There’s something more at work with Aspen and her family. Her sisters are probably innocent. Her mother? Guilty as fuck.
Of something.
Aspen’s snoring. Her head is on my lap, cheek smashed against my thigh. If she shifts again, which she keeps fucking doing, I’m going to poke her eye out with my hard-on.
We found my teammates and the rest of the CPU students who came on the fan bus at a local nightclub. It was, in a few words, fucking intense. The strobe lights were on full throttle, swinging across the gyrating bodies and painting the walls in color. The bars were packed, but Violet and Willow seemed to slip through to the front just fine.
They kept a filled glass in Aspen’s and Thalia’s hands just fine, too.
Greyson and I were supervising. Knox was dancing with Willow… and then someone else… and then Willow again. Not that she noticed. It took me a little while to spot Miles in the shadows, nursing a drink.
Thalia found Finch. Which, honestly, good for them. If they end up fucking, it’ll be just another thing to cement Aspen’s friend group to the hockey team. Finch isn’t a hit-it-and-quit-it sort of guy, and I get the sense that Thalia isn’t either. Not that Aspen isn’t already stuck with us… Being friends with Violet, especially. She’s not going anywhere.
Aspen sure as fuck isn’t going anywhere.
I grind my teeth again at the thought of my father’s idea. Having her committed to a mental institution for any length of time, on a one-time irrational act, seems extreme. Even for him. I wanted to break his trust in her, not destroy her life.
I run my fingers through her silky hair. I don’t know what she does to it, but I love the way it glides through my grip. It’s thick and dark and gives her green eyes an even more enchanting appearance. Especially when she tries to use them to guilt me into something.
Like dancing.
Dance, we did. It’ll be a long time before I forget the feel of her writhing against me in time to a deep beat. Fully clothed, oddly enough.
She murmurs something and rolls over. Her body contorts, and her shirt rides up to expose her back. Her nose presses into the crease of my thigh and hip.
Yeah, she’s definitely about to get poked in the eye.
I shift her onto her own pillow and cover her with the blanket, then resume my internet searching. Her name doesn’t bring up much—just some old recitals and concerts that were blurbed in one of Chicago’s smaller papers.
Her mom’s name doesn’t do it either.
I try just “Monroe, Chicago” and hit the search button.
Pages of results, with startling headlines.
Peter Monroe Arrested for Drug Smuggling into Canada. Then, Monroe Escapes on Bail from Detroit County Jail. And, Crime Lords Bargain with Authorities to Bring in Peter Monroe—to No Avail.
Who is this guy?
I click on the article about his arrest—but it turns out the case was dropped due to insufficient evidence. And when he escaped bail in Detroit, he was caught two days later. Similarly, the charges were dismissed.
This guy has been a nuisance for more than two decades. But there aren’t any articles more recent than five years ago. Does that mean he died? Dropped off the radar because he was picked up somewhere? Or maybe he went into hiding on purpose.
I try various search terms, trying his full name with Aspen’s, or her mother’s—Mari, Dad said, although it’s short for Marina.
Actually…
I glance down at Aspen again.
He didn’t say she was a Monroe. Although Aspen clearly took that last name because of her father. I think he said she was a Saldo?
Dakota and Lennox have the last name Saldo, too.
I guess their mother learned from her mistakes the first time. Is he even on their birth certificates? It wouldn’t help her with child support, but it would give her some distance from him in any custody battle. Unless he demanded a paternity test… but something tells me this guy won’t want any form of DNA on file.
Finally, a result comes up that includes Marina Saldo, Peter Monroe, and Aspen. It’s a tiny little blurb, just covering church activity. It’s included in a piece about the recent happenings of a church in one of the Chicago suburbs.
I scan it until their names pop up.
We extend our hearts and prayers to Aspen Monroe, who joined our One Sacred Church through baptism on Saturday morning. Aspen’s parents are Peter Monroe and Marina Saldo. Her godfather is Cillian Monroe. Welcome, Aspen!
There’s that name again. Cillian.
He called her.
Godfather… and uncle?
I bite the inside of my cheek and set my phone aside. I’ve got a million more questions, but I don’t think a simple Google search is going to bring up the kind of answers I need.
I’ll find a way to make Aspen tell me.
And if she won’t… I’ll find someone who will make her.
