"When is she eighteen?"
"Next month."
He nods.
"Why? What are you thinking?"
"Leave it with me.” A faint smile traces his lips. “I have some favors to pull."
"What does that mean exactly?"
"It means exactly what I said. Leave it with me."
"So now what?"
He shrugs. "You said you know her better than anyone, so I guess only you know the answer."
He pushes from the couch, pulls his cell from his pocket, and has it to his ear before walking from the room, leaving me surrounded by his walnut office furniture and fancy fucking books.
Needing to get out of the room, I follow his lead, but not before a bottle of amber liquid catches my attention on one of his shelves.
"Fuck it," I mutter, swiping it from its place. If it's hidden up here then it's got to be the good stuff.
As I hit the bottom of the stairs, I glance to my right. It would be so easy to march back up there and demand she talk to me, but I know it's not going to get me anywhere. I wasn't lying when I said I know her, and one thing I know is that she's a stubborn ass.
With the bottle in my hand, I make my way out the front door before dropping down onto one of the stone steps.
I twist the top and lift the glass to my lips. The first shot burns, but I instantly know that this isn't cheap stuff. It's so fucking smooth.
Pulling the bottle back, I look at the label. It's Macallan, but other than knowing it's expensive shit, I don't know much more about it. We didn't often find bottles of the good stuff lying around in the Heights.
I have no idea how long I sit there watching the sun go down, sinking into the ocean on the horizon, but my ass is numb and my head is spinning.
I was hoping that the whisky might have helped to remove the images my imagination have been conjuring up since I pulled Kenny into my arms when Jay first dropped her off. The thought of him touching her, hurting her...
My teeth grind and my grip on the bottle tightens with my need to go and find the motherfucker and teach him a lesson of my own.
But James is right. I need to know for sure it was him.
I assume that no one knows I'm here, so when the front door opens and Hadley steps out as if she's expecting to see me, I wonder just how good my hiding spot was.
I should have gone down to the beach, but I didn't want to go that far away in case she needs me.
A sad laugh rips from my lips. She doesn't need you. She doesn't even want you near her.
I tip the bottle to my mouth once more.
"Whoa, where did you get that?"
"James' office."
"Do you know how much a bottle like that costs?"
I shrug. "Don't care. How is she?"
"Hurting. Scared… lost."
I blow out a frustrated breath.
"It's going to take time, Conner."
"I don't want fucking time," I slur. "I just want..."
"I know, Con. Do you want to talk about her?"
I shake my head. I can't let myself go back there. I can't allow myself to think that we could ever be a possibility. She didn't want me back then, so why should I think now is any different?
"This is all my fault," I admit.
"How? This isn't on you, Con."
"I pushed her to him."
"What?"
“I…” I drop my head into my hands as I remember the day I told her she should give Warren a chance as clearly as if it were yesterday. It just so happens to be the day she crushed my heart and ruined me for anyone else.
"Did she say anything else? What happened? What he did?"
I glance over just in time to see a guilty look spread across her face. "Tell me, Hads. Please."
"Conner," she says, reaching out and taking my hand in hers. "I can't. What she told me, she told me in confidence. She needs friends right now, not more people she can't trust. You just need to—"
"Give her time," I mutter to myself. "I know, you said that already."
"It's the only thing you can do. You push too hard, and you might lose her for good. You want to help her, you need to do as she asks."
I blow out a long breath. "Well, you were a lot of fucking help," I grumble. It's meant to come out lighthearted, but from the pained expression on Hadley’s face, I fear I might have missed the mark.
"You need to sleep that off," she says, standing and plucking the almost empty bottle hanging from my hand.
"I would if I didn't have a girl in my bed who doesn’t even want to look at me."
She opens her mouth to respond, but I beat her to it. "Don't say it, Hads. Don't say it."
She gives me a small smile before slipping back inside the house, leaving me alone once again with my imagination, guilt, and anger.
Chapter Three
Kennedy
I feel like an exhibit at a zoo. First the doctor, then Conner and Remi. Then another girl called Hadley tried to talk to me. She knew my secret. I don’t know if Remi told her or she could just sense it, but I saw the sympathy in her eyes, the understanding.
It didn’t make me want to open up, though.
It made me want to crawl under the bed sheets and never resurface.
I don’t want to be here.
I don’t want to be here, and yet I have nowhere else to go.
That’s what my life has come to.
I turn my head and take a shuddering breath. What I really want is a hot shower and some clean clothes, but it’s late, and my body is beginning to shut down.
When I hear another knock at the door I brace myself for Conner’s face, but it isn’t Conner at all.
It’s his father.
James Jagger.
The guy who takes in waifs and strays like he’s the Pied Piper of Sterling Bay.
“Can we talk?”
“It’s your house.” I shrug as he slips inside.
The door clicks shut, the sound reverberating through me.
“I debated giving you some more time, but I figured I should probably introduce myself. I’m—”
“James, yeah. I know who you are.” It comes out cold, but he remains unaffected. I suppose moving Ace, Cole, and Conner into his house and revealing that he was their father instead of the piece of shit they grew up with had toughened his skin.
The Jagger brothers aren’t exactly an easy bunch to win over.
“Conner tells me the two of you are friends.”
“Were,” I correct. “We were friends.”
“You live with your aunt in the Heights?”
My jaw clenches as I try to swallow down the flash of pain. “She, uh... she died. Right before the summer.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. Where do you live now?” My brows furrow, and he smiles. “Sorry, I don’t mean to question you like this. I’m just concerned. You’re a minor still, Kennedy, and I want to know you’re safe.”
“I live with my boyfriend and his dad.”
“I see.” His expression hardens.
“Are you going to call the authorities?” My hands twist together in my lap.
“I would prefer not to.”