There’s a brief pause while Gracie continues reading, and then she snaps her eyes back to me.
“There’s a name,” she says, barely above a whisper.
My stomach flips, because even after what I’ve just said, the truth is, I don’t really know.Please don’t be my mom.She was a member at that time and clearly suffered mentally.
Gracie turns the laptop toward me. Every muscle locks as my gaze fixes on the text, and my mouth goes dry.
La’Kia Kane.
“Kane’s mother,” we say in unison.
We stare at the screen, the room spinning a little slower. I never questioned what put Kane’s mom in the facility. I was too busy learning how to keep mine from jumping out of a window. But now, it’s clear that they didn’t meet by chance. They’ve all known one another—Alex’s mom, Christina’s, and even Gracie’s.
And for two girls from the same elite circle to land in the same locked ward, it’s not a coincidence—it’s a pattern.
And as I try to wrap my mind around that, my phone vibrates in my hoodie pocket. I peel my eyes away from Gracie’s long enough to retrieve the device and stare down at the screen. What’s staring back sucks all the air from my lungs.
Unknown Number:Watch your back bitch.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
EVEREST (KANE)
My head is pounding. That’s what happens when you throw back half a bottle of whiskey like you need it for hydration.
Most of last night is a blur, bits and pieces flashing through my mind. Showing up at my father’s office. The liquor store. Banging down Sam’s door, drunk off my ass. Tasting Sam.
Marking her.
It’s all there, playing like the movie trailer for a night that went every way but right.
I had hoped I dreamed it. Prayed it was merely a figment of my imagination. There’s absolutely no way I allowed my emotions to get me so far into my head that I sought comfort in the one person I told myself to stay away from.
I went there for answers, only to leave with more questions. The photo I found in her room, the one now resting in my passenger seat, clawed at me all night. My mom’s face next to theirs, all lined up like they’re close friends, taunts me. And Sam didn’t help, tensing up the moment I saw it.
She’s up to something, and whatever it is has to do with my mother.
But what?
Could this picture be what has my father so riled up?
I need answers, and there is only one person I can trust to give them to me.
My tires screech as I whip into the parking space in front of the psychiatric facility. The car jolts, still in motion when I throw the door open and jump out. My shoes hit the pavement, and I’m on the move, not bothering to lock it. The air feels more stilted now, heavier and thicker than when I left the house. It’s as if the clouds are closing in around me.
Wyndmoor looms ahead. Even from the outside, it’s clinical and emotionless. Ironic given this is the very place one comes when emotions have begun to be too much.
Climbing the stairs, I fold the printed image and shove it into my back pocket before entering the building, cool air immediately hitting me. Approaching the front desk, I make eye contact with the nurse. She knows me by name at this point, so she doesn’t ask for my ID, and passes me the clipboard where I scribble my signature.
She takes it back from me. “She’s in the rec room today.”
I nod then round the corner and push through a set of doors. Voices bleed together, mixing with the clatter of board game pieces to my left, and the low hum of a daytime talk show on the right. The room is bright as if it’ll mask the gloom of this place.
A man in a checkered robe paces near the window, mouthing words I can’t hear, his fingers twitching. A woman rocks gently in the corner with her eyes fixed on something behind me. On the other end, two younger patients laugh over a game of Connect Four. Someone coughs in the distance, another hums, while someone else stares into space. They don’t acknowledge me as I pass. They never do. Always in a world of their own, and oftentimes I envy that.
I continue on until finally I spot her. She’s nestled at a tablein the center of the room, a game of solitaire splayed out before her, and from the looks of it, she’s winning. It takes a second before she notices me. Then she lifts her gaze and pins me with a smile. Mine forms without effort, much like it always does when I see her.
Her smile is contagious, and it always has been. Even with everything going on with her mental state, a bad day would hate to see her coming. The building could be on fire, and she’d find a way to calm those around her.
