I hate funerals.
They remind me of her.
Of Sloane.
The way her mother wailed, refusing to let the cemetery workers lower her casket into the ground.
The way her sisters cried, silent tears rolling down their faces.
The way no one came.
She died alone.
Rejected.
Forgotten.
And no one gave a damn.
No one except the reporters.
News vans. Cameras. Journalists who had to be held back with police tape and ‘do not cross’ signs. Jackals feasting on our pain. Vultures with a carcass. Exploiting her even in death.
I look out over the grassy knoll where Cadence’s mother is being laid to rest. Before me is a meticulously well-maintained lawn, lavish tombstones and a garden where mourning family members can find a moment of solace among colorful blooms.
Sloane’s final resting place is nothing like this. Her body’s stuffed in a government plot with tombstones cracked and chipped away. Some even have graffiti on them. Surrounding her are impoverished shacks, signs of illegal squatting. Drugs run rampant. Daily murders feed a direct line to the graveyard.
There’s no peace there.
No garden.
Only weeds that grow rampant, feasting on the decaying bones that feed the soil.
Bile rises in my throat and the anger that lay dormant, the fury that simmers just beneath my skin, comes to a boil.
What happened to Sloane is unforgivable.
The one responsible was caught and is in jail now, but the blame belongs to more than just the man who wielded the knife. There are people walking around whose hands are stained in blood. People who have yet to receive their punishment.
I should be further along on my mission by now. The stalled investigation is my fault. I’ve gotten too immersed in my role as a teacher at Redwood Prep. I’ve started to care about the students.
Some of the kids are entitled jerks, as to be expected in a place as exclusive as Redwood. But there are many who, like Sloane, are just trying to find their way.
The scholarship kids, especially, have a place in my heart.
I want them to succeed.
I want them to soar.
I want to be the wall between them and the ugly truths that Sloane and I were forced to face at Redwood.
Between the chaos with Cadence and Mulliez, investigating the perp behind the fire, dodging my feelings for Zane—I’ve been busy.
With the wrong things.
All distractions.
Today’s funeral cracks the ice, peels back the layer of confusion and makes everything clear.
I’m not just a teacher at Redwood Prep.
My purpose goes much deeper.
Sloane is waiting for me to find the truth.
I clasp my hands together as the minister says a few words about heaven and resting in peace.
Viola, Cadence’s sister, lets out a little sob. The thirteen-year-old is wearing a black dress with a fluffy skirt and black heels. Cadence is wearing something a little more formal—an A-line black velvet dress and a small veil in front of her face.
Dutch, Zane, and Finn are all in matching suits.
It’s funny. A few days ago, they were wearing suits for Cadence and Dutch’s wedding.
Now, they’re in suits for her mother’s funeral.
After all the crazy things they’ve done, I can’t help feeling sorry for this group of friends. Losing a loved one—even if it’s someone who made plenty of mistakes—can rip your heart apart.
The minister drones on. “And I know Tina’s watching us from heaven, smiling and wishing she could give you a hug.”
Heaven?
Is Sloane there too?
I don’t think so. Sometimes, I feel like I can see her staring at me. Waiting for me to do what needs to be done before she can go home.
The minister closes his book. “May God have mercy on her soul.”
I almost laugh.
The God I know is not a God of mercy. If so, why allow Sloane to suffer? Why let the people responsible for her death flourish and move on without justice? Why leave me behind to live with the guilt and pain?
Soft murmurs reach my ears. I see the minister moving down the line of funeral attendants and shaking hands.
A blonde girl has her arm around Cadence’s waist and is saying something to her. On Cadence’s other side, Dutch is holding her hand and giving it a squeeze.
Behind them, Sol and Serena are standing a distance away. They both seem uncomfortable.
Zane and Finn look appropriately grim.
I sweep a curl behind my ear, studying Zane from the safety of the trees. It’s hard to see his eyes from this distance, but I know they must be glittering in the sun. A mixture of green, blue, and a snap of gold.
The jet-black suit along with his midnight-violet hair gives him an aura of danger. Knife-like. Sharp and cutting. It doesn’t help that his hair is pasted back, bringing my attention to high cheekbones and a jaw that could slice someone in half.
I hear leaves crunching behind me.
Stiffening, I turn and gasp in shock.
“Mr. Cross?”
“Miss Jamieson.” The superstar’s voice has a deep, husky quality.
The moment I hear it, I think of Zane. They both have similar timbres, but Zane’s is like a rough caress while Jarod Cross is like honey, smooth and seductive.
“Why are you hiding in the trees?” Jarod Cross asks.
My eyes dart from side to side. “Oh…”
“Shouldn’t you be down there?” He points past the secluded tree line to the funeral.
My mouth goes dry.
I intentionally stayed a distance away. This is my first funeral since Sloane, and I feared that the burial would stir up painful memories. I also didn’t want to be around Zane after that tense moment at the funeral parlor. The more walls I can put between us, the better.
“I didn’t want to interrupt,” I say finally.
“Mm.” Jarod Cross tilts his chin up, inhaling a breath.
I watch the way the light hits his face, a little fascinated by the shimmer to his appearance. Do all celebrities glow like that or is it just him?
Plus he’s one of the most handsome men I’ve ever seen. His hair is thick, his nose straight and his chin sharp and slightly roguish. Ink crowds every inch of the skin I can see.
His sex appeal is no surprise. In no time at all, he got mom to fall in love with him. And he’s the father to three of the most handsome seniors at Redwood Prep.
The three shiny apples don’t fall far from the shiny tree.
Jarod’s eyes catch on mine, two shadows that make the forest feel a little darker than it did before.
Unnerved, I glance away.
I don’t know much about the rockstar.
And I’ve always suspected that’s intentional.
He strikes me as a man who knows exactly what to show people at any given moment. In fairness, I’d be cautious too if I was a mega-star living under a microscope and being dissected by the public for years.
On the other hand, he could be hiding something.
If the reason is more insidious, I can’t tell.
And I wish I could.
His movements don’t make sense to me.
But I want to like him.
I want to believe the fairytale. That he saw my mother at a diner after playing a late concert. That he fell madly in love. That he couldn’t be without her and asked her to marry him.
Mom deserves to be a Cinderella for once.
I just wish this love didn’t feel like a delicate glass slipper, easily shattered at any moment.
More leaves crunch as Jarod Cross comes to stand beside me. He smells like the forest—fresh pine, sunshine, and something earthy. I bet I wouldn’t be able to find his cologne in a store. He strikes me as the type who’d have even his underwear custom-made.
“Did you know her?”
It takes me a second to realize he’s referring to Cadence’s mom.
“Uh, no.” I face the gravesite again.
Dutch has his arm looped around both Cadence and Viola now. The younger sister is leaning heavily into his side and shuffling as if it hurts to walk. Zane, Finn, Sol, Serena and the blonde girl trail behind in a grim procession.
“She was the mother of one of my students, so I figured I should pay my respects.”
He glances around. “No other teacher attended?”
“No.” Redwood Prep doesn’t have a track record of caring about scholarship students. I’m not surprised that I’m the only member of faculty that turned up.
Jarod surprises me by speaking again. His tone is carefully conversational.
Weird.
He’s never seemed like the friendly, chatty type.
“I’ve only been teaching at Redwood for a few weeks now, but it’s a hard job. I don’t think teachers get the credit they deserve these days.”
My lips curl up in a sad smile. “The kids have it hard too.”
“How so?”
“Kids these days have to grow up too fast. Their world is supposed to be safe, but it always falls apart before they’re ready.”
“The world does that often, doesn’t it?”
“What?” I glance at him.
“Fall apart.” He cocks a brow at me. “It’s a never-ending cycle of shattering and coming back together. Over and over again. Until you learn whatever lesson you’re supposed to learn or achieve whatever you’re supposed to achieve.”
“Like a fairytale,” I muse, my eyes sliding to Zane without any conscious thought. “The more you run, the bigger the dragon becomes.”
“Kids at Redwood would say you’re the dragon.”
“Do they?”
“Talk in the teacher’s lounge is that you’re hard on them.”
“I heard you’re the same.”
He shrugs. “Metal can only be bent when it’s beaten.”
“We’re long past the days when you could beat kids in classrooms, Mr. Cross.”
He chuckles.
I smile.
“I heard you don’t engage in school politics either,” he says.
“I’m trying to be the administration’s dragon. Wait until I start breathing fire.” I’m only half-joking.
But he laughs. It’s a rough, chalky sound.
“I should go.” He checks his watch. “I’ve taken a hiatus from my classes at Redwood to prepare for a tour. It’s sad that I won’t be able to see you in the hallway for the time being, Miss Jamieson. But at least I can see you for dinner.”
My smile is brittle. Those words are meaningless. I can count on one hand the times he’s been home to eat with mom.
The reminder of his neglect towards her brings me back to earth.
There’s something about Jarod Cross that makes you want to trust him. To earn his approval. To be his friend.
It makes it so easy to forget everything else.
But I don’t want to forget.
He turns to leave and I ask, “What were you doing here?”
He freezes.
“You never told me.”
For a moment, his face hardens. It’s so quick that, by the time I blink, the expression is gone.
“Same as you. I came to pay my respects.”
“From a distance?”
“I only have a couple minutes to spare. It would be rude of me to show my face for a short time only to disappear.” He smiles and there’s something a little sinister about it. As if we’re playing a game where he’s the only one who knows the rules. “Are you suspecting me of something, Grace?”
“Just asking.”
He checks his watch. “Tell your mother I’ll be home late.”
Tell her yourself.
The words are on the tip of my tongue, but they don’t spring free. “Sure.”
He hesitates. “Grace, I hope you won’t feel this awkward with me for long. You can call me any time. I might not be your father by blood, but I consider you a daughter just the same.”
I dip my head.
Jarod Cross leaves and my gaze wanders to the crew piling dirt on top of the casket.
An idea lights up my brain.
Whirling around, I dash after the rockstar.
“Jarod, wait!”
I find him just about to get into his town car.
Two mean-looking guys glower at me. One moves forward as if to keep me back.
With a slight wave from Jarod, the guy backs off.
“Actually, I do have a favor,” I say.
He waits.
“I need information about a Redwood Prep student who was brutally murdered six years ago. Do you know someone who can help me?”
