Page 23 of Ordinary Secrets (Secrets Trilogy #1)

23

TREY

It’s well past midnight when we finally arrive at my place. On my bed, Arella’s next to me wearing my hoodie—her hoodie now. Her new blanket is draped over her lap, keeping her legs warm. Between us, I have my most valuable possession: a shoebox-size wooden box.

“Please tell me there aren’t any human body parts in there,” Arella says.

I laugh a little. How does she know exactly what to say to ease the tension in my gut?

I’ve never shown this box to anyone before. My heart thrashes because I’m about to now. “Why would you think I’d keep body parts in a box?”

“I watch a lot of true crime shows with Javina. A big wooden box with a lock? Total grounds for a collection of eyeballs.”

I make an ick face. “Gross, babe. No, I don’t have any eyeballs in here.”

“Wonderful. In that case, please proceed with showing me what’s in this mysterious box.”

I suck in a deep breath before sticking a little metal key into the lock. With a twist, it opens, and I flip the lid. The first thing I pull out is a small framed picture.

Arella takes the scorched item as I hand it to her. “Are these your parents?”

“Yep, and that’s me when I was four.” I point at the little blonde boy with the shit-eating grin on his face. “This was the only picture I was able to recover from the fire. It was saved by this heavy-duty frame.”

“You were adorable! I mean, you still are, just with darker hair. And you look exactly like your father.”

“Everyone said that.” The next thing I pull out is a small chain with a circle pendant hanging from it. On the pendant are three birthstones. “This was my mom’s necklace.”

“Do these colors represent you and your parents?”

“Yep.” Next, I pick up a worn baseball. “I found this in the backyard the morning after they died. My dad and I went to baseball games pretty often. Whenever we played catch in the yard, he’d tell me that I’d play for the Dodgers someday.”

“Do you think about them a lot?”

“Occasionally.” An understatement. I think about my parents all the time.

Whenever I see people at the grocery store with their kids, I think about how my parents used to let me pick out what we got for dinner. The three of us would cook it all up, even if it didn’t go together.

I usually think of my mom whenever I see flowers. She used to always have a vase of freshly cut ones sitting on the dining table.

Yesterday, I saw a kid with his dad in a big blue truck, jamming out to music while they played the air drums. My dad and I did that plenty. He’s part of the reason why I love music so much.

My heart aches the more I think about my parents. This is usually when I distract myself with sex or music. Before Liz encouraged me to be sober, this was also when I’d get high. Thanks to her, now, I just live through the pain.

From the box, Arella grabs a small wad of cash paperclipped together. “What’s up with this?”

I take it from her and slide the paperclip off. A ten, two fives, and four ones. “Twenty-four dollars. Back then, this used to be a lot to me.”

“I thought you said your parents left you everything they had.”

“They did, but my uncle didn’t share that information with me until I turned eighteen. At first, I was ecstatic that my parents left me with money. Then, after reading through the paperwork, I learned that I could have been using it the whole time. My uncle purposely hid it from me.”

Arella’s face crumples. “Why?”

“Because he’s a dick. When I first moved in with him, all I had were the things in this box and the clothes on my back. He provided me with two shirts, two pairs of pants, some underwear, and that was it.

“I went to school rotating through those same three outfits. Eventually, the other kids noticed, and that’s when the fights started. I begged my uncle over and over to buy me more clothes, but he never did.

“Ultimately, I did what I could to make my own money. When I wasn’t in school, I was with him at work. He ran a big business with lots of employees. I did small jobs for them around the office, like making coffee or cleaning their shoes. I’d earn a few quarters here and there. Depending on the job, sometimes they’d pay me a whole dollar. Eventually, I saved up enough cash to make a trip to a store.

“I was so excited to buy myself a new shirt, pants, and socks. I still remember how the cashier looked at me funny, and I don’t blame her. I was an eight-year-old boy shopping by himself. I told her that my uncle was just down the road at a different store. Eventually, he noticed that I was wearing new clothes. When I told him I bought them myself, he didn’t believe me. I was beaten that night for lying.”

Arella’s eyes water, and she uses the sleeve of her hoodie to wipe the tear away. I debate on ending the story there but feel the need to finish it.

“I didn’t tell my uncle that his employees had been paying me to do stuff for them. I knew he wouldn’t like it and would make me stop. Somehow, he found out and threatened to fire anyone who continued to pay me. Not only that, but he took what cash I had at the time and forced me to burn it.”

The memory of that night flashes across my mind. Victor slapped my face and yelled at me until I did what he demanded. A fireball appeared in my palm, and I threw it at all my hard-earned cash. I cried as I watched it burn until every last flame had flickered out. I think it was only fifty-some dollars, but at the time, that could have been new shoes.

Arella places a hand over her chest as another tear rolls down her face. Usually, crying makes me uncomfortable. With Arella, all I want is to comfort her, so I take her hand in mine and kiss her knuckles.

She wipes at her damp face with her other hand, then squeezes mine in a way that offers me comfort back. “I’m so sorry that happened to you.”

“Don’t sweat it, babe. It turned out okay. In the end, I actually made more money. It’d been going on for so long that his employees were kinda dependent on me to do things for them. They got sneakier about paying me. Some of them even tipped me more because they heard about what my uncle did and felt bad.”

“Weren’t they afraid of getting fired?”

“Nah. If he was gonna fire one, he’d have to fire ’em all. I had a hand in almost every department. Everything from cleaning bathrooms to hauling boxes around to bringing people lunch.”

She gives my hand another comforting squeeze. “I can’t believe your uncle treated you that way.”

“That’s not even the half of it.”

“Would you like to tell me more?”

Surprisingly, I do. Sharing deep stuff isn’t easy for me usually, but with Arella, it’s not only easy, it’s soothing. I like how she listens without pity in her eyes. I hate when people look at me like that. I don’t want pity. I want what Arella and Liz have given me—understanding. Except, Arella’s version of it feels different. She doesn’t look at me like I’m damaged the way Liz does.

“I would like to tell you one more thing.” I’ve never said what I’m about to say out loud before. Liz only knows through seeing my memory. If it wasn’t for that, she wouldn’t know anything.

Do I really want to do this? I only think for a second before coming to the conclusion that yes, I do. I need to. If I share this piece of myself with Arella, maybe she’ll want to share pieces of herself with me. I can do this.

“My parents didn’t die in a house fire.” The second those words leave my mouth, I almost wish for them to come back.

Arella cocks her head to the side. “What do you mean?”

“I just tell people that because it’s easier than explaining the truth.”

“Which is?”

“They were... murdered.” That last word comes out cracked and broken. “And—I... I saw it happen.”

“What?”

“I was home when... you know, the people came. They blew up my house with my parents still in it. I only survived because my dad threw me out the window just before the explosion.”

Arella’s warm hand cups my stubbly cheek. Like it has before, her gentle touch eases the pain. I press my hand over hers to make sure she doesn’t pull away. I’m not ready for her to yet.

“Sometimes,” I whisper, “I wonder how things would have turned out if I had done something to save them.”

“You can’t blame yourself, honey.”

I don’t... much. Mostly, I blame the Royals, which is why I’m working so hard on this mission.

Wait... Did she just call me honey ? She’s never called me a pet name before. I like the sound of it. It’s the same name my mother used to call me.

With her fingertips, Arella caresses the spot behind my ear. No one’s ever touched me like this before. So comforting and nontransactional. “Now I understand why you don’t like fireworks.”

“Yep. Hate ’em.”

“Maybe this is a weird question, but why would someone want to harm your parents?”

“I dunno.” It’s not entirely a lie. I have theories, but nothing’s confirmed. I’ve already accepted that I may never know.

“Can I see the rest of your box?” Arella asks.

With a nod, I draw out the last few items. Everything is either half-burned or got lucky in the explosion. My dad’s green tie, a piece of my mom’s floral dress, a chunk of her favorite vase, and my old teddy bear.

This is the luckiest stuffed animal in the world. It was on the couch when my dad threw me on it and tossed me out the window. Besides getting drenched in the rain, it never saw damage. “This is Andy.”

Arella takes the bear from me and pets the top of its head. “He doesn’t look like he was used much.”

“He wasn’t. I’ve barely touched him since I threw him into this box.”

She squeezes the bear’s paws. “Does it sing or anything?”

“Nah, it’s just a regular ol’—”

Something mechanical clicks. A robotic voice comes out of nowhere. “Password?”

Arella perks up. “Oh, it talks!”

“What?” I snatch the bear from her and crush it against my ear. The bear goes silent. Frantically, I press the bear’s stomach, willing it to speak again. “How did you do that?”

“Incorrect password,” the bear says, making my heart pound.

Arella shrugs. “I just felt something hard inside and pressed it.”

I shove the bear back into her hands. “Do it again.”

After giving me a sideways glance, she presses on the bear all over. It takes her a moment to find the sweet spot again. When she does, something clicks, and that same robotic voice chimes. “Password?”

“Uh, Trey Grant,” I say.

“Incorrect password.”

Arella eyes me through a skeptical gaze. “You didn’t know it did that?”

“No.” Hastily, I toss everything back into the wooden box and lock it up. My chest is heavy, and my lungs feel tight. I can barely breathe as I say, “Let’s get you home.”

After dropping Arella off with a promise to see her in the morning, I’m back in my bedroom, staring at my old teddy bear. I’ve got a kitchen knife in my hands, hovering over the stuffed animal like I’m about to perform surgery.

“Sorry, Andy.”

Carefully, I slice into the bear’s back. White stuffing spills out of the hole. I dig most of it out before finding a black button-shaped object. I press it.

“Password?”

“Trey Andrew Grant,” I say in a clear, crisp voice.

“Incorrect password.”

I press the button again. “Andrew James Grant.”

“Incorrect password.”

“Suzie Marie Grant.”

“Incorrect password.”

Dammit.

It had to have been my parents who hid this device inside my bear. What password would they have chosen?

I try my birthdate in every combination I can think of. I try their wedding date. Our old home phone number. The name of my pet fish who died in the explosion. The name of my bear. Nothing works.

Defeated, I sink to the floor. What could it be?

An hour passes before Arella’s words echo in my head. “Does it sing or anything?”

That’s it! It seems obvious now that I think about it. My mom’s song. The one she wrote just for me. The one I occasionally sing to myself whenever I’m sad. That’s gotta be it.

I press the button again.

“Password?”

I sing each word clearly, “When you’re lost without me, you’ll always have Andy. When you feel you don’t belong, hug this bear and sing this song. Look to the sky when you feel down. Know that things will turn around. Work twice as hard to the finish line. Now it’s your time to shine.”

I expect the device to reject me again. This time, my mother speaks.

“Hi, honey.” I’ve forgotten what her voice sounds like. Hearing it makes me choke up.

I shoot off the floor and shove the device against my ear.

“If you’re listening to this, it’s probably because our plan didn’t go as planned and something bad has happened. You’re most likely with Aunt Debbie right now. We told her that if anything were to happen to us that she should tell you to hug your bear really tight and sing our song.”

The next voice is my father’s. “Son, your mama and I wanted to make sure that you’d be safe and taken care of. That’s why everything we have is now yours, including a safe house by our secret rock. Aunt Debbie is the only person you should trust, and the only person you should take with you.”

The only person I should trust? Why is the only person I should trust a woman who overdosed on z-drugs the morning my parents were killed?

I still remember the first thing I said when I arrived at Shadow Ridge and a grumpy Victor showed me to my new bedroom. “Why can’t I go live with Aunt Debbie?”

He laughed, then said something people shouldn’t say to seven-year-olds. “That bitch was found dead in her home yesterday with a syringe still in her hands.”

That was how I found out that I hadn’t lost only my parents the day before but also my only aunt. It clicked then why Aunt Debbie hadn’t come to babysit me when she was supposed to. How could she, when she was dead? As I’ve grown older, I’ve come to realize that Aunt Debbie’s death probably wasn’t an overdose.

My mother continues talking on the recording. “When you get to the rock, take a hundred steps away from Cheesy. There, you’ll find the safe house. You’re the only one who can get into it. Remember that Trackers can’t sense you once you’re inside and underground.”

“Take care, son,” my father says.

“And don’t ever forget that we love you.”

The recording stops.

I stare at the small device with my mouth open. That’s it? Who leaves a message for a child that basically says, “Hey, we’re dead. Here’s some money and a safe house. The only person you can trust is also dead, but have a good time at our rock!”

What bullshit! I’ve got half a mind to toss this stupid thing at the wall. I don’t, only because I’m afraid I’ll break it.

My whole life, I thought my parents just happened to cross the wrong Royals at the wrong time. Now it’s obvious that they knew the Royals were after them. Why else would they have prepared a safe house for me?

If they knew something would happen to them, why not run and take me with them? Why stay in the danger zone? Could finishing their mission really have been that important? More important than me, their son? They knew they were risking their lives, risking leaving me to grow up alone, and they went on anyway. They abandoned me on purpose!

I wipe away the one tear rolling down my cheek. After regaining my composure, I drag my phone out of my pocket and open the GPS app.

I can’t recall the exact town my parents used to take me to stargaze. It’s been so long. All I remember is that it was a town named after a person with a name starting with a J. My parents used to make up stories about whoever it was named after, saying they were probably a janitor, or a journalist, or a jewelry maker.

Now that I think about it, maybe my parents made up stories on purpose to help my young mind remember the right town. If that’s the case, that means they were putting things into place for over a year to keep me safe. Which would have been plenty of time for them to pack up and move away with me if they’d wanted to.

I scan the GPS for any J-named towns in California. Was it Jason? Jacob? Julie? Once I catch sight of the town Julian on the map, it clicks. Within a minute, I’ve got my helmet on and I’m mounting my bike.

Three hours later, my headlight illuminates a green sign that reads julian 1 mile .

It’s been almost nineteen years since I’ve been around this area. Everything looks the same. Quiet roads, quieter woods, mountain peaks in the distance.

Just before the main town is a single-lane road that leads me to the woods where my parents used to take me. I recognize the spot where we used to park the car. My mother would always say we had to park by the huge Y-shaped tree. Now I’m certain she made those comments on purpose. There’s no way in hell a seven-year-old would have remembered where any of this was without her repetitive hints.

I cut my engine, then slide off my bike. After making sure no one’s around, I wave a hand at my Harley. It floats through the air at my side as I step into the dark woods. Once the road is out of view, I leave my bike and helmet behind a cluster of trees.

With a little fireball hovering in front of me, I hike deeper through the woods. My ears catch sounds of small animals scurrying around, but they’re gone before my eyes can spot them.

I step over a few fallen trees that I remember as bigger obstacles. My parents used to offer to lift me over them. Being the strong-willed kid I was, I insisted on climbing over them myself, without the help of a hover-log.

It feels like forever before I reach the big rock—or should I say biggish rock. Do I have the right one? I wave a hand to push my fireball closer to it. Like the fallen trees, it looks smaller than I remember.

My flame follows me as I head in the direction of Cheesy. It’s a tree I named for all the holes in its bark. I find it about six trees away from the rock.

“When you get to the rock, take a hundred steps away from Cheesy. There you’ll find the safe house.”

At the rock, with the holey tree behind me, I begin counting.

One. Two. Three.

Ninety-eight... ninety-nine... one hundred . I glance around. There’s nothing here. It’s just more trees, bushes, and dirt. Where’s the safe house?

The message said something about it being underground. I spend some time scouring the area but don’t find anything that would take me underground.

Maybe I should try again. Back at the rock, I count another hundred steps. This time, I take kid-size steps. I end up about twenty paces back from where I was before. It’s the same story though. Nothing’s here.

With a fireball floating nearby the whole time, I spend the next several hours combing the area. My efforts are useless.

I can’t find what I’m looking for, and it doesn’t help that I don’t even know what I’m looking for. A tunnel? A hidden passageway? A trapdoor? How about a sign that reads safe house here with a big fat arrow?