Page 74

CHAPTER

FIFTY-THREE

REMI

I’m late, and the nerves that I’d tried to calm by listening to Dermot Kennedy at maximum volume are now shot.

On top of being late, I have to parallel park in front of the restaurant.

Silas knows I suck at parallel parking. Whenever he bothered letting me drive to practice for my license, he made me do it over and over again while he sighed discontentedly in the passenger seat and offered no shred of information on how to help.

His silence riled up my nerves, and in the end, he’d make me get out and switch seats with him because I was “clearly inept at maneuvering a vehicle.”

Besides, night has fallen, and the street is packed.

I smack the heel of my hand against the wheel in frustration, biting my cheek.

I didn’t want to come here in the first place.

It’s been a long, long time since I’ve seen Silas.

Over a year. And no matter how well I do or don’t park, I know he’s going to rip me apart as soon as I walk in this restaurant.

The people heading through the heavy oak doors are dressed far nicer than I am, in glittering heels with tiny clutches and sparkling earrings.

There’s a man in a suit and tie standing just outside of the door, and as I circle in front of the busy street for the fifth time, I wonder what would happen if I just drove all the way back.

There’s another truth, though, getting under my skin. I’m not worried about Silas.

I’m… Don’t think about it.

Don’t think about him.

I yank the wheel and turn down a narrow street with an underground parking sign. It’ll be a long walk, but at least I won’t hit anyone, and I’ll actually have somewhere to leave my car.

When I get my ticket, slip it onto the dash, close and lock the doors, I’m sweaty and flustered even though it’s a little chilly out. I glance in my windows, see my braids are unraveling, and I quickly tighten them, trying to tuck the hairs back into place.

It doesn’t matter. Even if I was flawless—I don’t think that’s ever happened in my life—I wouldn’t please my stepdad.

Sighing, I grip my purse and resist the urge to pull out my phone. I already did in the car. He hasn’t texted me.

All day.

He hasn’t called.

Nothing.

I imagine him watching me walk out as the cab pulled up. Hearing the door slam behind me.

My heart squeezes in my chest.

I shove all of those thoughts from my mind, just ready to get through this dinner.

Crossing the street, I almost twist my ankle in my heels as I jog up to the pavement, but I right myself at the last moment, causing no lasting pain.

I take a breath, smooth down my dress, and stand in front of the man outside of the door.

“Ocean,” I tell him, a little breathless from jogging down the street from the parking garage. “Remi Ocean. I’m here to meet Silas Lankin.”

He nods once, no expression on his broad face, and pulls the door open.

I step inside, cool air and the scent of seafood greeting me as the hostess pulls out a sleek black menu from behind the counter and gestures for me to follow her.

My heart is racing in my chest as I do, down a dark, polished wooden hall. The lights are dim, and even the voices here in the various dining rooms of the restaurant are hushed, like this a private club that’s to be enjoyed in relative silence.

No wonder Silas likes this place.

But every step closer to him and his girlfriend has me panicking, until my fingers are trembling and I suddenly remember my tongue piercing and wonder how I’m supposed to hide it from him throughout the entire dinner.

The hostess turns to the left and we enter a small room that has one table.

My heart sinks.

Of course.

My stepdad’s facing me, his girlfriend’s back is to me, and for a second, I just freeze in the doorway. Think of his hand across my face. His arm around mine, bruising me. His show of concern on the phone to his business partner.

“I think something bad happened to Remi.”

I hear him talking to the nurse, remarking on the bruises before they pushed him out of the room.

He played the part of the distraught father so well, even I almost believed it.

Until it was all over, and on the car ride home, after strangers had dissected every inch of me and I had to recall what happened in excruciating detail to several detectives, he berated me for making him late to a meeting.

All of that plays in my head, and I realize him, his girlfriend, and the hostess are staring at me, the hostess having pulled out the sleek leather chair adjacent to my father, the menu still in the crook of her elbow.

I swallow down my fear, and keep my head up, cross the room and sink down into the seat as the hostess finally sets my menu down.

I pull my chair up, fist my hands in my lap as I finally look up and meet Silas’s gaze.

His dark eyes are narrowed on mine, his arms resting on his chair. He’s in a tailored black suit, and his grey hair is combed back.

“Nice of you to finally join us.” There’s no smile in those words. No greeting, either. Over a year, and he has only that to say to me.

I glance at the table, covered in a white cloth. There are two candles flickering in the center, and for a second, I want to tip them over. Catch this entire restaurant on fire and walk out, letting Silas burn.

“This is Crystal,” he continues in that same terse tone. I can practically hear his thoughts. Act civilized, you stupid bitch.

I turn my gaze to the woman unlucky enough to be sharing a bed with him and find a kind face staring back at me.

I blink, threading my fingers together under the table, my hands clammy.

She’s young, of course, not much older than me. She has dark, curly hair, olive skin, and deep brown eyes. Her smile seems genuine and she holds out a hand to me.

I take hers, embarrassed my own is sweaty and my nails are bitten and unpolished. I’d planned to paint them today, but then everything happened last night, and I didn’t get to it.

Hers, of course, are perfectly manicured in a light grey that matches her turquoise dress.

She’s beautiful.

Nice.

Why the fuck is she with Silas?

“Nice to finally meet you,” she says, but unlike my stepdad’s words, hers are softer, kinder. Genuine.

“You, too,” I tell her, perking up a little. Silas is a cunt, but maybe I’ll survive this by talking to Crystal. And being here, my guard up, I can’t think about him.

About my heart shattering all over again into pieces.

We drop hands, and she clears her throat, resting her hands on top of each other in her lap as she glances at the full wine glasses on the table, of hers and Silas’s. They have waters, too, but I guess I’ll have to wait for that.

“We’ve already ordered,” Silas says, “so look over what you want.”

Crystal laughs, and it’s warm. “There’s no rush, Silas.” There’s a scolding edge to her words, and I look between them, shocked.

Then I see it.

My stepdad’s face softens as he looks at his girlfriend. His jaw is still clenched because I’m here, but he doesn’t look as if he wants to strangle me in this moment.

He likes her.

He really, actually likes her.

Amazed, I pick up my menu, staring down at it. I find a salad, see it’s one of the cheaper things on the menu—where there are very few cheap things, but I don’t want to give Silas another reason to bitch at me—and fold the leather-bound menu up, setting it on the table as I lean back in my seat.

“How are classes going?” Crystal asks me, her long lashes fluttering as she shifts her gaze to me.

I nod. “Well,” I tell her. Except for that writing assignment I’m probably going to fail because I don’t want to actually turn in what I’ve written. “I’m really enjoying my creative writing class.”

I hear Silas scoff and honestly, I feel used to it.

Crystal cuts her eyes to him before looking back at me. “Do you want to be a writer?” she asks politely.

I swallow, looking down at the tablecloth. Silas still thinks my major is undeclared. I can change it, of course, but I’ve got nothing to change it to. I shrug. “It would be nice. Maybe journalism before I can get into?—”

“And have you applied to any internships?” Silas asks, reaching for his wine glass, red sloshing in the sides as he brings it to his lips.

I turn to face him. “Not yet but?—”

“I’d think, after being the focus of so many papers last year, you’d want nothing to do with the news in the future.”

There it is.

My face flames hotter and sweat beads on the back of my neck as he swallows from his glass, staring at me.

I shift in my seat, unable to look away from him as he pins me with his gaze, like I’m nothing.

Crystal clears her throat, and when I look her way, I see she doesn’t look at all confused. He told her.

He told her his version of events.

Anger courses through me as Crystal tries to smooth things over.

“Silas, I know you’re angry with the way the media covered everything,” she glances down at her lap, “and I’m sorry you had to be subjected to that, Remi.” Her big brown eyes meet mine again and my throat feels tight. “But you could change things if you were in that space. If you wanted.”

I think about how they reported on Chase, Storm, Brinklin, and Cortland’s extracurriculars. How they were lauded as small- town football heroes and I was just an anonymous girl making allegations.

Allegations that didn’t pan out.

And even now, I have no idea if they were right.

“Did you say no?”

No. And it’s not just verbally. I know that’s not all consent is. But did I indicate “no” in any kind of way?

I don’t know if I’ve ever really stood up for myself in my entire life. Even when I made Cortland crawl to me. When I made him bleed. When I sucked his dick in his truck, I never stood my ground. I thought that’s what I was doing.

But I was just trading one hurt for another.

Being used against my will to flinging myself at anyone who would have me, and thinking it was control. Just like smashing my knuckles against that table last night, the skin still banged up today.