STORM
JANUARY, 18 MONTHS AGO
Something’s wrong.Well, I mean, obviously,everythingis wrong, but there’s a disquiet so goddamn palpable when I walk into the house. Fresh from the hospital, all I want is to take a shower and promptly fall into bed. I have a concussion (no surprise there), bruises that have had time to fully develop, and two extremely sore ribs that had previously been dislocated. I don’t know what I expected from everyone, but it’s certainly not this.
Everyone’s giving me a berth wide enough to fit the Grand Canyon. During the car ride home, Dad was on a business call, so no one spoke or even made eye contact with me. Once he ends the conversation when we come in through the garage, I wait for him to address the elephant in the room, but he’s all too quick to answer his phone when it rings again. Just like that, I’m dismissed, and it doesn’t get better when I go into the kitchen to ask Blythe for my own cell. It had been left in my locker, and Dad promised to grab it when he stopped by the school to pick up my homework and textbooks. Evidently, everyone thinks it’s best that I “recuperate” off school grounds for the time being, which is perfectly fine with me.
But I still want my phone.
Thank God I don’t have to ask Blythe for it, because I spot the device sitting on the counter beside the charger. The second I unlock the screen on it, my suspicions are confirmed, because Blythe snatches the phone away from me like it’s a bomb about to explode. What the hell? Her reaction is weird enough, sure, but what catches me off guard is the fact that I don’t have any new text messages or phone calls. I may not be Miss Popularity at school, and I haven’t been able to contact Reed and my other coworkers to let them know what happened…
But not even Derek or Vanessa bothered reaching out either. No matter how busy my sister may be with college and ballet, it’s hard to believe she wouldn’t at least message me to ask how I was doing. And no way would my brother take this sitting down. I was honestly surprised Derek hadn’t stormed into town, threatening to rain hellfire upon Trent and Sienna the second Blythe and my dad let him know about everything. But the notifications (or lack thereof) confirm that not one single person tried contacting me.
You’ve got to be fucking kidding!
“You didn’t tell anyone what happened, did you?” I want to scream my accusation at my stepmom, because, seriously, how fucked up is that? If either of my siblings ended up in the goddamn hospital, I’d want to know! What good—or even half-assed—reason could there be to keep this kind of information secret?
The look Blythe gives me has my blood freezing as she holds my phone behind her back, acting likeI’mthe bomb about to go off.
“Give me my phone.” Unlike Derek and Vanessa, I paid for my cell with my own money and currently cover the monthly cost of my additional line to the family’s bill. She literally has no right to keep it from me.
Between the concussion and reset ribs, my body silently screams at the movement, but I don’t care. I charge for Blythe, ready to pry the phone out of her death grip, when my dad clears his throat.
I freeze, and it’s not just my muscles coming to a standstill. My veins fill with ice as he says my name.
He won’t meet my eyes, focusing on the cell in his hands despite the screen going black. “I think it would be best if we all took a seat.”
Blythe looks all too prepared, and there’s something almost rehearsed in the way my dad and she take their positions at the table, raising yet another red flag in my mind.
My worst suspicions are confirmed when I see the stack of papers already placed on the table in front of my designated seat.
Sitting down, I find I don’t need to read through all of them. Skimming the top page tells me enough.
It’s an NDA.
I want to protest, to scream, but that cold invades the rest of me as Dad begins what is clearly a prepared speech.
As expected, Mr. Easton reached out, but instead of telling him to stick it where the sun doesn’t shine, my dad and Blythe used my time in the hospital to negotiate the “terms” for a mutual agreement.
What. The. Actual. Fuck?
Dad’s tone is measured, but with all the legal jargon he keeps using, he may as well be a parrot regurgitating what he heard from his lawyer. And his favorite is apparently “good faith,” since it keeps coming up when I point out the obvious.
I don’t want to be bought off for my silence. I want to file fucking charges! Besides, a minor can’t sign an NDA and be legally bound to it anyway.
“You can’t make enemies with people like the Eastons and not expect there to be fallout,” Blythe finally snaps at me.“Do you want to go to college? Because Roland Easton has connections with every university on the continent. By the time he’s done, there won’t be a single school that will want you. Hell, you’ll be lucky to get a job working at a drive-thru.”
“Trent tried to rape me!”
Blythe doesn’t even try to hide that she’s rolling her eyes. “Honestly, Ali, have you seen that boy? How could you expect anyone to believe that?”
She may as well have sucker-punched me in the gut, because my breath outright sputters, and it takes a moment to regain it as I fend off the knots forming inside my chest.
“You believe me, right?” I look solely at my dad, but he won’t return the favor.
No, he just runs his hands over his face and hair, still looking at the dark phone screen. “You need to think about your future, sweetheart. If this ever went to court, the defense would drag you through the mud, and hit pieces would circulate online. Whenever someone so much as searches your name, this would be what appears first. This one incident would follow you for the rest of your life. Is that what you want?”
“I wantjustice!”
