“There were so many people watching you attack that bitch. The police could have been called. What do you think would have happened if they had shown up?” I explain passionately. “Whatever her name was could press charges,” I urge, not liking the image I’m painting in my head.
Her body stiffens beside mine. Fiddling with the pendant looped on a necklace, she laughs. “I don’t think Bethany is smart enough to call the cops on me. She’d probably get confused midway, calling them.”
That makes me laugh. She’s probably right. Just by looking at Bethany, I know that girl’s brain is the size of a raisin.
“Why did you blow up today?”
She drops the pendant to her chest, and I watch it bounce in between her boobs.
“She was talking about my dad. How he would have been ashamed of me. In a way, she’s right.” She pauses and throws her hands up in the air in defeat. “I’m so different from the daughter he knew me as. I’m rude to people because that’s how I keep my heart safe. I stopped doing the things I loved because I was too tired to get out of my bed in the morning. I skipped school constantly because I hated the stares. And I’m so angry—” She sniffles, causing her to stop mid-sentence.
“Angry about what?” I question, too curious for my own good.
Uncrossing her smooth legs, she hangs them out the window beside mine. I hope her warm skin touches mine. However, I’m disappointed when my skin remains cold and empty.
I watch as her jaw clenches in frustration.
“My dad’s killers are still out there, walking free, living their best lives, while Mom and I live with the consequences every day.”
My body tenses, and I turn stone-cold. “He was killed?” I gasp out, shocked that a crime like murder would happen in this small town.
“Yeah.” She licks her lip but reels back in pain. “Stray bullet hit him right in the chest, died on the scene.”
I was not expecting this at all. I thought he’d died of natural causes, but this? This doesn’t seem right.
I know I might push my luck, but I ask, “When did this happen?”
She looks up at me and frowns at the memories. “Four years ago. He was at a music store, and he got shot there.”
My blood runs cold, and my shoulders sag. I turn my head, nearly giving myself whiplash, and glance at her with wide eyes.
Shit … no.
Hiding my shock seconds later, I act like everything is okay, but inside, I’m screaming.
“You said they didn’t catch the shooters?”
She scoffs and leans back on her hands. “Nope.”
There’s really nothing I can say to make her feel any better. I won’t say the cliché things everyone usually says when you lose a loved one. Little do they know, that doesn’t help the pain. It only makes it worse.
When I place my hand over hers, she almost flinches back when electricity sparks between us. When she curiously glances down at our joined hands, a small smile lifts her once-pouty mouth.
She’s so adorable. What I would do to kiss that smile.
Grief has a funny way of working. One day, you’re happy. The next, you’re tired. And the next thing you know, you’re furious with the world.
I don’t grieve over the death of my dad like Trinity is, but I grieve over me not knowing who he is anymore. He doesn’t give a shit about me. He only cares about the money I make. He doesn’t want to see me succeed because he’s proud of me and because he wants the best for me. He just wants to be the dad of the world-famous X3 band.
I’m sick of his shit. I’m sick that he won’t let my mom divorce him. I’m sick of this world. I just want to sing. I want to sing on that stage and know who I am to myself. I want to live a life without focusing on the negatives.
The more I talk to this girl, the more the idea of a quick fuck leaves my head. I want to cherish her. Get down on my knees and worship her. I want to tell her my actual identity and tell her how fucked up my life is.
But I can’t. I think I’m keeping a bigger secret from this girl than I initially thought.
FIFTEEN
TRINITY
