QUINTEN SITS AT THE KITCHEN TABLE, DALIA across from us, both of them staring at me while I slurp off- brand Cinnamon Toast Crunch from my spoon.
I’m too busy zoning out to be of any use to anybody. None of us got much sleep; the person who threw a rock crashing into Dalia’s window at three in the morning ensured that today would put us in a zombie- like state.
Dalia has been freaked out ever since, even though I’ve tried to calm her down, and so did the cops who showed up shortly after to take a statement.
“There’s been a lot of burglaries in the neighborhood.”
“Probably just some kids.”
“We can file a report, but it won’t do much.”
None of that is why I can’t focus. Instead, it’s because I keep thinking about how Cade was finally at my window again last night and how instead of being grossed out, I was…comforted.
Like my world stopped spinning because his attention held me steady.
And how I think it may have been him who broke the window, but I didn’t tell the cops.
I’m demented.
What kind of person is half in love with their stalker?
The same type of person who lets a priest pin her against a wall and fuck her with his fingers, I guess.
Snap out of it, Amaya.
Dalia clears her throat and narrows her eyes at me. She insisted I tell Quinten we’re moving this morning. He was freaked out after what happened last night, and it’s a good chance for me to spin it in our favor.
He’s acting aloof, but I know better than anyone how Quinten likes to internalize. Must be a family trait. Still, there’s nothing I want to do less than tell Quinten about Parker and me. I sigh, tapping my nails on top of the table. “Hey, Quin?” He doesn’t look up.
“Quin,” I repeat.
Finally he snaps his head up, locking his innocent gaze on me.
“You know how when you were little, I used to read books about princesses moving into castles and knights turned into kings?”
He blinks at me.
My stomach squeezes.
“I found us a better place. Like a castle, with way more space and lots of room for you and all your toys.” “Lots of space,” he repeats.
I nod. “That’s right. You’ll get a brand-new bedroom too.
Would you like that?”
“Dalia gets a new bedroom too?” he asks, flicking his eyes to hers then back to me.
Sadness hits me right in the solar plexus.
Dalia cuts in. “Quin, I’m staying here so you can come hang out with me.”
His brows furrow and then he nods like he’s come to a conclusion. “I’ll stay here.”
I give him a watery smile. “No, baby boy. I want you to come with me. You remember Parker?”
I’m sure he does. They’ve only ever met a few times, when I couldn’t keep Parker at bay, but Quinten never forgets a thing.
He swings his gaze back to me.
“This will make me happy, and it will be fun! A new adventure.” I grin, trying to infuse as much optimism into my voice as possible. “How about next week?”
He’s silent for a few long, tense moments, and then I can see when the light bulb clicks on in his brain.
“Want to go to the new house next week with the new bed and line up your toys?” he says, kicking his legs against the legs of the chair.
Relief floods through me and I blow out a shaky breath. “That’s right, dude.”
And just like that, he goes back to his meal and his learning app, and I look at Dalia with a relieved grin. “See?” she says, smiling. “Was that so hard?” “Yes.” I cross my arms.
I can tell she’s relieved too. That went much better than expected.
Sighing, she chews on the corner of her lip, her eyes skittering around the room.
“Hey,” I say, leaning forward and covering her hand with mine. “You sure you’re okay to stay here? I mean…I can probably talk to Parker, get you set up in the hotel.”
“Parker’s already paying for me to stay here, Amaya. I’ll be fine.” She scoffs, rolling her eyes, but I see the wetness lining her lower lids. “What are you doing today?”
I shrug. “Taking Quin to school and then heading to Phillip’s studio, probably.”
“Have you told him you’re officially off the Chapel’s roster?”
“I don’t have to tell him. It’s not like I was his property,” I snap, defensive because the guilt makes me on edge. “It’s been weeks. I’m sure he gets the idea.”
She shakes her head. “Well, yeah, but it’s common decency, my dude. Let him know you’re done.”
Sighing, I pinch the bridge of my nose, squeezing my eyes tight. “I don’t want him to take the studio away from me.”
“Maybe he won’t.” She shrugs. “You could always pay him for it instead.”
I bite back the retort, knowing that Parker wouldn’t ever let that fly. I doubt he wants me there in the first place as it is, and I’m constantly worried he’s going to find out and strip the last little thing I have left that’s just for me.
“Maybe,” I mutter. “What about you? You got plans?”
She taps her leg. “Physical therapy.”
“Need a ride? I’ve got this fancy town car now.” I wiggle my brows.
She waves me off. “Nah, I can drive myself.”
“Suit yourself.” I plunk my spoon back into my bowl and stand, placing it in the sink and spinning back around, my hands in my back pockets. “Come on, Quin. Time for school, dude.”
Quinten jumps up from the table, and I help him the same way I always do, slipping on his hoodie, then his coat, his beanie, and finally his headphones.
He’s used to the town car now, so he follows me outside and slides right in, and I can’t help but notice how at ease he is with everything. There’s a type of comfort that comes along with having the same driver and the same car every single day, and until this moment, I’ve never recognized how that would affect Quinten positively. Routine is everything to him.
Satisfaction rushes through me, happy I can give him this.
After I drop him off, I have Barney, the driver, take me to the dance studio in Coddington Heights. I’m not sure if anyone is using it right now, and I’m even less sure about allowing one of Parker’s guys to take me there, but the need to carve out a little time to get out of my head and back in my body washes away the reservations.
Instead of focusing on that, I pick up my phone from my lap and dial my old boss Phillip’s number, relieved when his voicemail clicks on.
I hate confrontation; this is much easier.
“Hey Phil, it’s Esmeralda, er—Amaya. I’m just calling because, well…I’m making some life changes and so I won’t be able to dance at the Chapel anymore. I want you to know I truly appreciate everything you’ve done for me, and maybe I’m a little bitch for telling you this over voicemail, but I really, really appreciate you, and I don’t want you to try and talk me into staying. But… um…I hope you’re cool with letting me still use the dance studio, because I’m on my way there now actually, and I, well, yeah. I don’t know. Let me know if it’s a problem.” I pause, cringing over my word vomit. “I’ll see you around, I guess? Okay. Thanks.”
I hang up the phone, dragging my hand down my face when I go over everything I just said, realizing that I sound like a disaster.
But that’s what I am, I guess.
A wreck.
Two hours later and I’m sweaty and spent, feeling more like myself than I have in the past month.
Sweat drips from my brow and my muscles groan with every step, my chest heaving with sharp breaths.
I knew it before, but now I really know that I can’t give this up. I can’t lose myself, not completely.
And maybe that’s why Cade affects me the way he does, because he’s the only person in the world who puts all his attention on me just because I’m me. He’s the only other place besides the pole where I feel like myself.
I think back to the first night we met at the club, wondering if he knew who I was already then, if maybe he had followed me there. What if he had asked for a dance? If he hadn’t been a priest and I hadn’t been on edge from seeing Parker, what would have happened? Would he have let me dance for him?
Would I have liked it?
Or is this toxic, weird connection between us only made more intense because things played out exactly as they have?
Doesn’t matter now, I guess.
My phone rings and I pick it up, Dalia’s name flashing across the screen.
“What up, hoe?”
“Where are you?” Her voice is high- pitched. “Get home. Now. And call Parker. They found another body.”
