Payback, page 12
“It’s my dad.”
Every muscle in my body wrenches tight. It’s like I’m on a train that just slammed on the breaks and switched to reverse.
I picture his father, laid out in a bed in the rehab hospital. I see the tubes in his mouth, and the delicate pieces of tape holding his eyes closed, and the protruding bones of his arms.
He will never get better. That’s what Caleb told me the first time I saw him.
For as long as I’ve known him, he’s been waiting for his dad to die.
I hurt for him—a sudden, merciless punch to the chest.
“Caleb,” I whisper. “I’m so sorry.”
“No,” he says. “You don’t understand. Brynn, he woke up.”
It takes a moment for this to sink in.
“He … woke up?”
Caleb’s nodding now, his eyes glassy. In a rush, he tells me it happened last night when his mom and brothers were leaving. It was all a big mess, his dad choking on the vent and Christopher running to get the nurse because they thought he was having a heart attack. Jonathan called Caleb, but he didn’t get the message until early this morning. When he heard, he went straight there.
“He can’t talk yet, but he squeezed my hand, and he looked at me. Straight at me. He remembers, I know it.”
Caleb’s arms move in quick circles as he talks, the words growing louder, like he’s just taking a shot of adrenaline to the heart. I can feel his excitement. I’m gaping at him, ready to jump up in the air and shout.
“He’s going to need therapy, and more specialists. Maybe more surgery. I think a lot of his muscles have atrophied.” He shakes his head. “I don’t even care. We’ll figure it out, you know?”
He looks at me as he says this, like I’m part of the we, and I lift another inch taller.
“We will,” I say.
“Mom sent me back to go to class so Dad can rest. I almost blew it and told her I got expelled.”
My brows pinch together. Caleb still hasn’t told his mom or brothers where he is. He’s using his family’s trust to pay the medical bills, and letting his mom think Dr. O’s still writing them off.
If we don’t get him back to Vale Hall, she’ll have to find out, sooner or later.
We can deal with that at another time. Right now his dad is awake, and that is the only thing that matters.
“I thought he was gone. Jonathan was crying in the message. I thought…” Caleb looks at me, his shoulders rising with each breath. Fear rolls off him in waves, combating the relief, stealing his voice, challenging the happiness in his eyes. “You were the first person I wanted to tell.”
Then he takes my face in his hands and kisses me.
A gasp of surprise locks in my throat just as joy explodes inside my chest. Sirens, fireworks, a full-on marching band with baton dancers and acrobats throwing candy. It’s like Mardi Gras has found a new home city between my ribs and spine.
But outside, I am frozen in shock.
He jolts back. His mouth makes a small o. I can still feel the pressure of his lips on mine, and his hands on my jaw, and his fingers, weaving through my hair. Now that I’ve regained the use of my body, I’m cursing myself for not kissing him back.
“I…” He exhales hard, looking more panicked then I’ve ever seen him. “That was not what I meant to do. I mean, it is what I wanted to do—what I’ve been wanting to do for a while—but not—”
“How dare you,” I say.
His jaw shuts with a snap. He nods, maybe in agreement.
“I wasn’t even ready.”
He stops nodding. His eyes lock on mine for confirmation, brows hiked above the black plastic rims of his glasses.
A laugh bubbles up my throat as I reach for his sweatshirt and pull him down to me. He’s smiling, and so am I. We’re in a bubble, separated from the world, immune to the cold. His knuckles skim my cheek, and I lean into his touch. My arms fit beneath his, my hands splayed over his shoulder blades.
Our smiles fade.
His lips brush mine, side to side, and warmth rises from the deepest part of me, flushing my skin. He moves closer, his feet bumping mine, his hips to my hips. His gaze is dark and safe, his long black lashes magnified through the lenses of his glasses.
He kisses my bottom lip, feather soft.
My breath comes faster.
He kisses my cheek.
I grip the back of his shirt.
His mouth finds mine, and he’s watching as my eyes drift closed. There is nothing but the feel of him then. The gentle parting of his lips. The softness, and the taste of our kiss.
Does he feel this? He has to. This isn’t just a kiss. This is everything. This is finally.
He pulls back the slightest bit. “Was that better?”
I nod, because all the words have fled from my mind.
It’s then that I catch movement over his left shoulder. Someone’s coming down the path, moving quickly, dressed sharply in black. He doesn’t slow as he sees us; in fact, he seems to walk faster.
My stomach twists.
There’s no use hiding now.
“We’re busted,” I say.
Caleb follows my gaze over his shoulder, then turns, taking both my hands in his. He leans in my direction, his eyes on Moore.
“How much does he know?”
“He thinks I’m trying on sweaters.”
Caleb considers this with a scowl. “Not too late to make a run for it.”
“It’s all right,” I tell him. “I trust him.”
Caleb glances at me, then lifts his chin again. “Then I trust him too.”
“That doesn’t mean he won’t drown us both in the river.”
Caleb’s hand squeezes mine. “Still not too late to make a run for it.”
But it is, because Moore’s within striking distance now, and that vein on his neck that bulges when he’s angry is about to burst.
He stops.
We wait.
“So this is a thing again,” he says.
“Hi, Moore,” says Caleb.
“Don’t ‘Hi, Moore,’ me,” he barks. He spins away, then, after a moment, turns back. He waves a hand at Caleb. “You need a haircut.”
“He looks all right to me,” I say, a little giddy that Moore hasn’t decided to drown us after all.
“I didn’t ask you,” he snaps. He looks again at Caleb, then shakes his head and sighs. “Well, come on.”
Moore turns without another word, and strides down the Riverwalk, toward the mall.
Caleb and I glance at each other, confused.
“He’s not going to kill me, is he?” Caleb asks.
“I don’t think so.”
“Come on,” Moore shouts over his shoulder.
We come on.
* * *
MOORE BUYS US a late lunch at a sandwich shop. He tells Caleb he can get whatever he wants, and I feel a slash of guilt when he orders an extra-large with everything on it, and three bags of chips for later. I wonder when the last time was that he had a solid meal he didn’t take from the bowling alley snack shop.
Moore doesn’t ask Caleb any specific questions about his life, and Caleb doesn’t give any unnecessary details. Instead, Moore asks if Caleb has enough money, if he’s got a coat, and if he’s talked to anyone about his “current situation.”
“Just Brynn,” Caleb says. He doesn’t mention Henry, Charlotte, or Sam, or any of the other expelled students.
Moore takes out his wallet and peels free a hundred dollars.
“I don’t want it,” Caleb says.
“Then the busboy’s about to get a very nice tip,” Moore responds as he stands.
Caleb takes the money, but he doesn’t look at me when he tucks it in his pocket.
“I’ll give you a ride to your apartment,” Moore tells him, winding his maroon scarf around his neck. “We need to make a stop on the way.”
Again, he walks away without further explanation.
“How does he know where I live?” Caleb asks quietly as we both slide out of the booth and gather our trash.
“I don’t know.” I want to reassure him that it’s all right—that I trust Moore—but we’ve all been careful to keep Caleb’s apartment a secret, especially now that Dr. O’s upped his game. If Moore knows where Caleb lives, who else does?
We follow him outside, and then to the garage where I parked the car. This time, Moore drives. He heads to the freeway, and Caleb and I share a confused look when he takes the on-ramp that leads north, the opposite direction from Caleb’s apartment.
This must be the stop Moore mentioned, but it’s certainly not on the way.
Beside me, Caleb’s frown etches deep lines into his face. He keeps glancing nervously out the window. Does he think Moore’s taking us somewhere to get rid of us like Geri’s dad did with Jimmy and Margot?
I reach for Caleb’s hand and give it a squeeze.
He smiles weakly in return.
The trip is faster than expected, and soon we’re turning in to a lot filled with cars in front of a blunt stone building. I read the letters over the entrance.
“DMV?”
Is this what I think it is?
I bite the inside of my cheek, squeezing Caleb’s hand hard enough to break his fingers.
Moore parks the car and turns around in the front seat.
“If you’re going to sneak out to see your boyfriend, you can go ahead and leave me out of it.”
He gets out of the car. I can’t help it, I squeal. The lines between Caleb’s brows relax and he laughs.
Moore knocks on the window. “You have to pass the test first.”
Right. There’s a test. He gave me the study booklet a few weeks ago. I read it all in one night, even though he said I wouldn’t be ready to test until the spring. It was mostly stuff he’d already taught me—stopping at a red light before you turn right, and using your turn signal to change lanes.
I’m getting my license today.
I practically drag Caleb out of the car and run to the DMV. Inside, there are about a million people in line, but I don’t mind the wait. Caleb quizzes me with a practice test in one of the bins hanging from the wall, and Moore sits in the waiting area, looking grumpy.
When we get to the front, he joins us and signs the paperwork indicating that I’ve completed driver’s education classes through Vale Hall. I take the test into a quiet room, where ten other people are working through their own tests, and then hand it back to a woman who couldn’t be less interested in my upcoming life change.
I’m getting my license.
When she sees I’ve missed only three questions, she takes me for an eye exam, which I pass, and then grabs a clipboard. We head out to the parking lot, where I show her that the brake lights on Moore’s car work, and the mirrors are all in place. Then I wave goodbye to Moore and Caleb, and take her for a drive around the block.
That’s when the nerves kick in.
I go two miles under the speed limit, then three over. I stop too quickly at a stop sign and have to pull up. I try to summon the confidence I use when I pull cons, but that doesn’t matter here. This lady doesn’t care if I’m confident, she cares if I can drive.
By the time we get back, I’m sweating, and I feel like I might vomit. Dr. O might hold my actual life in his hands, but it feels like the DMV lady does too, and when she takes notes on her clipboard, it’s all I can do not to scream, Did I pass?
“Watch out, Sikawa,” she says flatly when she’s done. “Another teenage driver is on the road.”
I bolt out of the car to run to Moore and Caleb, still standing on the front steps of the DMV, but forget the keys in the ignition so I have to turn back. Once I’ve got them, I try to walk calmly across the lot, but I’m practically flying. When they see me, I raise my hands in a victorious V. Caleb pumps his fist.
Even Moore smirks.
My driver’s license picture is terrible. I didn’t have time to put on makeup when I left the house, and the cold has tinted my nose and cheeks a little too rosy.
I don’t care. I have a license.
For the first time in weeks, I wish my mom could see me. I want to call her, but she’s at work—answering phones for Wednesday Pharmaceuticals, the company Dr. O owns. The reminder threatens to swamp me, but I refuse to let it.
For this moment, everything is all right.
“Do you want some celebration doughnuts?” I ask the guys. “What’s the farthest doughnut shop you can think of? I’ll drive there. You know why?”
“Because you have your license?” Caleb pushes up his glasses with his index finger, and everything inside me warms and pulls tight. I can’t help it. Those glasses are my kryptonite.
“I was going to say because I love doughnuts, but you know what, Caleb? You’re absolutely right. I do!”
“Is this going to continue very long?” Moore asks.
“Just until Dr. O decides to erase my identity.”
Caleb chuckles weakly. Moore gives me a stern look.
I smile my widest smile. “Too soon?”
“Stop talking.” Moore sighs.
His phone rings, and he pulls back to answer it. Caleb, thankfully, isn’t upset by my comment, and reaches for my hand. As his fingers intertwine with mine, warmth slides up my arm, tingling beneath my collarbones.
“Congratulations,” he says.
I wonder if Caleb will kiss me again. Does he care that Moore’s here?
Are we “a thing” again, like Moore said?
I want to be.
But even now, I can feel reality pressing against the edges of my high. How much does a stupid driver’s license matter when your identity doesn’t even exist? When you don’t even exist? Caleb did this once too. He had his own driver’s license, and school ID, and a dozen other records and forms of identification, and now they’re nothing but paper. He was wiped clear of any database that will let him graduate, open a bank account, or apply to college or for a real job.
And suddenly I’m so angry I could kick something.
How dare Dr. O give him a future, just to take it away? And now, Caleb’s dad will need more care—and more money—than ever. How is Caleb supposed to make that happen passing out shoes and selling popcorn at a bowling alley?
“What is it?” he asks, watching me in that way he does, like he’s trying to solve a puzzle.
“Nothing.” I grasp on to the elation I felt only moments ago, but it’s already slipping away. “I just wish this was real.”
His brows pinch together. “It is.”
For now. But I want more than right now. I want to drive us to the doughnut shop next week, next month. A year from now. It seems impossible to hope for anything more than these minutes we have together.
“We need to leave,” Moore says, breezing by us. He snags the keys from my hand. “Now. Get in the car.”
Caleb and I share a wary glance and jog after him. As soon as we’re in and the doors are closed, he tears out of the lot, careening down side streets toward the west side of town. I hold on to the armrest, trying to buckle my seat belt as he swings around a turn and guns it down a two-lane street lined by shops and old oak trees.
“I guess we’re not modeling safe driving anymore,” I say.
Caleb leans forward, looking out the windshield. “This is Bakerstown. What are we doing here?”
Something tells me this isn’t where Moore thinks Caleb lives. He’s driving too fast, and honks as we swerve around a blue van.
“Moore, what’s going on?” I ask.
Moore’s squeezing the wheel tight enough to break it. Urgency rises in my chest, filling me with a cold, slippery fear.
“Moore,” I shout, just as he swerves across the lane into the lot of an old, run-down apartment complex. He barely pulls between the white lines before he slams the car into park.
“Stay here,” he says.
I look to Caleb, who gives a small shake of his head, as if to say, Don’t argue.
We watch Moore rip out of the car, slam the door, and run toward the apartment building. He takes the concrete stairs to the second floor, then disappears around a corner.
“We’re going,” I say.
Caleb’s already got his hand on the door. “Yep.”
We’re quieter in our departure, but still quick. I don’t know this area of town, and I have no idea who might possibly be here that’s got Moore so upset. Either way, something’s seriously wrong, and I’m not about to hide in the car and wait for that danger to come to us.
Caleb and I slow to a walk at the top of the stairs, our warm breath misting in front of our faces. The sun is already falling behind the horizon, and the clouds overhead are low and dark.
A few crunched beer cans litter the scuffed cement walkway. An ashtray full of half-smoked cigarettes is spilling over outside someone’s door. As we near the corner, Caleb stops and glances around the peeling beige paint of the building’s edge.
“See anything?” I ask.
He shakes his head.
My heart pumps harder as we follow the walkway around the bend. Three doors face out on this stretch. The first is number 6, and has a pitiful Christmas wreath around the peephole. The second, number 7, has a “Beware of Dog” sign taped to the wood.
Number 8 is cracked open.
After exchanging a quick glance, we sneak toward it, but just as we’re passing number 6, a crash comes from down the way, inside apartment 8. Caleb stops short, but I shove past him. If Moore’s in trouble, he might need our help. He has my back, I have his.
But as I reach the door and push inside, I don’t know what to make of the scene before me. Moore’s standing over a table that’s tipped onto its side, his shoulders rising with each heavy breath. Behind him, on the floor, a body lies still, socked feet turned out at an awkward angle.
Moore’s stare lifts to mine, and his jaw flexes.
“Get out,” he growls, angrier than when he threw Grayson into the wall.
“Who is that?” My voice is shaking.
Caleb is right behind me, his hands gripping my arms.
“Get out,” Moore repeats. “Go back to the car. You can’t be here.”
“Raf?” Caleb pushes past me. Moore intercepts him before he reaches the person on the floor.
Legs like lead, I push myself past the overturned table, into the tiny kitchenette. Moore is too busy holding Caleb to stop me, and as I get closer to the man stretched out on the ground, I take in the faded jeans, ripped at one knee, and the twisted, long-sleeve T-shirt, pulled tight across muscular shoulders.
