Crown Jewels (Off-Limits Romance #1)(27)

I slow my pace and fall in step with her. “So, who was texting?”

“No one,” she says quickly. “Those beeps were from my birth control alarm.”

She’s wearing a decent poker face for once. That, or she’s being honest about the birth control.

“Wait a second—you were on the same group texts as me. So you did get texts.”

“Oh, did I?”

We round a corner, and I can smell a whiff of sugar. I push the candy store’s red door open and suck the fragrant air into my lungs. “Ahhhhh. The smell in here!”

Behind the counter, a man lifts his head from where he’s looking at a book and gives me a strange stare, which I return. Usually a girl named Holly is behind the counter. We’re practically besties, having bonded over caramel corn and strawberry taffy. I don’t know who this dude is, but he needs to learn that death stares don’t sell candy.

I spend the rest of our time in the store ignoring the rude guy and stocking up on caramel corn, fudge, strawberry taffy, and Pop Rocks.

Amelia ribs me about the Pop Rocks. I tell her she’s boring. I’m nibbling a piece of fresh caramel corn as we push through the door onto the sidewalk, so at first I don’t notice when Amelia steps in front of me. I look around her arm and find her digging in her purse.

“Another text from lover boy?”

She shakes her head, and that’s when I see the people across the street. They’re visible through a break in the long chain of downtown traffic: five or six girls, younger than us, holding up their phones in a manner I assume means they’re playing Pokemon.

Then they start pointing our way.

I step around Amelia. “You’re not secretly hunting Pokemons, are you?”

Amelia’s head pops up. She grabs my hand and tugs me—way hard—to the right, propelling me down the sidewalk with the threat of pulling my shoulder out of socket. “Let’s go!”

I tug against her. “What’s the matter?”

“Let’s get to your car.”

I can tell by her voice that something really is wrong. I wriggle free from her hand and stop there on the tourist-choked sidewalk. Amelia whirls around.

“Lucy, let’s go!”

A woman stops beside us: short, blonde hair; reading glasses; arrowhead-shaped earrings. “Oh, you poor doll.”

I brace myself, nodding and giving her a generic smile, even as I try to step around her. So she’s heard about the lawsuit.

“You look healthy now,” I hear her say behind me.

There are times when my brain and my mouth are too connected. I turn toward her. “What did you say?” I blurt.

She purses her wrinkly, magenta lips. Behind her eyeglasses, her eyes gleam. “You get him,” she says with a fist-pump.

Amelia’s hand locks around my wrist. “Come on.” She tugs.

Have I landed in the Twilight Zone?

The more we walk, the more eyes I feel on me. I swear to God, a teenage boy nudges the girl beside him, and their jaws both drop at once as Am and I move past.

Amelia’s phone starts ringing: not a ding this time, a real ring. She ignores it, dragging me toward the parking deck across the street. As we walk the crosswalk, my phone rings. I tug free from Amelia and wrestle it from my purse.

Mom.

Before I can answer, Amelia snatches it from me.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” I snap.

I follow her into the parking garage.

“Nothing. I’m just in a hurry for my pill.”

“You’re the worst liar.” My car beeps and flashes its lights, letting me know Amelia has my keys in hand. When did she grab them?

“Just get in the car, Lucy.”

“You’re freaking me out!” Even to my own ears, my voice sounds young and whiny. Am jets out of the parking spot before I even have a chance to buckle up.

“You better tell me what’s up. You’re scaring me.”

My 4Runner jolts as she stops to pay the toll machine. And then someone is at my window. It’s a man: not a beggar; he’s dressed nicely. Just as his knuckle taps the window, the mechanical arm raises and Amelia jets off.

My phone rings again—or maybe that’s Amelia’s.

“Don’t answer,” she cries.

“Why?” My chest feels tight, my head hollow. “Amelia…”

“Hang on.”

She speeds through two green lights, setting us in the direction of my house. Then she slows the car and turns her wide eyes on me.

“I don’t know how to say this, Luce.”

“Just say it!”

Her mouth tightens. “Someone got your police shots from that night. They’re on TMZ. The ones of your arms and your face bruised up. Everybody knows now, about the settlement. TMZ quoted someone saying he was abusive.”

A black car passes us, then drops back, driving in the other lane illegally. I see a camera jut out the window. Amelia rockets off, and they chase us: a few dozen yards that feel like miles.

And just like that, my life has spiraled.





TWELVE


Liam





I slide my phone into my pocket and hit the punching bag so hard some moss crumples from the branch of the yew tree where it’s hanging.