I eye her, backing away. “All right.”
I turn to Cap, who brings his eyes to mine.
“I’ll call them, we’ll be ready,” he assures me.
“Cap...”
He’d walk away if he felt like it, but I can always make her leave, so he doesn’t have to.
He shakes his head. “I’m good, girl. Go.”
“Do you like her?”
His eyes cut to mine, narrowing.
“I mean, I know I’m your wife and all, but you can tell me,” I joke.
With a chuckle, he gently nudges me away, so I go without another word.
I walk back the way I came, down the dirt road I used to stare at, wondering where it could possibly lead, and into the house I never imagined I’d be a part of, the home I haven’t set foot in in weeks.
Rolland jumps from the barstool the second I enter, rushing for me. “Raven.”
“We’re ready to end this. Are you with us?”
He looks behind me, a frown pulling at his brows when the door doesn’t open behind me.
“They’ll be here. All of them.”
He nods. “And I’ll be with you, too.”
“I need a shower.”
He understands what I’m asking, I told him to take my room and make it Zoey’s after all, so I’m not sure I have a right to walk up those stairs.
He holds a hand out, leading me the opposite way of the house, back behind the pool table and down the hall where the gym once sat, his office not far from it.
I enter, finding a brand-new bed, a California king with a large, dark grey headboard that almost meets the ceiling, plush pillows covered in royal purple lay atop of a stark white comforter. A matching grey dresser sits across from it, a rocking chair with cushions the same color perched beneath the window.
Something catches my eye on the nightstand beside it, so I head that way, finding a small double frame.
With shaky hands, I pick it up.
My sonogram cased behind the delicate glass, my mother’s right beside it.
I bite into my cheek.
“I thought the purple would work well for you, too,” he admits quietly, having noticed the color of the writing on my mother’s image.
I set it back down, turning to meet his eyes.
He walks over to the closet, pulling it open. My clothes hang on one side, while the other holds nothing.
“This is mine? You did this for me?”
“This is your home, Raven, more so than anyone else’s. This is where you will live, Graven be damned,” he says, leaving no room for query. Strong, final.
My eyes move back to the closet, and Rolland steps into my view, blocking the emptiness.
He gives a slight smile. “I thought I’d leave this side open, just in case.”
My jaw muscles tighten, and I glance around once more.
There’s a flashlight on the nightstand, see-through purple curtains draped over the window, the sun shining through them perfectly. I slip my fingers through the sheer material, running them across the windowsill – it’s lower than the one in the room upstairs. My fingers pause when they meet a groove in the wood and I step closer.
I need some R and R, is carved directly into the white paint.
My eyes pull in when I notice the grading at the edge of it, and I slip my knife from my pocket, flicking it open.
I run my fingers over the middle of the blade, then look to the window again.
My eyes snap to Rolland, who smiles meekly.
My mind takes me back to the night he gave it to me, and the careful words spoken.
“The words inscribed are true. You don’t have to accept your life just because you were born into it. Family is a choice, Raven. Not a burden of birth. It’s up to you to find the feeling and remember, never settle for less than what you want.”
With a frown in place, I plant my feet directly in front of his.
Never settle.
He wanted me to fight back?
It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask about that day in my trailer. To ask how he knows all these little things about me, about the knife, and the room, and the meaning of the words my mom carved here, but I don’t.
For the first time he reads me right, that or I dropped the shield enough for him to see. He offers a tight nod. “You’re welcome, Raven. It is the very least I could do.”
With that, he walks away, and I stand there a moment, thankful for the first time, for the fucked-up path that led me right here.When I step from the shower, Victoria is perched at the head of my bed, glaring across the room. I step farther in, finding Chloe hanging dress after dress across some sort of changing contraption, something you see in the small Chinese restaurants in Stockton – a three-piece wood-like shield of sort that the owner’s kids would hang out behind.