Worse Than Enemies

I wish I could tell her what I know, but it would feel like a huge betrayal, even with Hayes treating me the way he does. What would Salem think if she knew what was happening to him? Then again, I’m not even sure what it is. I only have suspicions, and I can’t do much with those. I might end up getting the wrong person in trouble, and I don’t want that.

Then again, if his coach is touching him or being inappropriate, and I know about it, what does it make me if I keep my mouth shut? How does Franky live with himself, knowing there’s a problem but doing nothing about it?

I have to shake it off. Hayes can’t be the center of my universe.

“What about you?”

“What about me?” I ask on the way to the dressing room.

“Where’s your dad? Your real dad, I mean. Did your parents get divorced?”

“I have no idea who he is. I’ve never met him.” When she continues to stare at me, I add, “The way my mom makes it sound, it was a one-night stand.”

“Oh. What about your sister?”

I grit my teeth at the thought of him. “He’s a prick. They dated for a little while and she thought he would take care of us, but he’s even worse than her. I’m pretty sure Mr. Ambrose is the nicest person she’s ever been with. At least since I was born.”

“It’s a hard day, the day you find out your parents don’t know what the fuck they’re doing.” She leaves me with the clothes we—she—picked out and closes the door to give me privacy.

What she said is the truth. I never thought about it that way. Kids want to believe their parents know everything, and it’s a letdown when you find out they don’t.

“There’s probably food in the fridge if you’re hungry. I’m going to take these things upstairs.” It’s amazing I can even lift my arms for all the bags I’m carrying. In one hand are clothes, and in the other are shoes, makeup, and all the skin care products Salem swears I need If I want to keep my skin smooth and firm or something like that. We’re only seventeen. How much could we possibly need?

I’m careful setting everything down in my room since we just had our nails done, too. “The first party of the year means we have to look as good as we can,” she told me, and then again when we went for blowouts. Right now, I’ll take her advice on just about anything, so long as it means surviving without looking like I don’t belong. It’s bad enough I already feel that way.

At least the house is empty. Bridget left a note saying she would take Lucy to a park nearby. Mom is wherever she is, and of course Mr. Ambrose is out doing his thing. If he’s not working, he’s golfing. His clubs are always by the front door, and now that I think about it, they weren’t there when we came in. I guess that answers that question.

It’s funny to me, walking down the empty hall and descending the stairs, to think of this house sitting empty so much of the time. All these big, empty rooms.

No, not exactly empty. Charlotte is kneading dough when I enter the kitchen.

She looks up with a smile. “Did you enjoy your shopping?”

I like her. She’s kind, which I haven’t experienced a lot of before now.

“It was different. I had to keep telling myself not to look at the price tags.” I don’t know why I just admitted that.

“Mr. Ambrose is a nice man. He wants you to have nice things.”

I wish my mother would say something that kind to me just once. “Did Salem come through here? My friend?”

“She stopped in to say hello. We haven’t seen her around here for a while.” She nods her head in the direction of the side door leading out to the yard. “She went that way.”

“Thank you.” I grab an apple from a bowl on the counter and head outside. I haven’t had much time to enjoy the yard, with its big patio and pool. There’s even an outdoor kitchen with a pizza oven and grill built in.

It’s not the pizza oven I’m thinking about when I hear Salem’s voice—along with someone else’s. My heart sinks, and I almost drop my snack when it hits me. Hayes is in the pool. He must have parked his car in the garage for once, or else I would have known he was here.

Now, my feet are rooted to the ground. How does he do this to me? I have every right to be here. He doesn’t own this house. And he doesn’t own me.

Still, when I move, I’m careful, creeping up close to a tall hedge so neither of them can see me right away.