Elite (Eagle Elite #1)(56)

I’d already cleaned up, so I had at least a few minutes to waste. Grabbing the diary I went and sat on the bed and opened it.

The front page said, To my little Tracey girl, love Father.

Was it weird that I didn’t remember getting the diary? I didn’t even remember writing in one.

I turned the page and nearly fell out of my chair.

Mrs. Abandonato. Tracy+Nixon=Love.

And, I was going to burn the diary. Like now.

The rest of the pages were basically the same thing. Horrible drawings of what appeared to be a cat and then a cow with no udders. Clearly, being an artist was not in my future. As I flipped the pages, one thing remained true, I was constantly misspelling my own name and Nixon’s as I tried to write our names together. I could only imagine my mom must have helped me. No way did I know how to do any of those things at almost six.

Either that or Nixon helped me.

I shuddered.

Forget burning the diary. I needed to shred it, then burn the pieces of evidence.

I flipped to the last page and a picture fell out.

It was me and Nixon. We were holding hands. He was looking at the camera grinning from ear to ear, and my head was tucked in his arm while I clenched his hand for dear life. The little boy staring back at me was the one I always remembered. When I fell and scraped my knee, he kissed it and made it better. When I cried because my mom wouldn’t let me have a pony, he laughed and told me ponies were stupid and that I should do something cool like learn how to be a spy. When his mom stayed over. I—

Crap. I remembered.

It was about a week before my sixth birthday, the last time I saw Nixon. He came over to my house with a bag. His mom followed us indoors and sobbed at the kitchen table to my mom while I took Nixon into the backroom.

He’d always been so tough, so strong, so it freaked me out that he was crying. And then I noticed he was bleeding.

“Nixon, what happened?” I reached out to touch the cut above his eye.

He shrugged. His shoulder slumped as he sat in the middle of my floor. His tears fell onto the carpet as he played with one of the toy cars he had brought.

“Why are you sad?” I asked, taking a seat across from him.

“I hate him.”

“Who, Nixon? Who do you hate? Isn’t hate bad?”

He shook his head. “You’re too young. You don’t understand.” He slammed the car against the floor, again and again until it broke.

I was scared, but not because I thought he was going to hurt me, because I knew he was hurting. So I did the only thing I knew how to do.

I hugged him.

I reached my skinny little arms around his neck and held him while he continued to cry.

“Don’t worry, I’ll save you, Nixon. I’ll save you.”

“Girls can’t save boys.”

“Can too!” I squeezed him harder. “I promise. I’ll take you away from what makes you sad.”

“Tracey…” His sobs grew louder. “I’m so scared.”

“If you’re scared. I’ll be scared too, Nixon. Until you feel safer. I’ll be scared with you.”

“Promise?” He pulled away from me.

“I promise. Because you’re my best friend in the world, Nixon. I want you to be happy.”

He nodded and we played until we fell asleep on the floor.

“Tracey?” It was Grandpa’s voice. “You almost ready?”

“Yup!” I tossed the diary back into the desk and opened the door. “Sorry, I was just thinking.”

“That’s never a good sign,” Gramps muttered.

I looped my arm through his as we made our way down the stairs to the marble entryway.

“He’s here.” A man approached grandpa and nodded.

Grandpa lifted his eyes heavenward, made a cross over his chest, and then said, “Let him in.”

The door opened revealing Nixon. To me he looked like my normal Nixon. He was wearing hip hugging jeans and a tight t-shirt that showed off his chest tattoos and the half sleeve on his left arm.

His eyes fell to mine and he smiled. I almost lunged for him, but Grandpa held me tight so I couldn’t budge.

Grandpa nodded to the two men beside us. They went to Nixon. He lifted his hands in the air and turned as they patted him down. Was this really necessary? They pulled a gun from behind his pants, a knife from his boot, and a set of steel knuckles from his pocket. My eyes widened. He just shrugged as if what was happening was completely and totally normal.

Once unarmed. His hands fell to his sides. I looked to Grandpa. With a curse he released me and I ran into Nixon’s arms.

The tension was so thick you could cut it with a knife. Nixon politely accepted my hug but as soon as our chests touched, he let out a hiss of air and gently pushed me away, creating immediate distance between us.

Confused, I reached for his hand but he pulled it away and shook his head.

Hurt. I looked from him to Grandpa. Nixon looked like he wanted to shoot Grandpa, and Grandpa looked like he was about three seconds from castrating Nixon. Great. Lunch should be stellar.

The sound of stiletto heels hitting marble interrupted their tense exchange. A lady cleared her throat. I looked in the direction it came from and was surprised to see a very pretty woman with straight black hair smile at me and announce. “Lunch is ready.”