“But you seem to know everything. Why don’t you tell me?”
“There’s a lot that I think, Alex. But I don’t have the facts to back it up, okay? That’s why you need to be the one to investigate it.”
I shake my head. “But it doesn’t make sense. Why would someone’s father have anything to do with their murder?”
“Isn’t that the million-dollar question?”
Dozens of questions spring up as a result of speaking to Coach Neill. Like always, I’m left trying to sort through the puzzle pieces we’ve created. It’s madness. While I know I can trust my coach, I’m not sure how much help she’s been lately. Walking away without all the answers is driving me crazy.
And maybe that’s the point. Maybe I’m supposed to get dizzy about it so that I’ll actually do what she’s telling me to do. I’d be angry if I didn’t think it was so clever—and touching, too. She’s one of the only women in my life who seems to care about where I end up. Why would I deny her help when she’s giving it so freely?
Demetra isn’t available after training, so I’m left to think myself into a funk while sitting on a bench near the entrance of the school. I would have gone toward the parking deck, but I didn’t want to risk getting grabbed again.
Because I’m such fair game, I remind myself painfully. I can’t walk anywhere by myself.
Sure, Mother sends a security guard every so often, but what good is that when they don’t intervene with family drama? Right, because the families are the ones paying them. They probably receive specific instructions about staying out of it.
My fists curl at my sides as I stare at my tennis shoes. The air is oppressive, thick with the promise of fall and the panic attack that I know will rise soon if I don’t get a damn drop of alcohol into my body. When I close my eyes, all I see is red. Rage laced with fear freezes my limbs to the bench. I can’t move. I can’t even figure out how to claw my way out.
How the hell am I supposed to investigate a series of murders when I can’t even make it to the parking deck without getting assaulted?
“Someone looks grumpy.”
I blink my eyes open, staring up at the tall, fair-haired handsome creature who likes to sneak up on me. It’s part of his charm, it seems, the kind of guile that a Hollywood starlet might harbor for a spy movie role. But it’s turned up to eleven all the time. That’s Soren—he’s as intriguing as he is frightening.
And he’s ridiculously gorgeous too.
Leave it to him to walk up while I’m trying to figure this bloody mess out. It’s not like he’s going to help. He’s probably trying to figure out how to snatch my virginity so he can flaunt my marriage contract.
While hiding a grimace, I stand and fix my backpack over my right shoulder. “Not grumpy. Just tired.”
“Probably from all that drinking this weekend.” He cocks his head curiously to the right while sweeping a hand through his hair. “Speaking of. You got my flask?”
“It’s at home somewhere.”
He nods. “Well, I can drive you home today.” He pauses for a second and jingles his keys in his pocket. Is he nervous right now? His eyes sweep the ground around my shoes, and he shrugs. “If you want.”
“You’re giving me a choice?”
That darling smile appears, eyes glittering with amusement as he says, “Didn’t I say I was going to be better than the others?”
“Didn’t realize that meant pouring alcohol down my throat.”
“That might have been a mistake.”
I snort. “You fucking think?”
He nods toward the parking deck. “All right, Ms. Alex, don’t get too grumpy.”
“I’m not grumpy.”
“Sure. And I’m a saint.”
Hearing the light humor in his voice eases some of my tension. As much as Soren can be a massive pain in the ass, he’s also good for a laugh—and cherry vodka.
Our routine doesn’t fail. His hand slips to the small of my back, an easy position I’ve become accustomed to falling into with him. It’s so natural that for a second I’m convinced we’re just a boyfriend and girlfriend heading out for an after-school burger. The realistic dimensions of the thought distract me so much that I almost miss the seat while sliding into the passenger side of his sports car.
Soren catches my arm. “You okay, sugar?”