Twisted by Hannah Jayne(68)
“Did you just—?”
No. She had heard wrong. Trevor didn’t love her. No one did. She was unlovable. She was the daughter of an alleged murderer, and that blood—that horrifying blood—flowed through her veins, so no one could love her. No one should. No one could ever know—not Trevor, not Chelsea or Laney, not Michael or Denise. Even her own father didn’t love her to fight for her.
“Did I just say that I love you?” Trevor nodded. “Yeah, I did. I do.”
Bex knew she should talk. Acknowledge him somehow. Tell him that she loved him too, because she really thought she did. But all she could do was open her mouth, then close it again dumbly. She was the child of a murderer, and this good, decent guy didn’t know that and now he thought he loved her. He said he loved her. But he didn’t really know her.
“Did you want to tell me something else, Bex?”
Trevor’s eyes were intense and drew Bex in. They were gorgeous but at the same time terrifying. The sun broke though the clouds, and she squinted in the light. When the sun was bright enough, you couldn’t see the darkness, but the second the wind changed, the clouds shifted and the gloom was there again. That was the story of her life.
“Um, just that I love you too.”
Thirty-Four
Bex shifted the weight of her backpack from one shoulder to the other. The coffeehouse was populated with a half dozen people who didn’t look up when Bex walked in and Lauren, looking especially out of place in her boho chic dress and flats. She waved when she saw Bex, and Bex’s stomach dropped. Now she couldn’t disappear back out onto the street and pretend that Lauren never existed.
“I was afraid you weren’t going to come,” Lauren said.
Bex nodded curtly and offered her a soft smile. “To tell you the truth, I wasn’t totally sure either. This is…”
“Weird. I get it.” Lauren pushed out a chair for Bex, who sat quickly.
“But thank you so much for talking to me again. I don’t really know what I’m hoping for, just…” Lauren looked out the window, watching the waves crash, her blond hair standing out like a golden halo around her head. “I guess I’m weird. Or obsessed. I… You probably wouldn’t understand.”
Curious, Bex leaned forward. “Try me.”
“It’s just that my life was very different. Growing up, people either pitied me or feared me. I mean, not only was I the girl whose mother was killed by the Wife Collector, but my mother was the one who made him a bona fide serial killer.”
Bex dug her teeth into her lower lip. She knew what Lauren meant: a killer was just a killer until at least his third kill. Then he was a serial killer. Bex felt the acid burning through her gut.
“Her picture was in the paper all the time. And her story…” Lauren shook her head and pushed a lock of hair behind her ear. “I swear I’ve heard every iteration of it. Some of them say my mom was a dedicated young wife and mother; others say she was loose and practically a prostitute.”
“What?”
“My dad… He was pretty abusive. I don’t really remember much, but I remember being scared. My mother was trying to leave him. She had taken me with her, and we were living in an apartment. People said my mother was cheating and that’s why she left. She didn’t say anything. I guess in her mind being thought of as a cheater was less humiliating than being a domestic violence victim. Your dad started coming around. Just once, maybe twice to the apartment.”
Bex swallowed down the lump in her throat, the urge to protest.
“You’re sure it was him?”
Lauren nodded.
Suddenly, Bex blurted, “Did you know Detective Schuster?”
“Schuster?” Lauren frowned, then pressed a piece of her hair between her lips. “I think so.”
Bex felt her eyes widen. “Did your mom know him too? Before she met my dad?”
“I’m not really sure.”
“Think!” Bex’s voice was louder than expected and Lauren sat up with a start. “Sorry, Lauren. Just—do you remember?”
She shook her head. “I’m pretty sure I didn’t meet the detective until late—wait.” She paused, her eyes getting a faraway look in them. “He knocked on the door. He was going door to door with another guy, and they talked to my mom about coming to some kind of meeting.”
“A community meeting to talk about public safety and the murders.”
“Yeah, I think so.”
Bex’s heart started to thud.
Always be watching, Bethy.
She felt the adrenaline flood her muscles, making them tight and hot. “I think…I think there might be a possibility that the police got the wrong man.”
Lauren blinked. “What?”
“What if—”
“I saw him, Bex. I saw your dad. He came over to the house.”
“So did Detective Schuster.”
Bex could see Lauren’s face fall. She blinked, trying to hold back tears. “No, Bex. The detective was helping.”
But Bex wasn’t dissuaded.
“What’s up, party people?”
Both Bex’s and Lauren’s heads snapped toward Chelsea as she dragged a chair up to their table and plopped down, grin on her face, phone in her hand. “I don’t know you,” she said to Lauren. “I’m Chelsea.”