Getting out won’t be easy.
I mean to exit the courthouse at full speed. It’s not an option. Reporters crowd around the door. They stand in front of it and block me from opening it all the way, and when they let me out, they’re like snapping dogs.
Not the kind of crowd you’d probably see in a big city, but enough of one that my stomach turns over. I don’t want to have to push my way through them. Step close enough and they converge on you. They’re not afraid to jostle.
I hold my purse tighter and try to keep my head down. It’s pointless. I’m the woman who came back from the dead. I testified against my brother. Shutters click, again and again and again until I want to scream.
One voice cuts through the others. A voice I hate. This photographer is always pushy. Always in my face.
“How did it feel to go against your own family today, Emily?” he shouts. He’s so loud. “What message do you think this sends to your daughter?”
“No comment.” I want to say more. I want to tell him to shut the hell up about Paige and never mention her name again, but then that’s the story.
“Where is your daughter today, Emily? Is it true your custodial rights have been reinstated?”
He does this on purpose. It’s the man’s one skill, and he’s relentless at it. The rapid-fire questions are meant to be frustrating, and they are. I hate his questions. That’s how he gets people to answer.
“Leave me alone.” They’re making it hard to get through, like they always do, but today it’s hard to breathe. Maybe it’s a bigger crowd than I thought. They press closer.
“Did you testify to cover up for Beau Rochester?”
The photographer steps fully into my path. It would be laughable if we were on the open sidewalk. That he has to resort to this to make a living. But we’re not. I’m hemmed in on both sides. My heart thuds with panic, the same way it did when Rhys would hit me. All I could think about was keeping him calm and doing whatever he wanted and making it safe for Paige.
It’s going to be like this forever, I think, helplessness squeezing at my heart and my lungs. It’s just going to last and last until I can’t take it anymore.
A shadow blocks the sun. Someone even closer. At first it startles me, but then I see who it is.
Not a reporter. Mateo.
He stands close, his arm making a barrier around me. “Leave her alone. You’ve had enough. Back up. Back up now.”
They listen to him. He’s obviously used to dealing with photographers and paparazzi, but his voice has an edge of quiet fury. It almost seems like he’s pissed off on my behalf, which can’t be possible. Right now I don’t care. I just want to get out of here, even if Mateo Garza has to be the one to help me.
And he does. He shepherds me through the crowd and to his car, which is waiting at the curb. It’s parked illegally. He opens the door for me, throwing a death glare over his shoulder at the reporters. I get in.
We’re flying through town by the time I catch my breath.
“Why didn’t you have someone escort you out? You had to know they’d be out there.” Mateo’s tone isn’t cruel, but it’s not kind, either.
“I thought it would be fine.” I mean to snap at him, but it comes out shaken instead. I don’t want to make a scene in the courtroom, ever, so I’ve been holding myself in check for hours. Testifying was a nightmare. Joe sat right there and he heard every word. And then that asshole outside. I knew it wouldn’t be fine. Nothing is going to be fine until all of this is finished. I hoped it would be fine. Sometimes it’s all I can do.
“You know, you can plan ahead for this. You don’t have to put yourself in that situation.”
“Oh, yeah? I can just call down to the police station and ask them to help me?”
Mateo cuts a glance my way. “It doesn’t have to be the police. You know how to do this.”
“I shouldn’t have to.” It’s true. I shouldn’t have to hire private security because my brother’s a criminal.
I shouldn’t have to do any of this. One tear spills out onto my cheek. I wasn’t going to cry. I was going to handle everything today like the competent, capable woman I am. Prove to the world, or at least the people in the courtroom, that I’m not a liar. That I’m not a woman gone crazy.
Another tear falls, and I turn my face to the window to hide it.
He sees anyway.
“Emily.”
I don’t answer. I’m holding my breath so I don’t make any noise. Mateo’s been driving to my house—he knows the way—but he puts on his turn signal and turns. Toward the beach. It’s three minutes at most and more tears fall, one by one, hot on my skin.
He stops the car. I can’t look at him. I don’t want to see his pity or his judgment. I chose to marry Rhys. I didn’t choose the rest. If it were up to me, none of this would have happened. Today wouldn’t have been so hellish. He steps out of the car and closes the driver’s side door behind him. I keep my eyes on the dashboard.
My door opens a second later.
He’s blurred by my tears, looking down at me. If I open my mouth, if I say one word to Mateo Garza, I’ll break. Everything will come out. I can’t do it. I can’t tell him. I can’t name these feelings. I can’t label the swirling vortex of fear inside or I’ll crumble.
Mateo waits. It’s better here, with the waves on the shore and the salt smell in the air, but I can’t put the tears away. I can’t force them back.
A sob escapes. I tremble around it. There are more coming.
Mateo leans down, unbuckles my belt, and pulls me out of the car. I’m not sure he means to hug me. I’m not sure he wants to. But he’s the only person there when I break down. There’s nobody else. I expect him to mock me. Or at least remain distant. Instead he pulls me close. I’m in his arms when I shatter into a thousand pieces. I’m held together in impassible strength. His embrace both tears down my walls and gives me shelter.
CHAPTER FOUR
Jane Mendoza
“Jail,” says Paige, a little smile on her face. Jail for me, of course. She hasn’t gone to jail once this entire game of Monopoly. Meanwhile I’ve been behind bars four times. It’s unheard of.
“Jail again,” I agree. I’d rather be in Monopoly jail across from Paige than anywhere else.
This is the kind of thing that wouldn’t come so easily if I move away for college. The option is still there, of course. I haven’t decided anything yet. Haven’t even heard back from most places. But the decision looms in my mind. Back in Houston, paying for college would be the tough part. The decision itself was easy. I’d have gone to the University of Texas without a second thought.
Now what? We have a brand-new house in Eben Cape, close enough to the new Coach House that Paige can run over whenever she wants. Or when Emily needs us to watch her, like today.
A car pulls up outside, tires crunching on gravel.
Paige’s eyes light up. “It’s Mom.”
She abandons the game and runs for the door. We’ve been sitting on the floor at the coffee table for long enough that my knees protest when I rise. Hazards of Monopoly, I guess.
Along with endless trips to jail.