Call It What You Want(52)

“I’m always here when Connor has friends over. Too much liability otherwise.”

I shuffle my feet, then tell myself to knock it off. Being here, standing in front of Bill, is reminding me of my father in ways I don’t appreciate. I can almost feel him clapping me on the shoulder, saying, “Stand tall, Rob. Be a man.”

I feel like I’m the one who drank half the can of beer instead of Maegan.

Bill nods at the chairs by his desk. “Sit down. I’ve been wanting to talk to you.”

I want to bolt, but in a different way from how I wanted to run from Mr. London’s office. Bill Tunstall represents everything we once had. If he could have warned my father—if he could have warned us—if he could have helped turn it around …

These thoughts are choking me. My hands are tight. I take a step back. “I really don’t want to leave Maegan alone too long.”

He doesn’t move from his chair. “Rob. Please. You were like a son to me.”

The words hit me like a bullet, lodging in my chest with a lump of pain that’s difficult to breathe through. “No,” I say, and it’s tough to speak through it. “I wasn’t.”

“Yes.” His expression doesn’t change. “I kept you out of it.”

“Yeah.” My voice breaks, and I have to breathe to cover it up. “Sure, you did. I really feel like I was kept out of it.”

“I did.” He pauses, then removes his glasses and folds them on the desk. “You worked for your father. You’re a smart kid, Rob.”

It takes me a moment to work out what he’s saying, and when I do, it’s like taking a second bullet to the chest. “I didn’t know what he was doing. I didn’t.”

Bill raises his hands. “Like I said. I kept you out of it. It was the least I could do for you and your mother.”

My hands have curled into fists. “Don’t act like you did us a favor.”

“This wasn’t an easy situation for any of us, son.”

“Don’t call me that.” My voice has grown heated. I’m never one to rage out, but right now I prefer anger to crying. “You have no idea.”

He’s quiet for a moment, but his expression shifts into one of pity. “I can see I’ve upset you. I’m sorry. I want you to know that I’m here if you need anything. What your father was doing—that was wrong, Rob. Whatever he had you doing—”

“I wasn’t doing anything!”

He continues as if I didn’t interrupt, his tone quiet and even. “—you’re better than that, Rob. I know what was going on. But you’re better than that. Okay?”

I’m glaring at him, my breathing so quick and my pulse pounding so hard that I feel like I’m going to hyperventilate. Or maybe turn into the Incredible Hulk.

He thinks I’m a thief. He thinks I was helping my father. He really does think he somehow protected me from the investigation.

“I didn’t know,” I say, my voice dark.

“Okay, Rob. If you say so.”

I turn away from him, somehow managing to walk without breaking ceramic tiles in my rage.

“Prove me wrong,” he calls from behind his desk. “I’m just looking out for you.”

“I don’t need to prove you wrong,” I yell. “My father was the thief. Not me.”

I storm toward the hot tub.

And then, as I round the corner where Maegan and I were making out, I prove myself wrong. I slide my fingers along the edge of the hot tub, scoop up those forgotten diamond earrings, and shove them in my pocket.

Then I slam through the double doors and leave Bill Tunstall behind.



In my fury, I nearly miss that Maegan is waiting for me in the glass-walled hallway connecting the pool house to the main home. It’s probably a miracle I didn’t hit her with the door. She has to grab my arm to stop me, to get my attention.

“Hey,” she says. “Stop. Are you okay?”

I’m a ticking bomb with seconds left until detonation. I picked up those earrings. I stole those earrings. They’re all but weightless, but my pocket feels like it’s filled with lead. We need to get out of here. “Yes. No. Where’s your sister?”

“I don’t know. I was worried about you—”

“I’m fine.” I take her hand and lead her forward.

She follows, almost stumbling to keep up with me. “Rob—you’re not—your shirt isn’t—”

“It’s fine.” I shove through the second set of doors, and music slams me in the face. It’s louder than it was before—or my nerves are more on edge. The lights flickering from the living room have already given me a headache.

Maegan squeezes my hand. “What did he do to you?”

“Nothing.” I finally stop spinning and look down at her. “Do you think you can convince your sister to leave now?”

I must look like a wreck, because Maegan nods quickly. “Let’s find her and get out of here.”

Dancing people pack the living room from wall to wall. Earlier I found it intoxicating: the music, the clinging darkness, the feel of Maegan’s body brushing mine. Now it’s dizzying, the music too loud, the room too hot. The scents of beer and liquor and smoke thread through the room, battering my senses. I can’t make out anyone’s face. I hope Maegan is looking for Samantha, because I can barely think straight.