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  “Don’t even go there, man. This job may not make me famous, but I get to do something I enjoy and pull down enough scratch to change things for me. For us. Mom and dad too. Not just scraping by.” I hate the strained hope in my voice.

  Growing up without wasn’t so bad, but watching my parents struggle now sucks. I look at Derrick, his life an affluent alternate universe. More money than he knows what to do with, but parents who spend almost zero time with him. He’s said many times the staff raised him more than his mom and dad ever did.

  Me? Mom and Dad always gave me time and attention. Support and love. Money was another issue and still is. But I’m going to fix that; it’s been the driving force gnawing inside me since I was a kid.

  “I hear you. It’s just not exactly sexy, you know? The whole ‘join the ranks of the indentured middle class’ thing. But, you’re right, it’s a sweet deal they offered you. And they made sure you signed on the dotted line. They own your ass.” He wraps his tongue over his top teeth flashing his familiar wry grin.

  He’s right. I didn’t realize my knack for numbers would ever pay off. I was sure it would be my skills at knocking heads together on the football field that would be my meal ticket, but in the long run, my brain is my greatest asset. So after a few concussions, I opted out of football as a future career direction.

  Finishing up my Masters the Department of Defense came calling. When I tested for them, I figured they’d say, “Don’t call us, we’ll call you.”.

  I was wrong.

  But, I’m low man on the totem pole. You know the deal, I do the heavy lifting while someone else gets the credit, but with a salary plus incentives that will be more than my dad ever made as a self-employed plumber by far. Not to mention the signing bonus that has already taken some of the heat off my parents’ situation. We were middle class cozy growing up. But, mom’s health took its toll on her and their finances.

  In five years, the D.O.D. will have paid off my student loans as well. That’s it, I’ll be debt free. Derrick’s right, I signed the contract that day. The thought of being able to take care of my parents and rid us all of the burden of student loans was more than worth a few years in a job I was born to do. If I hate it, I don’t have to stay after the five years, but I don’t have anything really tying me here other than mom and dad, and this is for them as much as for me.

  There’s a satellite D.O.D. office here in the Detroit area, but when I asked, I was told that was for high level projects only. They made it sound like that’s where the brain trust resides, so, who knows, maybe someday I’ll be back here, but for now, moving around sounded just fine to me.

  The room is like a sauna with so many people in this space, the tips of my ears are hot and I’m not sure it’s from the room or something else. Derrick shouts above the crowd at people and I want to strip off my jacket, but I’m too unsettled. He waves over a couple girls we knew in high school. Jacqui and Lisa have us quickly cornered, giggling and asking a thousand questions. For the next fifteen minutes I nod and grunt and politely ignore their flirting, when all I want is to get away.

  A couple of the younger girls from earlier skip back into the room, tucking in and around the older crowd while giggling and grabbing beers then running back out.

  My urge to go find my haloed angel and make sure she’s okay tugs at me.

  My other urge is to push her against the nearest wall and thrust into her body, but I’ll take just making sure she’s okay for now. I’m aching, and I can’t fight the draw any longer.

  “Hold on. I’ll be right back.” I wave a hand behind me toward Derrick and the girls as I’m already moving away.

  “Where are you going? We only have one night until you disappear across the ocean!” His raised voice falls on deaf ears. He’s my friend, but this is more important. I don’t know why, but it is.

  She is.

  I leave Derrick open mouthed as I push through a group of girls, grunting ‘excuse me’ a few times along the way.

  I know this monster of a house pretty well. Derrick and I met when we were both in fourth grade. We went to different elementary schools then, but my mom brought me here to the estate when she worked for the Warners as a housekeeper back before her MS got so bad.

  For a rich kid, Derrick treated me like there was no difference between us. From the first day he came bounding into the kitchen offering me a full size Snickers bar as my mom scrubbed the floor, I thought his life was magical. Through the years, I’ve learned otherwise.

  Down the hallway into the foyer, I pause and listen. The massive walnut and stone staircase is to my left. The front door to my right. Other rooms annex off the hallway in both directions.

  This place is full of echoes, the stone walls giving off clues to movements. I know, from years of hide and seek with Derrick, the way sounds bounce around. But today when I strain to hear something, all that hits my ears is the thumping bass of the dance music shaking the very foundations of the house.

  I tighten my lips against my teeth and decide I’ll start up the stairs. Something is pulling me to search for the flash of dark hair and plump pink lips. My instincts tell me the girls are up in Amanda’s bedroom. I know this place is eleven thousand square feet, but how hard can it be to find her? I turn to the stairway, then something gnaws at me; I turn in the other direction slowing and moving forward, listening for clues.

  And that’s what I have to do. Find her. Because I’m leaving tomorrow, and I may not have another chance.

  Something inside springs to life inside me and I decide not to fight it. For the first time, I understand what my father told me all those years. When you find your one, you just know. It’s the way he said he felt the first time he saw my mom.

  Now I need to find her and tell her she’s mine.

  C H A P T E R T W O

  TALIA

  I will not cry. I will not cry.

  “Yes, sir,” I whisper into the receiver, one hand cupped over my mouth praying no one will hear. “I know. I’m sorry.”

  “I told you, didn’t I?” My father’s angry voice on the other end of the phone makes each breath catch in my throat. “The outside is not for people like us. You’ll be doing extra Bible readings tonight. And no ukulele for a week. Be ready when I get there. I told you something bad would happen, didn’t I?”

  “Yes, you were right. Okay. Thank you. Bye.”

  My stomach feels as tight as my mom’s knitting knots. I didn’t dare tell him everything, but as soon as he sees me, hellfire and brimstone are raining down on me and every other woman under the sun. It will be a week of hard chores, prayer and preaching ahead for me. Not to mention the horror of going back to school after what happened tonight. My only safe, quiet place is the dang chicken coop in the backyard.

  Fudge my life. I still can’t even bring myself to swear. But I have learned a few new interesting phrases in my short time in a real high school.

  The blood rushes in my ears. My heart calming. I ran until I was sure they weren’t behind me, and then ducked into this room. It’s a library, so there’s nowhere to really hide, but thank God for the phone on the desk. I’m still frozen in place, unable to move for fear that I’ll make too much noise and they’ll find me. I should have known better than to believe anything would ever change. I’ve been at that school just over a month now and none of those girls have even been civil to me until today.

  Now look, I’m standing here with the buttons popped off my torn shirt, makeup streaked across my face. I’m a disaster. A stupid, weird, fat girl. Thinking of my father’s reaction has my heart racing again. Beating so fast, I’m dizzy and the room begins to soften in my peripheral vision.

  I draw a shaking breath and look down at myself. My shirt is smeared with red lipstick where they wrote on me. Sixteen. Slut. The words are still clearly visible, even though I’ve rubbed at the lipstick until it’s set into my shirt permanently.

  Oh my God, you’re a size sixteen? You’re like those pigs your dad keeps
in your backyard. A size sixteen slut, right, girls?

  Amanda’s words still ring in my ears, along with my own voice begging them to stop.

  The front door to the mansion is just out of this room and to the left. My father will come to the front to pick me up where he dropped me off, so when I see his pickup, I just need to run for it, but for right now I’m best off where I am, hiding in the dark. I manage to get my feet to move and I wrap an arm around my waist as I shuffle over to the window and lean against the wood paneled wall to watch for him.

  The truth is, I didn’t know there was a party here tonight. Dad would have never let me come if he knew. How am I going to explain what happened? He’ll never believe me. All he’s going to see is my torn clothes, the word slut, and the make-up and ratted hair. I’ll be under lock and key again until I’m forty.

  Blood streaks across my tongue, warm and coppery, as I score the inside of my lip with my incisors. Hoping the pain will hold back the prickling tears threatening to spill over. I quit crying about the teasing a long time ago, learned the hard way that’s a sure way to add fuel to the fire of every kid that’s ever tormented me. Even playing in the front yard when I was little, some kids from the north side of town would ride their bikes down the dirt road, stand at the fence and throw their painful barbs over the fence. Why? I never bothered them. I never understood and I still don’t.

  Oddly enough, I don’t hate them. I’ve never hated anyone. I won’t let them hurt me like that. Hate only hurts the hater, not the hated.

  I drop my chin to my chest. There’s an odd feeling of disconnection from my body. Trying to forget the way they grabbed at me, their hands in my hair, on my clothes. I try to clear my mind, listen to the music that is ever present, playing in my head. I sway slightly, feeling a bit dizzy.

  I dart my eyes outside, watching through the diamond shapes of the leaded glass window for the lights of my father’s rusted truck. I’m going to have to stick it out for at least twenty minutes, maybe thirty or forty depending on how quickly he heads this way. I can’t believe I’m eager for him to get here, after all my begging to be allowed out but I can’t wait to be back in.

  Mercifully, a melody forms in my head and I hum along, despite everything. I can see the notes as the song forms. It’s a strange thing how my mind works when it comes to music. I can see the music as well as I can see the glint of the stars or the criss-cross diamonds in the window. Some people say they see words and numbers, I see musical notes and sounds. It’s my escape, even though my father says it comes from the devil. But, seems anything fun does.

  The dark notes evaporate and I fall silent when footsteps creak on the floorboards in the hall outside. A few more steps, then a pause, then a few more and they are right outside the door. My head swivels back and forth, looking for somewhere to hide even though I already know that the room is just walls of books and the massive desk in the center. I consider crawling under, but I refuse to be that pathetic.

  It’s Amanda, I’m sure. The floor feels unsteady. My face flushes and I take a deep breath, steeling myself, ready for her to come through the door and spit her vitriol my way.

  I squeeze my eyes half shut as the door creaks open. My heart in my throat, my back pressed against the wall. But when the light from the hallway streams into the dark room, the silhouette in the doorway is most definitely not Amanda.

  I pray the corner will absorb me, hoping whoever this is will miss me in the darkness and move on. I curse the full moon, it’s white light filling the room as I do my best to tuck into the shadows.

  The rushing in my ears grows to a pounding. My throat constricts, even if I wanted to speak I doubt I could. The person moving forward across the room is enormous. Shoulders as broad as an eagle’s wingspan, only a few inches of light spaced between the top of his head and the door frame.

  My attempt to keep silent is betrayed by a smallish peeping whimper that squeaks in the back of my throat. When he steps into the moonlight streaming through the window, I’m met with eyes that remind me of the deep indigo on my mom’s beloved Blue Willow china.

  I’m in a trance, frozen but not in fear. It’s something else.

  His eyes sparkle with a light of their own, shining and flickering from somewhere behind them. He looks otherworldly, with glowing blue eyes and a crown of short dark hair. His presence is both calming and terrifying. I feel safer now that he’s here but his size and energy should frighten me.

  Another step forward and I notice his mouth. His lips are full, open just enough that white teeth tease from behind, a deep scar cuts through the top left of his lip where I imagine touching him.

  I grit my teeth, ready for whatever this is. What is he doing here? Maybe he is just another tormentor sent to finish me off.

  Or worse.

  “Hey. Are you okay?” His voice cascades over me, lighting up little notes like one of my songs. Such simple words but they sound uncomfortable, as though he’s feeling what I’m feeling.

  My defenses have me answering carefully with narrowed eyes. “I’m fine. Just waiting for my ride.” It takes a conscious effort to keep the words steady.

  His forward motion continues, forcing me to press harder against the unyielding wall behind and all I can do is cross my legs over one another, my arms already grasping as tight as they can over the mess that is what is left of my favorite shirt. I clutch one hand where the top button should be, pulling my blouse together at the neck, covering what’s left of my dignity. The top four buttons are missing, sprung loose when they tried to take it off of me in a fit of laughter.

  Remembering the silk butterfly scarf tied around my neck when I’d arrived. The one that belonged to my grandmother.

  “You’re not fine.” His voice deepens with a dark rumble, tinted with outrage. “Who did this?”

  He reaches forward to brush back the tangled hair that sticks to my forehead. My eyes are adjusted enough to the lower light, I see those shocking blue eyes take on a sadness as they trace up and down my destroyed outfit. He’s a monolith standing in front of me, blocking out any way around him without making contact.

  “It’s okay. Really, I’m fine. It was just a joke that got out of hand.” I push an unconvincing smile to my lips. “My ride is coming. I think I’ll wait outside.”

  I shoulder my way past him, suddenly desperate to be in the cold air. I feel an odd sense of loss as the contact from his hand on my hair is broken. For some bizarre reason, this enormous stranger’s touch made me feel safer for that moment but my humiliation overrules and sends me running. I rush out the open door of the library, my head swiveling back and forth as I enter the hallway, praying no one sees me as I half fall into the front door, twisting the ornate brass handle and praying it’s unlocked.

  I spin the knob one way, then the other. I layer my hands, gripping harder, violently twisting back and forth four, five more times until the latch finally clicks and the rush of cool air refreshes me in that next breath. I look behind me, afraid that this man, whoever he is, might be following me.

  And even more afraid that he’s not.

  C H A P T E R T H R E E

  GRIFFIN

  I’m winded and I’ve no reason to be. My lungs are burning. When she pushed past me and out the door, she took my breath with her.

  Doesn’t matter, I don’t need oxygen, I need her.

  I’m on fire. Her long hair and those innocent, frightened, golden-green eyes lit when she’d turned into the moonlight have me aching. I instinctively follow her as soon as I get my head back in the game, right out of the front door and onto the street outside the estate. There’s an enormous oak tree just outside the front gate that Derrick and I used to climb when we were kids, and I’m already on her heels when she tucks behind it.

  Her attempt to stay out of sight is foiled by the streetlight. The white light streaming down as I approach gives me a better view than when we were indoors, and what I see turns my already hot blood into lava. Heavy and thick in my vein
s.

  Half her face is painted like an overly made up drag queen. Her hair, which when I first glanced was straight and hung in silk strands around her shoulders, now looks like someone’s ratted it in the back, pinned it up in some strange twisted rings.

  “Stay away from me. I told you I’m fine. Go back inside with your friends.” The tiger inside her surges as her eyes flicker with fear and she scratches me with her words.

  Still, there’s a catch in her voice and I can tell that she’s anything but fine. I slow my pace and raise my hands, palms forward hoping to ease her fear.

  “Did Amanda and those girls do this? I saw you earlier, downstairs. You weren’t...Who did this?” My voice rises in anger. One hand inches forward, brushing the backs of my fingertips across her burning cheek. If it was the girls that’s one thing, but the thought that someone else touched her, grabbed her or hurt her has the tension tightening in my chest again.

  She tosses a horrified look back and jerks her head away from my reaching fingers. “It was just a game. Girl stuff.” Her words snap shut at the end.

  “I won’t hurt you. I’m sorry for whatever happened. Let me drive you home.” I so desperately want to help her. To see her smile. I want that more than anything.

  “No, I don’t need it. I already told you, my father is coming.” Her reply is irritated but softer, one hand clutching at her shirt just under the collar. I note the missing buttons and a fury rises in me that I don’t think even I expected. “I don’t even know your name.” She adds with the smallest hint of curiosity and my heart swells.

  “It’s Griffin... People call me Griff. Look, are you hurt?” Each word drags in my throat as I’m already planning retaliation.

  She turns to square with me, still the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen even with her new makeover. I need to touch her, my hands come up to cup her cheeks, and for a moment she closes her eyes. I’m shocked she doesn’t pull away. The pads of my thumbs roam everywhere they can reach, feeling the magic of skin so soft it barely registers under my calloused fingers.