gets really pointy and she starts tapping her foot.

That’s how I know she’s not happy.

When she gets told off at work, she calls it a “bad day,” and I really don’t want her to have one of those because that’s when she drinks the brown stuff that smells funny and makes her mood sour.

I jump in the air and let out a quick, “Whoop,” when I find the door with gold glossy letters: CLARISSA ROSE ALVAREZ - HOTEL MANAGER.

I give myself a high five for remembering where it was and enter Mom’s office.

The first thing I notice when I’m inside is the light pink walls. They’re the same shade as cotton candy.

In the middle of the room, there’s a large table, bigger than the one in our kitchen. Its smooth surface mirrors the tiles beneath my feet, gold squiggly lines over the top. It’s so clean, I can see my shadow.

Six pastel chairs are tucked under it. They look plush and bouncy like my bed. On one of the chairs, there’s a black jacket folded over the top. It looks similar to the one Daddy wears to work.

Did Daddy come to visit Mom?

They must be behind the sliding doors that separate this room from the private area of her office—this section used mostly for meetings.

I turn toward them but stop when a weird sound comes from behind it.

It’s throaty and long, and suddenly, my tummy resembles jelly, bouncing uncomfortably instead of twisting.

“More,” my mom says. “Please… I need more,” she says again, breath quivering as though she’s halfway through her treadmill walk.

There’s a gap just big enough in the sliding door for me to slip through, which is exactly what I do. Mom’s pointy-toed heels and work papers are scattered on the floor. Confusion swirls in my stomach.

My eyes dart over to the white leather chair that’s usually behind her desk. It’s tipped over and lying on its side. And then I look up, and my stomach takes on that sickly feeling it gets after I inhale a full stick of cotton candy in one go followed by a ride on the bumper cars.

There’s a man with dark hair leaning over my mom, who is lying across her desk.

I stand a little to the side behind them.

This man’s back is to me, blocking most of her, but I can see her head as it faces the window.

His face presses into her neck, shielding what he looks like, but I know it’s not Daddy.

Mom’s legs lift and wrap around his waist, pulling him closer. Her head turns suddenly, and I think she’s about to look right at me, but her eyes stay closed as a grin graces her face.

She never smiles like that.

Her black dress is bunched around her hips, and her long brown hair that’s usually always in a tidy ballerina bun spills out of her scrunchie, the way mine does when I practice my ponytail without a mirror.

Then the desk scrapes across the floor, making a squeaky sound every time he jerks his hips. He’s moving faster now.

Then Mom screams.

And my whole body jumps at the sound.

“Mom!” I cry before I can stop myself. I squeeze my eyes shut and cover my face with my hands, turning away from them.

“LUCIA!” she shrieks. Her voice is shrill, the sound carrying me back to last week when I spilled juice on my clothes.

I flinch.

Mom shuffles, and then her fingertips grab hold of my arm, rough and fast, pulling me away from what feels like something bad.

The sliding door whooshes open, and she drags me behind her, limp as a rag doll.

Her fingers dig into my arm, her nails cutting into my skin. I want to pull away, but I can’t. She’s too strong, jerking me around as if I’m chained to her. My back hits the cold wall, and I notice her dress is fixed now, but she doesn’t let go of me.

“You’re supposed to be waiting for me on the wall. You’re not supposed to be in here!”

“You were taking so long,” I say, almost stumbling over my words. “I came to find you. Mom, who is that man?”

She says a bad word, and I see the wrinkles next to her eyes when she closes them.

“He’s no one. Just a friend.”

Her eyes open, and I stare into two blocks of ice.

“Lucia, I need you to listen to me carefully. You can’t tell anyone about my friend or what you saw, okay? I need you to be really good at keeping this secret, especially from Daddy. Do you understand?”

I take in her rosy cheeks, tangled hair, and the messy nude lipstick on her snow-white skin as I try to make sense of her words.

Whenever Daddy tells me something is a secret, it’s usually special. This doesn’t feel that way. I’m not sure Daddy would like this.

“Is it a surprise? Will we tell Daddy soon?”

“Lucia!” she scolds, and I all but flinch again, wanting to hide under a blanket. “Why can’t you ever just understand!”

“I’m sorry, Mom,” I whisper. She rolls her eyes, showing me her annoyance, a weight between us I feel from her more than I want to admit.

“If you don’t keep this a secret from Daddy, bad things will happen to him—and you don’t want that, right?”

I shake my head. “No, Mom.”

“Good,” she says, twisting me by the shoulders as she walks me back to the white door leading out of her office. “Now go outside, and this time, wait for me on the wall. Do not move. I will come get you when it’s time to go home. And remember, it’s our secret.”

Opening the door, she shoos me away. Like she’s the broom and I’m the mess she wants gone. I’m not in the hallway for longer than a second before the lock clicks in place, and Mom’s muffled words escape. “Sorry about that, love. Now lose the pants.”

I drag my feet along the polished floor with my head hung until I make it outside to the wall. I drop my bag onto the ground and climb the brick, finding the exact same spot as before, staring at the blooms that look just as sad as the gray sky and how I feel after being yelled at.

My lower lip quivers as I picture Mom’s angry face and her unkind hands on my arm. I try to come to terms with my emotions as I stare at the painted flowers. I look at them for so long that the perfectly shaped petals and the people walking past me as I sit here begin to blur.

My feet smash together over and over, as though trying to wish myself somewhere else, but I’m still stuck on the wall.

Still no magic.

I cover my wet cheeks with my hands and cry. I try to do it quietly, but every time I picture her cold icy eyes and hear the way she screams my name, my jerky breaths and sniffles get heavier.

“Hey, kid.”

I pull my hands away from my face and look at the guy standing a few feet away from me.

He has a backpack slung over one shoulder and is wearing black jeans and a white T-shirt that says Huxley Bay High School.

His baseball cap is pulled down low, covering his dark chocolate hair and shadowing his eyes.

I can’t tell if he’s smiling or frowning.

“Where are your parents?” he asks, looking around the almost empty parking lot, his brows pinched together.

“My daddy’s at work, and my mom works at the hotel. She told me to wait here for her,” I say, fiddling with my sleeves.

“I can wait with you until your mom comes, if you’d like? I’m waiting for someone, too. Do you mind if I share your wall?”

I shrug and wipe my face with my sleeve as he walks over and sits down beside me, putting his backpack next to mine. His long legs stretch to the gravel. Mine just dangle over the edge, not even close to skimming the ground.