Being trustworthy hasn’t ever been my strong suit, I’ve come to realize. I’ve tried to listen, to follow directions, but the second my brain gets a little fuzzy, all rule following disappears. It doesn’t matter that the people giving me directions have my best interests at heart or may even hold my life in their hands. The buzz beats all common sense.
And I don’t want to live like that anymore. If the people who know me best in the world can’t trust me, then I’ve got a hell of a lot of work to do to fix it. And my meds are just the start.
My phone buzzes with Emma’s heads up, her promise to stall the elevator a blessing, so I make the quickest stop in the bathroom, then fold myself into the cabinet, my phone set to silent.
The hours are long in the cramped space, a stupid phone game barely keeping me from popping out to stop the boredom, but eventually, the apartment falls silent. But I’m good, and I stay in the cabinet, waiting another hour just in case.
I can be good. I can.
Finally, it’s been long enough for me to crack open the cabinet and slink out, my soft-soled shoes silent on the fake wood floors. Inching into the bedroom, I find the space just as dark as the living room, the only light from a white noise machine. Sprawled out, taking up the entire bed, lies Bryce, and it just adds another tally on theI-hate-this-man-and-don’t-understand-how-Clara-ever-put-up-with-him side of the ledger. I’d be lying if I said there were any tallies on the other side.
The man is scum.
Ignoring the sleeping slug, I crawl back to the closet and find the last pair of shoes.
This pair fights me, the glue holding the insole down built for the jungle. Frustrated, I yank as hard as I can, and the sole flies away from the shoe, wholly detaching with a sound like a foam-filled zipper. Bryce rolls, his eyes blinking open in the dark, and I stop breathing. I risk turning my newly darkened head just enough so I can see him out of the corner of my eye, hoping that the dark color hides me in the depths of his closet.
Clara had mentioned he was a light sleeper. Which is why I broke in during the day instead of at night. This way, the only chance of him hearing me was on the way out. Or at least, that was the plan.
I don’t move, and he doesn’t either.
For what seems like an eternity, I stay frozen, until finally, he groans and flops onto his other side.
I want to sigh in relief, but that’s a rookie mistake, so I keep still for another fifteen minutes, my legs cramping and my heart thundering, my diaphragm aching, before I finish stashing the tracker. Then, I army crawl out of his room, the pain in my torso the worst it’s been in weeks.
That sigh of relief doesn’t come until I’m standing in the icy night air, the door to the jackass’s car open in front of me, another Airtag tucked under the driver’s seat. Digging around, I find the burner phone, and with the tech RJ got me, I get that bad boy set up, so he has access to whatever communications Bryce is making there.
Practically giddy, I hop on a bus to bring me back across campus, my first actually useful move in this gig accomplished.
I’m going to be trustworthy, while still being one hell of a thief—starting right now.
Chapter 25
RJ
Now that I have access to the whole Westerhouse network, it seems less important to reach out to Mattie. Especially now that Clara has a phone.
Clara’s been careful with her texts, but it seemed safe to pass on her parents’ current address after she asked—a one-bedroom apartment closer to her mom’s brother, but much farther from her dad’s work.
That woman makes my blood boil. I’m glad she’s not in Clara’s life anymore. I’m still not sold on her dad either. How much of what made Clara vulnerable to the likes of Bryce could he have prevented if he’d just looked at his wife a little closer?
Clara left their house believing she wasn’t good enough as herself. And Bryce took that and twisted it, breaking her farther. At least now she’s found herself, no thanks to the people in her life before all this.
Despite the feeling of futility, when my Saturday alarm goes off this week, I message Mattie, feeling responsible for the girl, the same as I do my own sisters.
She responds almost immediately.
Hiya stalker!
After the last few weeks of stilted texts, it’s clear she’s in a good mood today.
If I were to stalk anyone, it wouldn’t be you. It’d be Clara. 100%
Ha. Way to take a girl down a peg, big-brother-in-law-guy.
I’m not marrying Trips.
But you’d marry Clara given half a chance, and she’s marrying my brother, so I figure that’s close enough.
