Me: Okay … Did you get a ride with Dad then?
Londyn: Ha, what a funny joke.
I chuckle, yet I’m still confused.
Me: How did you get to school then? Did you walk?
Londyn: Well, we were going to, even though it was really late, but … Look, promise me you won’t get mad, because we did get to school on time and nothing bad happened.
I rest back in the seat and prop my feet onto the dash as I type.
Me: I’m not going to get mad. You’re responsible. I trust your judgment.
Londyn: But I may have screwed up a bit with this one, but only because I panicked about us all being late to school. I tried to call Hunter for a ride, because he’s like the only person I know in this town, but he didn’t answer, so I decided we were going to walk and just be late. But on our way out, someone else we sort of know saw us and asked if we needed a ride. At first, I declined because this person is a straight-up jerk. Or, well, he seemed that way at first, but then I realized we were going to be super late, and Bailey and Payton were complaining, and I panicked, and … I’m so sorry!
Me: Sorry for what? For accepting a ride? You’re acting really weird.
Londyn: Not just for accepting a ride. For accepting a ride from our neighbors.
Me: Wait. You got a ride with the Portersons?
Londyn: Yeah, Rhyland and Jaxon anyway. I’m sorry. I love you, and I’m still unsure about them. I just become a terrible decision-maker when I’m desperate. I’m so, so sorry. I feel like I stabbed you in the back. Please don’t hate me.
Me: Why would I hate you? You needed to find a ride to school, so you found one. And Rhyland and Jaxon don’t seem too terrible, I guess. Well, Rhyland doesn’t. Jaxon’s too quiet to tell for sure.
Londyn: I know, but still … I said all those bad things about them and told everyone we should stay away from them. I’m a complete hypocrite. And you made that bet so they’d leave us alone, and then we ended up being around them anyway.
Me: The bet wasn’t a waste. It gives us assurance that shit like the flyer incident won’t happen again. And besides, Alex was the main culprit behind that. And the tires. Not Rhyland or Jaxon.
Londyn: I know, but I still feel awful.
Me: Well, don’t. Part of being in charge is putting others’ needs before yours. You needed a ride, so you got a ride, and no one was late. You did good, sis.
Londyn: If you say so, but I still feel a bit like a traitor. At least tell me you’re doing okay. That Blaise hasn’t been too awful.
Me: I’m fine. And Blaise is okay, I guess. At least he’s been less cocky this morning.
Londyn: That’s good. Did you have to do the favor yet?
I hesitate. While I lie to my sisters a lot, it’s mostly to protect them. If I don’t tell her the truth now, though, it’s to protect Blaise and Alex. But I made a promise to Blaise, and since I understand that protective need toward my siblings, the idea of confessing his secret doesn’t feel right.
Me: Nah, not yet. But I think he’s probably just going to make me run in and get them coffee after we pick up Alex.
Londyn: Great, so he’s playing the servant card?
Me: I think so.
Londyn: I want to say I’m surprised, but I’m not. He’s such a jerk.
I should correct her, tell her that maybe he isn’t as horrible as we thought, but that would lead to a bunch of other questions that I’ll have to lie about. And since my tally for the day is going up really quickly, I decide to just let it drop.
Londyn: Crap, I have to go. Class is about to start. But you’re going to be here soon, right?
Me: Yeah, I’ll be there in a bit.
I hope.
After I finish texting Londyn, I sit in the SUV for another handful of minutes before I start to get really bored. And hot. Blaise left the windows rolled up and took the keys with him, and with the sun being fully risen, even though I wore a pair of shorts and a black T-shirt, the cab is starting to heat up fast. The more time that ticks by, the more my skin dampens with sweat.
I’d text Blaise, except I don’t have his number. I don’t have any of the Portersons’ digits.
About an hour in, I start to lose my cool. Not only is it stifling hot, but I’m miles away from town and it’s getting late.
“Fuck this shit.” I climb out of the car and stare down the driveway, trying to mentally calculate the distance back to town. It has to be at least a dozen miles.
I could always hotwire Blaise’s SUV, but I wouldn’t put it past him or Alex to call the cops on my thieving ass. Blaise never said I couldn’t go into the house, but it was sort of implied when he got out and didn’t invite me in. Then again, if he didn’t want me to go in, he shouldn’t have left me in the car for over an hour.
Squaring my shoulders, I march up to the house. Yeah, the place is beyond creep, and I’m not so sure I’m buying into it not being a crack house, but I’ve been to places like this before. A lot of times actually, needing to pick up my dad or settle a deal with someone my dad tried to screw over.
Payton also went through a phase about six months ago when she was spending a lot of time with a guy who was really into drugs. She swore to me she didn’t do any drugs with him, but that didn’t mean I just willingly let her hang out with him. No, she’d sneak off, and I’d have to drive to the dude’s house and drag her ass out kicking and screaming. He lived in a really sketchy area.
While I hate to judge this house by its torn-up side and lack of a roof, Blaise’s hesitation to go inside is enough for me to know that what’s on the inside isn’t going to be a welcome mat and a place smelling of freshly baked cookies.
But I got this.
I always got this.
Chapter 18
When I arrive at the front door, I muster up a deep breath, collect my shit, and knock.
“Who the fuck is that?” a voice snaps from the other side. “We weren’t expecting anyone else, were we?”
I wince, but I keep my feet planted to the ground.
“I sure as hell wasn’t,” someone yells back.
They grow quiet.
I knock again, harder this time.
“Fuck.” Someone lets out a string of curses, then the door is cracked open. A trail of smoke snakes outside as a guy peers out at me, his gaze sweeping up and down me. “Who the hell are you?”
“I’m a …” I almost say a friend of Blaise’s, but that doesn’t seem accurate. “Look, I drove up here with Blaise, and I really need to talk to him.”
The guy’s bloodshot eyes measure me up. “Why?”
“Because …” I shift my weight, feeling more uneasy than I’d like. “Can you just tell him to come here please? It’s an emergency.”
He gives a lengthy, very annoying pause, then steps back and opens the door. “I’ve got a better idea, sweetheart. How about you come inside and get him yourself?”
Every one of my muscles twitch at his use of sweetheart, but now that I have a very good view of this guy, I decide to bite my tongue, unlike when Blaise called me the same stupid pet name. Unlike Blaise, this guy isn’t a cocky teenager who’s annoyingly pretty. No, he’s a grown-ass pain with scabs on his face, track marks on his arms, and a pipe in his hand.
“Well, well, well, what do we have here?” someone else asks.
I turn and find another man lounging on a leather recliner that’s perched in the center of a small room made of chipped, wooden walls and shaggy, orange carpet. Where the man in front of me is obviously drugged out, this guy looks like a steroid freak, all bulging muscles and acne.
“I’m not sure yet.” The guy in front of me fixes his gaze on me. “What’s your name?” When I make no move to offer my name, he adds, “If you don’t tell me who you are, sweetheart, then I can’t show you where Blaise is.”
My fingers curl inward. God, what I’d give to crack my knuckles against this jerk’s scabby face.
“It’s Belinda,” I lie.
“Bel
inda?” He doesn’t seem too impressed. Either that or he doesn’t believe me. “So, why are you here, Belinda?”
“I already told you this.” Irritation surfaces in my tone, despite my internal battle not to go all smartass on this guy. “I need to talk to Blaise.”
“Hmm …” He rubs his jawline, causing a scab to fall off. I nearly gag. “I’m not sure if there’s a Blaise here.” He trades a look with the other guy. “What do you think, D? Is there a Blaise here?”
The dude on the sofa—D—eyes me over, a smile curling at his lips. “Actually, my name’s Blaise.”
“I’m sure it is,” I say snidely. “That’s why he just called you D.”
“D’s my middle name,” D insists as he rises to his feet and crosses the room toward me. “So, what did you want to talk to me about? Or should we go somewhere more private?”
“Just tell me where Blaise is.” I give him a blank stare, pretending to be the epitome of indifference. Deep down, though, uneasiness stirs. This situation is bad, especially since I can’t see Blaise anywhere. But he has to be here. I saw him go in, and he never left … unless there’s a back door.
Crap, what if there’s a back door? What if he left me? But, where would he go? And why would he just leave his car here? Those questions should relieve me, but there have been plenty of times when my dad ditched me and left his truck behind. He even took his truck keys with him so I couldn’t drive away, which is the main reason I taught myself how to hotwire a car.
“I already told you, baby, I’m right here.” Steroid freak gives me a grin that sends a chill down my spine. Then he reaches for me, to do who knows what. I never get to find out, because I grab his wrist and twist his arm.