Page 39 of The Maverick (WaterFyre Rising #7)

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

VANESSA

I snuggled into Attikus, my heart beating erratically. A sense of dread overcame me. I thought giving in to my desires for this one night would satisfy my craving for his touch. But I’d made things worse.

Don’t think about it now. Just enjoy the moment.

I could see my issues snowballing into an avalanche. It was just waiting for the moment to hit me hard. I’d have to face reality when I returned to Providence. What happened in Maui stayed in Maui.

My body tensed as tears brimmed my eyes.

Shit. What was wrong with me? Why was I being so sensitive?

Attikus shifted, looked at me, and smirked. “What’s wrong, my sexy wife?”

“I’m not your real wife.”

“As I recall, you sounded like a satisfied wife not long ago. Want me to remind you?” He tickled me, and I giggled. “There.” He touched my lips with his fingers. “I love your smile and your laugh.” His expression turned serious. “Want to tell me what’s wrong?”

Oh. Gosh. I wasn’t in the mood to talk about my emotional state. So I replied, “Nothing important.”

He arched an eyebrow. “You’re not a good liar. Tell me.”

Before I could share my emotional mess, I had to sort out why I was feeling this way.

Most of all, what did I want from Attikus?

This fake marriage would end when the time came, but right now, as I lay in bed with him, I didn’t want it to end.

I was the one who asked for the concrete terms and conditions. But now I wished I hadn’t.

Was he taking advantage of this situation like I was? This vacation was an escape for both of us. My heart shouldn’t hurt. What was wrong with me?

You want him to want you regardless of the contract.

The stark truth of it terrified and confused me even more. Why couldn’t things be simple?

“If you don’t tell me. I’ll keep asking.” He brushed a tear away. “Did I hurt you earlier?”

“No. Not at all. You were magnificent.”

Concern warred in his eyes. He wouldn’t drop this topic unless I gave him a satisfying answer. This was something I had to tell him anyway.

“You asked me what triggered me that day on the beach when we were attacked.” I sat up. “Ready for a story?”

“I’ve got all night.” He straightened and took my hand in his.

As I prepared to share the horrific event in the alleyway, I shared another story that had been etched in my memory.

I stand outside Jacksonville Elementary School, waiting for M? to pick me up from the after-school program. My fifth-grade science teacher, Mrs. Bumpus, is teaching us how to garden for healthy eating. There’s a garden bed outside her classroom. Students can sign up to grow a vegetable.

I smile down at the cucumber plant in my hand.

Two other classmates, Miranda Sargent and Mary Forcier, stand near me. But we don’t talk. I’m not friends with those mean girls.

Miranda holds her tomato plant and says, “Some kids need to know how to dress.”

“Yeah.” Mary glances at me and laughs. “Did your mom buy your clothes at the Goodwill store?”

I look down at my ripped jeans, plain T-shirt, and dirty old sneakers.

They wore designer jeans, cool knit tops, and sneakers I could never afford.

My simple clothes aren’t purchased at the fancy stores in the mall.

My mom works very hard to pay the rent and utilities.

We don’t have extra money for fancy stuff.

“Some kids need an attitude adjustment,” I say. “I don’t shop at snobby stores.”

They roll their eyes. I don’t know how the rumor started, but they know I don’t have a father. They often make silly jokes about it. Just because I don’t have a father doesn’t mean I’m a bad kid.

I see Miranda’s dad flirting with the fourth-grade teacher, Ms. Palacios, all the time. But he’s married. I don’t say anything because it’s not my business. Miranda and Mary are mean girls who bully others. I’m not afraid of them, but I don’t want detention. I don’t want to make M? sad.

“I bet your father saw how ugly you were at birth and left you and your mom.” Miranda laughs.

Anger rises in me. “I know your father is cheating on your mom because he can’t stand you .”

She pouts and narrows her eyes at me. “You’re such a brat.”

“So are you, but worse.” I return her narrow-eyed glare.

Mary glowers at me. “Everyone knows your father left you and your mom.”

It’s strange what these girls assume. What if my dad died, and I don’t want to talk about it? But they don’t have an ounce of kindness in them, so they think the worst of others.

“And everyone knows you’re both stupid and cheat on your tests.” I paste a smile on my face.

I’ve been teased about not having a father since the first grade. Kids are mean, and I hate this school. I don’t have any friends here. My mom says we’re moving to Rhode Island soon. I can’t wait to get away from here.

Miranda stalks toward me and knocks my cucumber plant container from my hands. I do the same to hers.

She huffs. “I’m telling my mom.”

“Go ahead. I’ll tell mine too. Then I’ll tell the principal you’ve been paying Kevin to do your homework.” I flare my nostrils. “Try me.”

Mary helps Miranda pick up her tomato plant as Miranda’s mom pulls up to the curb. “Ready girls?”

“Yup!” Miranda beams.

I know Miranda won’t say anything about the plant because I know her secret. Mary is just a follower and does whatever her friend tells her.

When they leave, I stand at the school entrance feeling sad and mad. I turn when I hear voices behind me. More kids come out to wait for their parents.

M? reminds me to always be wary of my surroundings. She was kidnapped and forced to do bad things. Then she was raped and got pregnant with me. Sometimes, I wonder who my dad was. But I get angry when I think about him. I don’t want to know him. He’s a bad man.

At ten years old, I shouldn’t know about these things or how babies are made, but I do. We already have sex ed in health class.

Mom says the world is cruel, and I have to be watchful.

The kidnappers planned on killing my mom and the other women who were with her.

But she escaped to Florida and gave birth to me.

Mom loves me despite how I was conceived.

She tells me I’m a miracle baby. She had polyps, and the doctor told her she couldn’t have any children.

But after she had me, the polyps disappeared.

So she loves me because I gave her hope.

I’m protective of my mom. She must have been terrified to raise me all by herself. I hate my dad and the people who kidnapped my mom.

I see my mom’s car approaching, and I walk to the curb.

“Hi, baby,” she greets me.

I see anxiety in her eyes. “Is everything okay?”

She looks at me. “Remember that plan I told you about: papaya salad ?

Oh, no. Nerves tighten my stomach. Papaya salad is the code phrase for an emergency escape.

Danger is here, and we have to follow the plan she’s explained many times. M? drives me to a parking lot with an old warehouse and parks next to a pickup truck. The large wooden treasure chest is in the back bed. I hop on and crawl into it.

“Be quiet, okay?” M? presses her fingers to her lips and covers me with folded sheets. “We’ll be safe soon. I’ll be in the front seat.”

“Where are we going?” I ask.

“You’ve always wanted to go on a road trip.” She smiles. “We’re driving to Rhode Island.”

I feel like M? is hiding something from me, but there’s no time to ask. Why do we have to run? Who’s after us? What if that person knows we’re in Rhode Island?

“I’ll explain when we get there, okay?” Mom puts on a red wig and a Miami Dolphins baseball cap. Why is she in disguise?

My mom is so smart. She was a sophomore in college, studying chemistry at the University of California, Berkeley, when she was kidnapped.

I nod as I lie quietly in a treasure chest filled with clothes. M? closes the lid. I look through the tiny holes on the side of the wooden chest, but I see nothing. The humid Florida air sneaks in, allowing me to breathe more easily. Then I hear women’s voices, but I don’t recognize them.

“We’re ready.” M? is talking to some women, but I can’t see them.

The door slams shut, and the truck roars to life. A loud boom rends the air, followed by another. The force of it rattles the chest. A few minutes later, police sirens blast to life and fly past the truck.

I don’t know what exploded, but I have a feeling it has something to do with my mom.

Sighing, I looked at Attikus. “You’ve had a traumatic childhood.” He pulled me closer. “So that’s how you know Miranda.”

“I was surprised when she showed up to take pictures of us for MirandaNews,” I said. “She doesn’t remember me. The past is in the past. She seems to have grown up since elementary school.”

I still couldn’t believe my elementary school bully was his ex.

He nodded. “What exploded?”

“My mom’s car with two bodies in it. She made it look like we were dead.” She knew someone who worked at the morgue and paid for the bodies.

“Why?” His voice carried a protective edge that made me shiver.

“I guess when my mom escaped, she blew up a large section of the warehouse where they were producing drugs. It was a tremendous loss for them. They pursued her afterward.”

“What’s your father’s name?” Attikus asked.

“My mom told me his name is Charles Laurent, a Haitian citizen. I don’t know much about him.”

There wasn’t a lot of information about him on the internet, so I stopped my research. I didn’t want to waste my time on a man who had hurt my mom.

Nodding slowly, he kissed the side of my head.

I inhaled his comforting scent and confessed, “It was hard feeling worthy while growing up.”

“The world isn’t worthy of you,” he said.

“The way you see things and interpret them in your art tells me you have wisdom few people can understand.” He shifted and looked me in the eye.

“You’re teaching me how to live and see life.

Never think that you’re unworthy. If anyone says that to you, I’ll kill them. ”

I stared at him, appreciating his protectiveness. But I wouldn’t want him to kill anyone for me. I didn’t want another person I cared about in prison.

“Kids are petty. I knew I shouldn’t let their words bother me, but what they said made me question my existence, you know?

” I leaned into him, letting his musky scent cloak me.

His skin warmed against mine, and I felt like I could tell him anything.

I could share all my fears with him because everything would be okay.

“That’s why I’m drawn to the water lily and the lotus flower. ”

“How so?” He rubbed circles on my hand, soothing me.

“Because they grow from the mud—something people find disgusting.” I sighed. “From the filth, something beautiful emerges.”

“See how much depth is in that statement?” He tapped my chin gently. “You’re worthy of everything you dream of, Vanessa. How you’re made has nothing to do with your self-worth.”

His conviction in me tightened my chest.

“Do you know the difference between a water lily and a lotus?” I asked.

“They look the same to me.”

“At a glance, they are. But the lotus grows taller than the lily pad, whereas the water lily sits on the lily pad.”

He thought about it. “You’re right. I’ve never paid close attention to it.” He interlaced his fingers with mine. “You’re the lotus—reaching above expectations.”

“ The Lost Lily Pad painting was me conveying how lost I was. I was that lily pad surrounded by the dark and without a flower.”

“It’s a powerful painting. I sensed the despair but also the hope in it.”

“You did?”

“I felt it. The flower was budding,” he said, giving me his interpretation. “Working its way through the muck. Just because you can’t see it doesn’t mean nothing’s happening.”

I didn’t know why, but tears overflowed from my eyes. Attikus understood me more than I realized.

“I’m not crying because I’m sad,” I said to relieve the worry in his eyes. “You’ve read all the messages woven into the painting so well.”

He reached for a tissue on the side table and offered it to me. “So what happened after you escaped Florida?”

“We settled in Providence. Mom changed my name to Vanessa Lam.”

“What was it before?”

“Van Kha Lam is my Vietnamese name. To be safe, I went by Vanessa, and Mom went by Hannah because it was similar to Hanh in Vietnamese. Miranda only knows about Van, not Vanessa or Nessa.”

“People who have multiple aliases seem to have multiple personalities.” He smirked.

“It’s for safety reasons.” I pinched his cheek playfully. “Sometimes, survival of the fittest requires adapting.”

“You’re with me now.” He kissed me gently. “I won’t let anyone hurt you. You can be Vanessa in private and Nessa in public; it’s your artist’s name. I’ll make sure of that.”

I thought about Emmanuel and his blackmail. If he wasn’t behind it, would the people he worked with give me trouble?

“The story I told you is a prologue of what triggered me at the beach.” I straightened, resting against the headboard.

Attikus did the same and took my hand in his while I described the event in the alleyway. I toldhim about the man who tried to rape me, how I stabbed him with the shard of glass, and how my mom was sent to prison because she protected me.

“What?” Attikus curled his fingers in a fist.

I placed my hand over his fist. “ M? is doing well in prison. I’m not ashamed of having a mother in prison. She’s innocent.”

“You defended yourself.” He seethed. “Your mom shouldn’t be in there.”

“I’m trying to get her out.”

“Who’s your lawyer? Fire the fucker. I’ll have my lawyer take over your case. Your mom can sue the officials and the state for not doing their job properly. She’ll get the justice she deserves.”

“I’m telling you this so you understand me better. I don’t want it to burden you.”

He gripped my chin, tipping my face up to meet hardened eyes. “It’s not a burden to help my wife.”