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He nods, and then his eyes go to Lexie before coming back to me. “Her parents are here. The authorities called them in a couple of days ago for questioning.”

I place my hands on my hips. “They playin’ the good parents now?”

“You know it.”

“Fuck. She’s real fucked up over this, Jackson.”

“She’ll be okay. Let’s just focus on getting you both out of here.”

After that everything moves fast. Before I know it, I’m watching the love of my life ascend above my head. She’s slowly being pulled up into a world of chaos that I know I can’t protect her from.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Lexie

Iwatch the clouds float by as they pull me up, but as soon as I begin to see faces, I close my eyes. Everything from that point on is unbearable. The touching, the questions …

When I hear my parents arguing with the club, I decide a full zone-out is required. I can’t deal with any of this right now. Not that I could talk to them if I wanted to. My entire leg is on fire. I wish they would just cut it off.

“Are you her family?” someone asks.

“I’m her fucking dad!” JD roars from outside the ambulance.

More yelling erupts and the doors close, blocking them out.

“I’m here now, baby,” my mom says, brushing hair away from my face.

The next few days are a throbbing blur. I had to have surgery on my ankle, but that’s not the most painful part. It’s the knife my parents repeatedly stick in my back with their presence that’s slowly killing me.

“They’re offering me Graham’s position,” my dad whispers when he thinks I’m asleep. “It’s double what I’ve been making.”

My mom makes a little huffing noise. “I get that, but just because you’re going to move to Reno doesn’t mean I have to go with you.”

“I thought you said you wanted to stay here for her?”

“I know, but I …” She pauses and sniffles. “We should have seen it.”

“We’re here now.”

“I can’t handle the way she looks at us. She’s not the same little girl we remember. I don’t think I can stay. I’m going back to Spain next week.”

My dad doesn’t say anything in response to her statement.

When they leave, I roll to my back and stare at the ceiling.

She’s not the little girl we remember.

Does she still think of me as a little girl? Maybe if she would have been there when I bought my first bra, or when I started my period, or the first time I peed on a stick while offering my soul to the devil for the test to be negative, then maybe she would have seen the change.

My gaze goes to the news they were watching, and there, plastered across the screen, are pictures of me and three other girls. Graham’s wife was the one who reported him.

My dad walks back into the room and pauses, surprised to see me sitting up. Then, he notices what has my attention. “Oh, honey, you shouldn’t be watching this.”

“Wait!” I yell. “I know those girls.”

He shuts it off despite my protests.

“They’re daughters of your co-workers. Oh my god.” I cover my mouth with my hands, feeling like I’m going to be sick. One of the girls is only twelve years old.