Page 39 of As the Rain Falls (Sainte Madeleine #1)

SAY IT WITH YOUR CHEST

Cassandra

My phone buzzes in my pocket. Mrs. Mendoza is reading us our rules for our next philosophy assignment. Thankfully, no one notices me typing the code and unlocking the home screen.

It’s Kayla. She’s inviting me to hang out after school. I find myself grinning happily, a warm feeling blooming in my chest. I love to spend time with my best friend. It makes me really happy.

Kayla: Cassiiiiie

My dance class was cancelled bc he teacher is sick

Want to hit the flea market after class??

Me: LET’S :D

We hit the flea market after class. The colorful tents crowd together just outside of Point-Mort, one of Le Port’s main tourist spots.

I bring Pepé along to tire him out, which turns out to be a smart move because Kayla’s in a haggling mood. We end up spending two hours going from stall to stall. Two sellers try yelling at us, but Pepé barks back, golden fury and wet snot and all. He is, after all, a very good boy.

Beckett and I have been texting back and forth about his never-ending energy. Getting him to do some exercise is definitely a must.

“Two for four gold-plated bracelets seems fair,” Kayla says, eyeing a matching set of bracelets exposed behind the vendor. “Five’s just plain robbery.”

“They’re not gold-plated,” I whisper, leaning in to grab one of the cheap rings I bought earlier from the same stall. I bite down, and it bends, the “gold” cracking like old paint. “See, it’s really cheap quality!”

Kayla gives me a long, unreadable look before raising her eyebrows and turning back to the seller. “You sold my friend crap rings, sir. I definitely deserve a discount.”

I wince, not wanting her to start a fight. I wasn’t planning on wearing the rings. The only reason why I got them in the first place was because of their design.

“This is the best you’ll find,” the man’s voice is nasal and rough. He is pretending not to see the damaged ring I’m still holding. “Five for two. Two fifty each.”

“I want them so bad,” Kayla pouts, grabbing my arm and shaking me like a kid begging for candy. “Won’t they look perfect with my white dress?”

They will, if she’s cool with them falling apart after one wear.

“I can lend you one of mine, Kayla,” I offer, knowing there are many bracelets gathering dust in jewelry boxes. I asked for a new one as a birthday gift. I think Nathaniel might be getting it for me.

Kayla rolls her eyes.

“But your wrists are tiny. They won’t fit mine.” She slides a few coins towards the man. “Here’s the money.”

“I’m only taking five, miss.”

“Four!” Kayla snaps, her voice sharp as she narrows her eyes at him. “Or nothing!”

It’s a clear attempt at intimidation. The vendor’s nostrils flare, and if looks could kill… Oh, Kayla would drop dead on the spot!

“Fine.” He snatches the coins, muttering under his breath about spoiled girls.

The man hands over the bracelets begrudgingly, and Kayla does a happy dance, grinning at me like she just won the war.I shake my head, embarrassed and endeared, and she picks me up and spins me around. Pepé barks, wanting to join our embrace.

For a boy, this dog’s got a real talent for acting like one of the girls.

I’ve officially kidnapped Beckett’s dog.

Pepé spends more time at my place than his, even though Mr. Evans already left, and Beckett never complains.

Truly, I’m terrified to check our texts sometimes, dreading the day he’ll ask me to send Pepé back home.

I’m getting too attached to both the dog and his owner.

“Are you up for ice cream before we head back to the beach?” Kayla asks, fixing my mascara with her thumb.

“Sure.” I tug Pepé‘s leash gently, and he follows after Kayla and I, tongue hanging out. “I think Pepé might need some water, though.”

“You’re such a good dog-sitter, Cassie,” she praises me, watching as I rub the dog’s ears. “Maybe you should start a business. Or adopt one yourself!”

“I’d want a girl dog,” I admit shyly, lowering my voice so Pepé won’t hear me. “Name her Cindy.”

“Cindy is such a good dog name! Very polite!”

We reach the ice cream stand, and while Kayla goes to buy our order, I stay behind watching Pepé. My phone starts to ring before she comes back. It’s Nathaniel.

“Hey, I’m at the flea market with Kay.” I pause, wetting my lips. “We’re getting ice cream.”

“Mmn… Just Kayla?” he asks, his voice sounding off.

It takes me some time to come up with an answer. I feel especially nervous because I know there aren’t many places around Le Port where my brother likes to hang out. I hear a faint sound of people talking in the background. A bar, probably.

“Cassandra?”

“Yeah, It’s just her,” I clear my throat. “Where are you?”

“Bar. Leaving soon to pick you up. You worried about me?”

Nathaniel’s question strikes me as odd. I stare sadly at the coconut tree Pepé won’t stop sniffing, the pit in my stomach growing heavier.

“Please, let me stay. Kayla’s sister offered to drive me home later,” I say carefully. “She’s going to pick us up. I’ll be back before it darkens.”

“Nope.” His lips make a loud, popping sound that resonates deep in my ear. “I’m picking you up. Ten minutes. See you soon.”

The call ends.

Kayla walks back holding two small plastic cups filled with ice cream. My hands are shaking, and I almost drop mine after she hands it to me.

“Everything okay?” she asks, a glimpse of worry showing as her brows crease. “Cassie?”

“My brother just called me,” I explain, my voice sounding raw. “He’s picking me up, Kayla. I’m sorry.”

“Seriously?” She intertwines our fingers together, her thumb pressing against the center of my palm in circular motions. “We’re having so much fun. Why is he always like this?”

“I don’t know.” I hate this. I really hate this . “It’s just how he is.”

She sighs, “Can’t you call your father? Tell him your brother’s being a total control freak again? For me, please, Cassie.”

“I…” my voice wavers. “I can’t.”

Kayla’s face falls. She waits with me anyway, standing by my side on the sidewalks as we finish eating our ice cream, because that’s the kind of friend she is.

I try to joke around, lighten up the mood, and poke fun at the situation, but it’s no use. She’s disappointed. We already don’t get to see each other very often outside of school; her dance schedule keeps her busy enough. I think she misses spending time with me.

“I’m sorry,” I apologize again, feeling my eyes start to tear up.

“It’s okay.” She shakes her head, putting on a fake smile. “It’s fine, really. I’m used to this. It always happens.”

I really, really hate this .

“I’ll text you when I get home,” I promise as Nathaniel pulls up, wanting her to understand that I do care about her. I love spending time with Kayla. She is my closest friend. I love her more than anything in the world. “Is that okay? Can I text you?”

“Of course! God, of course,” Kayla reassures me, smiling, but it doesn’t reach her eyes.

She glances at the car, eyeing it with suspicion when my brother can’t parallel park. Is he even safe to drive? I don’t know. I can’t tell.

“Stay safe, Cassie.”

“You too.”

The drive back to Port des Ondes is long, and Nathaniel avoids every shortcut. I ignore him, stay buried in my phone, and check my social media. Pepé is sleeping in the backseat.

Antony just posted a new picture. Next to him, I see Mateo and Angelina Cardoso side-by-side, grinning at the camera.

I like the post, but don’t leave a comment.

A few minutes later, Mateo follows my account.

I follow him back immediately. He’s liking all my pictures, leaving comments that make me laugh.

His humor is very cheeky, which is always the best kind.

“Who are you talking to?” Nathaniel asks suddenly.

“No one,” my voice is clipped, and my tone is biting. I’m really pissed about Kayla.

Nathaniel blows some air with his mouth. I lock my phone again.

“Is it Beckett?” he pushes. “What, is he now a good friend of yours?”

“Yes,” I hear myself say. “Is it a problem?”

“You fucking him?”

“...What?” I ask slowly, staring at him.

“You heard me. Are you fucking Beckett Evans?”

The laugh that escapes me is sharp, disbelieving. Something my brother doesn’t handle too well. His knuckles whiten on the wheel. His feet start pressing on the accelerator, and the speedometer climbs. Thirty. Thirty-five. Forty. Fifty.

“What are you doing?” I cry. “Hey! Slow down!”

“Prove it.”

“What?”

“Prove that you’re not fucking him.”

My stomach twists uneasily. Nathaniel once told me we used to play this game when we were kids—he’d state something stupid, and I’d ask him to prove it.

It was mostly harmless stuff, like how Mentos dipped in Coca-Cola could make the bottle explode or how it takes three hundred steps to walk from Giulia’s ice cream shop to the public library.

But the thing is, I don’t think it’s just a game anymore.

Now, I find myself bargaining to prove my innocence for the stupidest reasons and the most absurd of accusations. The most frequent one I get is that I’m doing things on purpose, hoping Nathaniel gets in trouble with our dad. Words are never enough, everything always comes with a price.

“What do you want?”

My hands clutch the leathered seat, waiting for his answer. It could be anything, anything at all—money for me to cover his bar escapades, stealing Dad’s credit card when nobody is watching. It’s almost like he wants to see me doing something bad, something we both know I shouldn’t be doing.

“You heard that conversation with Dad, didn’t you?” Nathaniel’s voice is low and dangerous as he adds, “You were listening.”

“I didn’t,” I try to laugh it off, but he’s not buying it. “I really don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Fifty-five.

Sixty.

“Stop the car, please.” It’s a straight line ahead of us, with no cars around, but I know a curve is coming up soon. We are going to crash. “This isn’t funny, Nathaniel!”

“Say it.”

“What?” My heart slams against my ribs, nausea gathering at the pit of my stomach.

“Say you wanted it.”

His eyes are on me now, not the road.

Green.

Unmoving.

Cold.

I blink, and his face disappears into an ugly blur.

“Just say the words and I’ll stop.”

He lets the wheel go, now staring at me. I dive in, wanting to grab it, but his feet are still pressing the accelerator. The laugh that comes out of him is the most terrifying sound I’ve ever heard in my entire life.

“Please, stop,” I choke, not wanting to do what was asked of me.

But he doesn’t leave me any other choice.

“I’ll slow down, Cassandra. Just like you asked.”

“I…” I trail off, watching as the curve gets closer and closer.

“Say it or we die. You and I,” he laughs again, making this awful, broken sound. I hate it. “Just like she did.”

Lucia?

Why is he talking about…

“I…”

The words burn, ripping out of me like barbed wire.

I barely recognize the sound of my own voice.

It’s this small thing, devoid of any joy, anything good.

It burns, it burns, it burns . My eyes, my chest, my stomach.

I say it over and over again, my body frozen against the passenger seat.

A tranquility comes with it after the third time, clarity sinking into my bones.

I wanted this .

I…

Did I want this?

Yes.

I wanted this.

Nathaniel pulls after we reach the middle of the bridge, the same one where Lucia died back in August. I ask him to stop driving.

This time, he does.I get out of the car, limbs shaking.

Pepé calls after me. Pepé. God, Lucia’s dog.

I can hear the sound of his barking, so loud and so distinctively clear in my ears.

My lips part as I try to say something, but my mouth feels too dry. This tightness in my throat is choking me. I feel like I can’t breathe.

Can someone see me?

See how I’m not breathing?

Don’t they see how he made me stop breathing?

I try to walk a few steps, not knowing exactly where I’m going.

Sick to my stomach, I barely make it to the safety railings before my knees buckle up.

I fall forward, facing the same exact spot where Lucia fell all these months ago.

The buzzing gets louder in my ears until I start coughing.

Reflux tastes like acid on my tongue, and I close my eyes shut as he calls out my name, yelling at me to stand up and get back in the car.

Then, I throw up.