Atone (Recovered Innocence #2)(21)

I want to say I made him work harder than Marie did, but that’s not true. I wanted what he was offering. I didn’t realize what lay hidden just beneath or that I’d be trapped in a lower level of hell for nearly four years. I don’t think about that first time. Or the next or the next. The last time…now that I remember. It’s that last time Javier wishes he could forget.

I sat in my car across from the house for almost an hour, the memories rushing at me in crashing waves. So many times I wondered how the neighbors didn’t know what was happening in the middle of their neighborhood as they walked their dogs and took their kids to soccer practice. At first I held out the hope that I’d be rescued. As the days turned to weeks, then months, then years, those hopes faded and died. I remember the day I finally gave up and the song that was playing on the radio.

I shake myself out of those thoughts. They don’t serve me. They won’t get Marie back. Beau thinks he might have a lead on Javier’s new residence. Or it could be another dead end like the three before it. Javier is smart. He hasn’t lasted this long doing what he does without knowing exactly what moves to make and when.

I’m jittery and tired from too much caffeine and not enough food. I haven’t slept a whole night since I read Marie’s Tumblr. The clock is ticking. Once she gets the tattoo, that will be it. No going back. I go to the crooked mirror hanging over the scarred dresser and take off my robe. I make myself look at my body, turning so I can see the tattoo on my right shoulder blade. I thought Javier designed it just for me, so I was proud to sit for it.

It’s pretty if you don’t know its meaning. A scrollwork heart with a keyhole at the center and a chain attached to the top of the heart with a J-shaped key dangling just below. In the flourishes around the heart—if you know where to look—are three numbers. I didn’t know the significance of them at the time until I met another girl with the same tattoo. She gloated over hers being a lower number.

I cringe at how high the numbers could be now. What number would Marie’s be?

My phone pings with a message from Beau. Since we kissed and talked, things have settled into something more comfortable for both of us.

Beau: (panda emoji)



I smile.

Me: (bamboo emoji)

Beau: What are you doing?

Me: Nothing.

Beau: Can I come in?



He’s here? I look down at my plain bra and underwear.

Me: Hold on a sec.



I shimmy into my robe and tie the sash tight. I check the peephole, and sure enough, there he is. My heart stutters and I put a hand over it, clutching the top of my robe tightly as I open the door. He takes me in from my bare feet to my makeup-free face. He doesn’t look good. Something happened. Something’s wrong. I motion for him to come in, nervous for a whole new reason.

“Is it about Marie?”

“No.” He closes and locks the door behind him, then just stands there, staring.

“Did something happen?”

He leans back against the door with a sigh. The paper bag in his hand clanks against the door.

“What’s wrong?”

“What are you wearing under that?”

“Excuse me?” Tightening my grip on my robe, I wrap my arm around myself in a defensive gesture.

“I’m an *.” He shakes his head. “Never mind. None of my business.”

“I should put some clothes on.”

He puts a hand up. “I’m sorry. You’re fine. I’m the one who’s f*cked up. Can I sit down? I brought a present.” He holds up the bag and I can clearly see there’s a bottle inside. “Whiskey.”

“I don’t know.”

“You’re right. I should go. I’m not fit company right now, anyway. I don’t know why I came here. It’s just that Cora’s with Leo and I didn’t want to be there with them…you know, together. I’m gonna go.” He unlocks the door.

“Wait. Sit down. I could use a drink.”

“I promise to be on my best behavior.”

“You pour and I’ll go throw some clothes on.”

He does that slow-blink thing, then nods and sits at the table, jamming his big frame into a rickety chair. By the time I get back he’s refilling his glass. I take the seat across from him and stare down into the dark liquid. Closing my eyes, I shoot the whole thing down and hold my glass out for a refill. He obliges me. We drink the second glass together and he fills them again. The booze hits me in a warm wave. It’s been a long time since I’ve had anything to drink, and with how little I’ve eaten today, I’m instantly buzzed. I sip at the third glass, floating on a gentle sea of I don’t give a f*ck.

I wait for Beau to talk, enjoying the company and the silence. I’ve been alone so long I forgot how comforting it can be to just hang out with someone you’re comfortable with.

“I’m sorry about earlier. I wasn’t expecting you to answer the door dressed like that. My head’s a mess. I don’t…” He finishes off his drink and sets the glass down with a thunk. “I shouldn’t think those thoughts about you.”

I refill his glass. “What were you thinking?”

“You don’t want to know. I’m f*cked up, and so are my thoughts.”

“You’re not f*cked up.”