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No,I want to say,she wouldn’t stop, but I keep my mouth shut. Something tells me this is bigger than I realize. This is Adult. This is Grown-Up Stuff, and I definitely don’t understand the dynamics at play here.
“Yes,” Sara Lynn gasps. “Please! Let me go! I’d totally stop!”
“Are you going to cry now for some attention, you pathetic loser? You’re small, Sar. You’re fucking tiny. I could snap your delicate little wrist and I’d love it. I want to watch you roll around on the ground and fuckingsobyour pretty little face off. Nothing would be sexier than to watch you squirm in pain. Don’t forget it.”
After another beat, he lets her go and shoves her away. She staggers, holding her wrist, and groans as Laurie and Bronwyn run to her side.
“You could’ve really hurt her,” Laurie says fiercely as she runs a hand through her long, dark hair. “What’s wrong with you, Ford?”
“Fuck off, Laurie. All three of you, fuck off, or else I’ll decide I haven’t had enough and take it out on all of you later at Tommy’s.”
Laurie hesitates, looking uncertain, and Bronwyn finally pulls Sara Lynn away.
“Asshole,” Sara Lynn mumbles with tears streaming down her face as they pass and head out from under the bleachers.
Ford watches them go.
I stand there trembling. I’m not crying anymore. I’m too scared to cry. My legs shake so badly I need to sit down but I can’t move. Ford is like a giant and whatever just happened was bad, it was really bad, boys aren’t supposed to hurt girls like that, but Ford did it and he seemed to really enjoy it. That’s not right and I don’t get why he would do something like that for someone like me.
“Uh,” I finally say. Ford’s busy staring off at them and he starts when I speak like he forgot I was there. “Thanks.”
He narrows his eyes. “Sara Lynn’s really your cousin?”
“Yeah. She’s not usually—” I stop myself because that’s not true. “Yeah. She’s my cousin. And seriously, thank you.”
“Don’t thank me. I didn’t do it for you. For all I fucking care, Sara can throw you off a cliff next time. Good luck with that.”
Ford turns and walks away, his hands shoved in his pockets, his shoulders hunched forward.
I stand there stunned, not sure what to think, caught between happy that Sara Lynn got what she deserved and horrified at Ford’s sudden and sadistic violence.
Chapter 2
Kat
Twelve Years Later
Grandfather sitsin front of a crackling fire in a high-backed chair. I hesitate in the doorway and watch the light flicker off the spines of hardcover books lined up on the shelves, off the ancient African masks and hunting spears, off the old Welsh axes and Viking helmets, until Grandfather clears his throat.
“Don’t linger, Kat. You know I hate it when you linger.”
“Sorry, Grandfather.” I head into his expansive office. It’s half workspace and half museum. Grandfather’s always been a collector and he likes to surround himself with his favorite objects when he’s busy doing whatever it is he does for the family in here. This is the heart of the Stockton home on the affluent outskirts of Austin, Texas, and Grandfather is the heart of the Stocktons themselves.
He looks at me as I slowly sit in the chair beside him, my back straight, my hands folded in my lap like I’ve been taught. Hiseyes are a pale blue, wrinkled, with swollen bags under them. His skin is loose and sallow. His hair is thin and gray. He’s in his eighties and not getting any younger, and though I’m twenty-five and could overpower him at this point, my grandfather still scares the crap out of me.
“Thank you for coming to see me,” he says as if I had any choice. “I have some bad news and I wanted to tell you in person.”
I sit up straighter and a thousand thoughts whirl through my mind, but he doesn’t need to tell me what this news is about. I already knew, even if I don’t know, because it’s always about one thing and one person.
My mother. My poor, poor mother. I haven’t seen her in a month and I’ve been waiting for this conversation, on edge for when I’d finally get called in to some room to get lectured by a member of the family—one of my aunts or uncles usually—for something that I have nothing to do with. I have no control over my mother, never have, never will, but they all act like her sins are my own.
It’s always been that way in the Stockton family. I used to think it’s because I’m not stick-skinny like my cousin, or because I have red hair, or because I have green eyes instead of blue, but it’s got nothing to do with how I look. No diet or hair dye can change what I am in their eyes.
A mistake.
“Your mother’s been arrested,” he says with a heavy sigh.
I go very still. I shouldn’t be surprised, but normally Mom’s pretty good about not getting thrown in jail. Usually, anyway. “Arrested? Are you sure?”
