I turn to see Carol, a teacher in the toddler room, tuned into the small screen TV. She has it turned to cable access. They’re live-streaming Brett Givens’s parole hearing and Carol is taking it all in.
Panic clutches at me and I freeze, but it only gets worse. Because as bad as it is to see Brett Givens’s face on the screen in front of me, my heart shatters when I see Ty’s. He states his name and relationship, and I want to pinch myself or scream. This can’t be real. It can’t be happening. But it is.
I tell Carol I’m sick and can’t stay and the ghostly pallor of my face must convince her to let me go. I don’t remember walking to my car, or driving to Ty’s house. But I remember everything after that.
I ring the doorbell, my heart racing, desperate for all of this to be a terrible nightmare. The door opens and out walks Tracy Givens. My heart falls to my stomach and I’m surprised my legs can still support me.
“Ty?” I question, needing an explanation, needing him to tell me this is all a terrible mistake. He doesn’t answer, and Tracy pushes past me, a glare of revulsion on her face as she takes me in.
Needing answers, I step inside to find Ty standing in the doorway.
“Oh, God. Phoebe. Phoebe, no. Please. Look at me. Listen. It’s not--”
His words crowd my mind and I just need to see a way clear through this madness. “Was that you?” I ask, knowing the answer.
“Yes, but--”
“Is that...is that your mom?” Again, there’s no other answer than yes, but I have to ask.
“Yes. Phoebe, but wait--”
I back myself up against the wall, eager to be as far away from him as I can manage. “Was it a trick?”
“What? God. No. No, Phoebe, please.” He steps toward me, and I scream again, inching closer to the door. His hands go up in surrender. I know he won’t hurt me. I know he’ll stay put. And yet, I also knew he loved me. And what a lie that turned out to be.
“Tell me one thing. You owe me that much. Did you know?”
There’s a heavy beat in the air as he casts his eyes downward and nods.
“You fucking bastard. I hate you,” I tell him, my voice shaking. “I hate you more than I hate them.”
Everything happens at once. I can hear myself yelling at him that he’s a liar, a filthy fucking liar. I can feel my fists pound against the wall, desperately needing to release my anger and then I feel a broad chest and strong arms encompassing me. I look up in my haze of grief and anger to see Booker’s sweet, gentle face.
“Come with me, Phoebe.” I have no choice. I’m certainly not staying here.
He walks me through the house and out the door. “I texted Ian,” he says, just as I see Ian pull into the drive. He must’ve been at home, I think, seeing as he’s not wearing his work apron. It’s strange that in the middle of all this chaos, that’s the thought that occurs to me.
I go from Booker’s arms to Ian’s. I hear them exchange words--and not angry ones. Sure, Ian’s so worried he’s vibrating. But there’s something about Booker Zabek--he’s a gentle giant, I guess, and you can’t help but listen when he talks.
I feel Ian’s muscles tense the moment Booker tells him what happened, who Ty really is, but Booker lays a calming hand on Ian’s forearm, says something quietly, then we just turn and walk away.
Soon enough, I’m being buckled into Ian’s car and my mind flashes back a few short weeks ago when Ty was the one taking care of me. But things have changed. Or maybe not. Maybe it really was all a grand scheme of manipulation. I wouldn’t put anything past Brett Givens’s family.
I don’t have the energy to think about it now. And I should probably examine the fact that I’m so fucking fragile that I’m routinely being carried to and from cars and shuffled away from stressful places. But right now, I don’t give a shit. Ian’s here. He’ll take me to Mel. They’ll take care of me, and I’ll let them.
Chapter 20
Ty
The flames of the fire rise higher when Knox tosses more wood into the firepit. The four of us are pretty trashed, so a fire is likely a terrible idea, but Whit had the good sense to call Ollie over to supervise. Although, when Ollie’s the sober guy in charge of safety, we’re all pretty fucked.
Luckily, the firepit is a solid column of bricks, surrounded by sand and more bricks. Good thing Booker’s parents have a keen eye for safety and outdoor aesthetics.
After Booker made sure Phoebe got home safely, I lost my shit. Just started tearing stuff off the walls, pulling books off my shelves. I was blind with rage at everything--at Brett, his parents, my own stupidity and selfishness, thinking I could keep this secret, thinking I could ever deserve her.
Knox and Whit pulled me away, reassuring me that there were far more fun ways to destroy shit. So, here we are, tossing anything we can find into the fire. We poured the contents of Knox’s old backpack in there first, but yes--we took all the vape pens out. Then Whit found a bunch of old newspapers in the basement, so we tossed those in, belatedly realizing they were probably archived copies of the school paper or some shit.
There’s a stack of cardboard boxes tall enough to keep this fire going far into the night, and enough alcohol to get my ass wasted.
