Back To Back - Cameron Chelsea M. - Страница 12

I never told anyone. Even though I wanted to blab to my classmates and friends what cool and secret things I could do, I never told because I knew how important it was. My mother never knew. Still doesn’t. Dad and I cover for each other and I’m pretty sure if she walked in on us hacking into someone’s computer, she’d just look the other way.

But now a lot of my work is done with Sylas and I can throw my focus back into school. I really do want to work with art. That wasn’t a lie. It took me a while to actually tell Dad that was what I wanted to pursue. It didn’t go over very well at first. Of course he wants me to take up his mantle or cape, or whatever, and carry on his legacy.

But I don’t want to.

Realizing I’m going to be late if I don’t get my shit together, I throw on some clothes, grab my bag and dash down the stairs. At least for the next few hours all I have to think about is cubism, forced perspective and shading.

I don’t hear a word from Sylas the rest of the week. I think he’s trying to process everything and I can’t say I blame him. My tattoo starts to peel and itch and I wish he were here to help me put lotion on it, but I can’t bring myself to call or text him. The ball is in his court now. I’m his if he wants me. Me and my honesty.

I would love to be honest with him. More than anything. But my secrets don’t just belong to me. They belong to Dad, and they’re not mine to share. Not mine to give.

My anticipation for seeing Lizzy ramps up over the week and by Friday night I’m so nervous I can barely sleep. I know I’ve met her before, but this time I will really be spending time with her as my sister. My half-sister, but still. The only sister I have. The only sister I’ll ever have.

I’m ready hours early and sitting on the couch, my knees twitching as I wait for Sylas.

Finally, about five minutes before nine, he sends me a text message saying that he’s downstairs. I bolt down the stairs and slow enough that I don’t look like I’m rushing. I don’t want him to know how much this means to me.

Yet again, he doesn’t open the door for me. I know my cheeks are flushed and I’m breathing a little heavily.

“Hey,” I say, not looking at him.

“Hey. You ready to go?” he asks, like I haven’t been ready forever.

“Yeah,” I say. I watch him nod out of the corner of my eye and then he’s pulling away from the curb and we’re on our way.

In silence.

I’m going to see my sister.

“It’s going to take us a while to get there,” he says a few minutes later. “I needed to keep her close, but not too close.” I nod and stare out the window. I wonder if he’s regretting what happened earlier in the week. The talk and the sex and the agreement to try and move things forward. We haven’t spoken about it since; almost like it didn’t happen.

I can’t stand the silence, so I reach over and turn on the radio, flipping to the classic rock station. Words dance behind my lips, begging to come out.

Sylas coughs and looks over at me. He opens his mouth to say something, but then closes it. I guess I’ll get the conversational ball rolling.

“I thought I was going to hear from you this week,” I say. I want to ask him what he’s been doing with himself, but I don’t really have a valid claim on that information. Not anymore.

“Well, my plan to move was changed, so I had to regroup.” Meaning his team also had to regroup. I assume they’ve all come back and he’s told them what happened with me and Dad and everything. I wonder if he’s told them about Lizzy.

“And?” I ask, prompting him for more.

“And nothing. I’m here. I’m not leaving.” He seems pissed.

“Are you mad at me?”

A laugh that’s part-bark escapes his mouth.

“Why would I be mad at you, Saige?” The bitter edge in his voice is back. Great.

“Look, you don’t have to be an asshole. This isn’t fun for me either.”

His hands tighten on the steering wheel and I start fiddling with my septum ring.

“I’m never going to forgive you for what you did,” he says, and the words hit me. Hard.

“I know,” I say.

More silence. It’s never been so hard to talk to him. I decide to change tactics.

“What happened to her? To Lizzy?” I say. I expect him to get mad, but he doesn’t. His shoulders relax just a tiny bit. I’ve found a safer topic, it appears.

“She was born that way. She just thinks differently from other people. And she’ll never really be able to live on her own. It takes her much longer to learn things, so it’s just not safe. But she’s happy where she is. I made sure it was a good facility and they take good care of her. She has friends and does activities and they take her to the aquarium and to movies. I wish I could see her more than I get to.” He’s been her only caretaker for years and I totally understand that he’d want to protect her.

“I didn’t know. About her. Not until he told me,” I say, answering his unasked question.

“When did he tell you?” he asks, his voice flat. I know he wants to know.

“Just a few weeks ago. I… I didn’t know what to say. I was pissed at first. That he never told me I had a sister. I lived my whole life without knowing about her.” I was pissed when he told me. Seriously pissed. I got upset and “threw a tantrum” as my mother would say. Really it was just me yelling a lot and breaking a few things. I wish I could blame my temper on my hair, but it’s not wholly responsible for my actions.

“I know you’re not happy about me being here, but I really appreciate you letting me come.” I touch his hand where it rests on the shifter. He doesn’t flinch and I move my hand so it’s lying on top of his. My nails are covered in chipping black polish. Normally I take more care with my nails, but I’ve been a little distracted lately.

“Were you ever a college student?” he asks and I’m surprised it’s taken him this long to ask. “You promised to be honest with me.”

I squeeze his hand just a little.

“Yes, I am a college student studying art history. And yes, my father isn’t that happy about it. I work with him when I can. More now that I’m not—” I cut myself off.

“Conning me,” he finishes for me. I nod.

“I wish there was a Hallmark card I could give you, but I don’t think there’s one for this particular situation,” I say, trying to make a joke. He doesn’t even crack a smile.

“I don’t need a card. I just need… I don’t know. Time. Space. Room to think.” Away from me, I assume.

“Sure,” I say.

The rest of the trip is relatively silent. We’re both busy with thinking our separate thoughts. But I keep my hand on his the whole time.

Seven

He parks in front of the Center and I get out tentatively. It has the feel of a small apartment complex and there are pretty flowers in large pots lining the walkway and lots of bright art hung in the windows.

It looks nice here. Not what I would have thought, but he did tell me that this was a good place.

We both have to check in at the front desk. Sylas must have called them and added my name to the list of visitors because they knew I was coming with him. We’re both handed the requisite visitor badges and affix them to our shirts.

“You were right, it is really nice here,” I say as we walk past one of the activity rooms where some of the residents are standing at easels and painting with large brushes and tubs of bright, bold paint. There’s a nice energy in here and everything is bright and fun and colorful.

“Her room is this way,” he says, leading me down the hall.

Lizzy’s door is partially open, but he knocks before we go in. I take a deep breath and then there she is. The minute she sees Sylas, she beams, but when she sees me standing behind him, she squeals and then I’m engulfed in a hug. Lizzy is taller than me, and I nearly lose my breath.