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“Fuck,” I huff.
“He was in contact with Cora before then.”
“How did he know where she was? It was clearly not an open adoption.”
“He represented scum in a state that is far more lenient than it should be.” His hands grip the wheel so tight that his knuckles become white. “Minor-attracted persons? What sorry-ass excuse of a person came up with that shit? It’s not their fault; they’re sick. Bullshit. It’s evil, is what it is. People who sympathize clearly have never been abused or had someone they cared for go through that hell. It’s worse than murder, if you ask me. It’s the murder of a child’s innocence and irrevocably changes them. I think the sympathizers should step up, take responsibility if they want them on the streets. Offer up those they love as test subjects. Be held accountable for the sick fucks they go to bat for. There’s a forty percent recidivism rate. Forty! Not on my fucking watch. But to answer your question, he was staying with a seventy-year-old movie star and ex client of his who’s walked from every allegation brought against him. I’m sure that waste of oxygen funded his online hunt and his trip East.”
It’s clear to me that Marks needs the distraction that a ball game would provide more than even me right now.
“What if he contacts them?”
“I’m counting on it, CeCe. He’s most likely been watching you, too, which would lead him to believe you’ll be at the game.”
“You think he’d show up at the Jags game?”
His fingers tighten around the wheel. “I fucking hope so.”
The fact that it’s only briefly that the idea of William showing up at the game causes anxiety—not out of fear of him, but for anger at what he’s put Cora through and concern over Chloe’s and Aggie’s safety. I’m not afraid he’ll hurt me any worse than he already has.
I’m angry—so fucking angry. Chloe and I have built lives bigger than our previous one, and now people in these new lives will inevitably learn of our past. I know Chloe’s closest friends know, but mine don’t.
Roman Hart doesn’t.
I hate being seen as a victim. Sick people prey on victims. Men try to … not all men.
Doc and Danny don’t give me bury-her-in-the-woods vibes. Roman and Hudson Hart don’t, either. Zane Marks, he clearly hates that type of man, like I do.
Now … now I have to suppress all of it and go to a baseball game in hopes to lure William out so he can be charged with a parole violation and for any other crimes he’s committing in the meantime, knowing it’s going to mess up our lives … again. And if that’s not enough, he wants to hurt Cora, too.
15
O’Donnell’s
Thursday
“Mavericks can suck my sweaty balls.” Leland Locke storms past me after striking out again in the bottom of the eighth.
I catch him looking at the stands. He’s looking for Gwen with the same kind of disdain she looks at him with.
If I wasn’t a rookie, I’d probably straight-up tell him, She’s not there, and she won’t be if you don’t fix whatever the hell is going on.
I know they all grew up together in Cecilia and Chloe’s hometown. Locke and York have a history, one that clearly puts them at odds.
Not what I should be thinking about when we’re three down with two outs. Steel’s on third; Vander’s , Jaguars’ left fielder, on first; and I’m heading to bat.
“Much prettier mouths will be at O’Donnell’s after the game. They won’t give a damn that you struck out every time you were at bat tonight.” Rudy G., right field, busts on him.
“You know what you gotta do, kid?” Coach Thompson asks.
“Make sure I don’t pop out.”
“Get Steel and Vander home to tie us up. And, yeah, don’t pop out.”
“You got this, Hart,” Nour and AJ yell as I make my way to the plate.
Bat in one hand, I use the other to make the sign of the cross on my chest. “For you, Gran.”
I tap the bat once before getting to the plate, and then I get into my stance.
