Currently, the sheets on the mattress are red. Apparently,Daze color codes his rendezvous. Nice to know. God, I can’t even look at the mussed piles of cotton, so I stare down at my hands, still shaking, balled into trembling fists. Once again, that resounding question echoes off my skull—What am I doing?
I turn just as Daze wrenches open the door to the room. His eyes cut to mine before darting to Sammy. “Hey, buddy,” he says softly. “Me and my uh...friend need to chat. Why don’t you go find my phone and look up Spongebob? I think it’s on the couch somewhere.”
“Okay.” With meticulous care, Sammy bundles up his crayons and carries his backpack into the other room.
Good. At least he doesn’t witness the second I tighten my fist and send it flying toward a face that’s the aged version of his.
“Hey! Listen—” Daze snatches my wrist, too strong to resist—tugging my arm as hard as I dare doesn’t free it.
“Let me go!”
“Lower your voice,” he warns directly against my ear. “I know you’re pissed. Okay?”
“Pissed? I’mbeyondpissed. You have a child?” My voice radiates fury, but it’s barely louder than a whisper. “That’s typically something you announce before sleeping with someone you just met!”
Isn’t it?
“Yeah,” he says, nodding. “Thatandthe fact that your politician father is planning a run for governor. Or the leader of the free world, or whatever the fuck. FrancesHeywood. You really thought I didn’t recognize you?”
“What?” Shock washes over me like ice water. How stupid I’d been to think I’d found shelter in anonymity. “Get away—” I jerk back only to find myself locked within a vice grip.
“Relax. Frankly, princess, if I wanted to hurt you, I could have any moment before now.”
“But you knew,” I croak. “For how long?” A paranoid suspicion sneaks into my thoughts before I can quash it. “Were…were you following me? Did you want to hurt—”
“Don’t be crazy,” he snaps. “I saved your life, didn’t I? But now...I need you to return the favor.”
Every muscle in my body stiffens, and I borrow another one of Hale’s insults. “Go to Hell.”
“Hear me out.” He’s frowning again, his eyes narrowed and fixated somewhere beyond my head. His teeth seize his lower lip hard enough to draw a tiny bead of blood. With every second, his grip on my arm tightens though he doesn’t seem to realize it. “I need you to stay here and watch the kid for a few hours. Two, maybe three tops—”
“Are you serious?” I find myself laughing.
He never does in return.
“Trust me,” he insists.
“I’m starting to hate those words—”
“Look, have you stopped to think what might have happened to you if I wasn’t there?” He reaches out suddenly and tucks a stray piece of hair behind my ear. The motion doesn’t resonate the way it should. I’m not intimidated. My skin heats instead, and I don’t pull away. “And I’m not talking about you jumping off some fucking bridge. I know you heard what Lyra said. Your ‘church’ had a ‘gas leak.’ You aren’t stupid enough to believe that, are you?” He waits, nodding as though my silence is the only answer he needs. “Think why that might be, Frances. It’s not like your father doesn’t have enemies. In fact, if you knew the full reach of Michael Heywood’s influence, your pretty cross alone wouldn’t be enough to shield you from his many sins—” He nods to my throat.
And my chest tightens. Too many fears battle for supremacy all at once.Father. Explosion. Followed.All I can do is meet his gaze and rasp, “You’re scaring me.”
He winces as if struck. “Look, I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important. Please. Two—four hours tops. When I get back, I’ll explain. About your brother. About my tattoo. Everything I know.”
My eyes go wide as I process the implication. “You lied to me—”
“Hale didn’t kill himself.”
“W-What?”
Daze doesn’t even flinch. It’s like he transforms in an instant, becoming a colder man with a voice like ice on my skin. I can’t even question him. I’m struck dumb.
“He didn’t off himself. He wasmurdered,” he adds, “and I have a pretty good idea who did it. Do you want to know the truth? Then trust me. Notthem—your father or your future-boyfriend-arranged-husband, or whatever the fuck—me. Four hours tops.”
He lets me go and heads toward Sammy. I watch as Daze lowers to his knee, so he is on his son’s level.
“Hey Mutt, Daddy has to go out for a bit. My friend is going to hang out with you while I’m gone, ok?”