Cross My Heart

  “I have to go,” I tell him, reaching for the power window button.

  “Whoa. Hold on a minute. You’re Blake Hanson’s girl, aren’t you?”

  “Was.”

  “I hadn’t heard. That’s too bad. You know, I remember your brothers,” Vince De Luca goes on. “What are they up to these days?”

  I clear my throat, swallowing hard. “Um, they’re still working with my dad. Daniel is getting married next month.”

  Vince laughs. “That’s awesome. Man, I miss them. They were some crazy sons of bitches.”

  I force a smile. “I’ll tell them you said hi.”

  “Yeah, you do that.”

  He steps away from the car, turning. “Hey, man! What’s going on?”

  “Not a whole lot,” a familiar voice replies. I jerk my head toward the sound.

  Outside the sky is veiled in thin, cottony clouds. The sunlight warms my cheeks and forehead and the tip of my nose. There’s a lift in the atmosphere when I spot him, and something stronger than butterflies beats erratically inside.

  I watch as Parker Whalen approaches, then does some weird boy handshake-hug with Vince. He eyes me carefully, intense. Anxious. And it’s so unlike anything I’ve ever seen before that it sends an irrational chill up my spine, leaving my skin tingling.

  This all seems so . . . wrong. So . . . planned. And it hits me.

  “I got what you needed,” Vince says, voice low, reaching inside the pocket of his jacket.

  No.

  I’m frozen where I sit, hands gripping the steering wheel, head spinning, the entire world blurring around the edges.

  No. No. No.

  A cold rush of adrenaline takes over. I knew Parker had a past. Everyone knew it. He admitted it. But he said he was done with it. He swore he didn’t do it anymore. Any of it.

  I feel my face tighten, trapped in a furious silence, a wave of resentment rolling down the entire length of my body.

  There’s an exchange, and I can’t decide if I want to yell at him or cry, punch him in the face or fall into his arms.

  He lied.

  He lied.

  To me.

  The only person willing to give him a real chance.

  I listened to him. I believed him. He let me fall in love with him.

  My heart smashes to pieces, shattering until all that’s left are fragments. Splinters.

  My hands clench tighter around the wheel, fingers aching, and I want to scream. To hit something. I close my eyes and inhale deeply, struggling to collect myself.

  “Here are my boys!” Vince says, heading in their direction.

  When I open my eyes I see Tony’s truck pulling into a space further down the row. Another basketball player is riding shotgun, and Blake is in the backseat, alone.

  Before I have a chance to react, Parker is there, at my door, kneeling. His eyes wide, intense. “You need to get out of here,” he warns, voice strangled. He glances over his shoulder, where Vince is speaking to Tony through the passenger’s side window of his pick-up.

  “What are you doing, Parker? I thought. . . . You swore. . . .” I choke on the words, the rest trapped at the back of my throat.

  Don’t cry.

  “I said a lot of things, Jade. But right now I need you to trust me, okay? You have to listen to me,” he demands. His voice, it’s not angry: it’s urgent. Frantic, even. And that’s when I realize I’m not supposed to be here. I’m not supposed to be witnessing any of this. I’m a liability.

  “What’s happening?” I whisper.

  “I can explain everything to you later, I swear. Just please do this for me. I need you out of here—fast.”

  “What do I do?” My voice, it doesn’t even sound like my own. It’s strained, saturated with fear.

  “You need to crank your car, back out of this parking space, and pull away like nothing is wrong. Do you hear me? Do not let him think anything is wrong.” I shift my eyes to Vince, struggling to focus on the instructions Parker is giving. “Make a right turn onto the street and wait for me at the gas station at the end of the block. Go. Now.”

  Hands cold and shaking, I twist the keys in the ignition, nodding. “Okay.”

  The engine roars to life.

  Parker rises, eyes trained on something in the distance. Instinctively, I turn toward the direction he’s staring. And I see it. Parked behind thick bushes at the edge of the neighborhood across the street. Mostly hidden, but visible enough to know. . . .

  A cop car.

  I swallow hard and reach for the gear shift.

  Someone curses, and in the next moment my car jolts, something hurled into it. The driver’s side is shadowed and Parker is there, blocking the window. I jerk my hand back, heart thrashing.

  “Let her out!” Vince demands.

  “No,” Parker replies, voice firm.

  “Step aside, or you’ll both regret it.”

  Parker doesn’t budge. Vince’s voice is calmer now. “Sweetheart? You might wanna tell your boyfriend to start listening.”

  “Parker?” I call, hesitating.

  “Stay inside the car,” he insists.

  “Open the door!” Vince screams. He drives something into the window. The glass shatters, crippling from the blow, raining onto me. I flinch, shielding my face with my arm.

  “This has nothing to do with her!” Parker says, a fresh wave of anger behind his words.

  “We’ll see about that.”

  He reaches through the broken window and lifts the lock. “Get out.”

  I reach for the door handle, fingers trembling, and pull.

  The door swings open, and Vince leans inside, his massive hand locking around my arm, squeezing it. He drags me out of the car and I fall onto the gritty pavement. Kicking. Wrenching. Working myself free. He grabs my ponytail and pulls, yanking it by the roots. I scream. My scalp stings, and the pain brings tears to my eyes.

  My purse falls onto the ground, its contents scattering.

  My lungs spasm, and I gasp, searching for fresh air.

  “Don’t move,” Vince whispers into my ear. He’s so close. His hot breath reeks of alcohol, medicinal and rotten. My stomach rolls, flipping over itself, like I’m going to vomit.

  Blake and Tony are out of the truck now, watching. Parker motions for them to stay away, then turns back to me. “Stop it, Vince,” he says.

  “Which one of you set me up?” he demands to know.

  Parker’s eyes meet mine, and they’re so dull, muted, but I can see the fear permeating them, even as he works to keep his voice level. “Come on. You had to know you’d get caught one day.”

  “She set me up!” Vince screams into my ear.

  “I set you up!” Parker shouts. “She has nothing to do with it, and this is only making it worse. Let her go. We’ll talk. We can work something out,” Parker tells him, eyeing me. “You have options.” There’s a thick edge to his voice, and for a moment I don’t even think he believes himself.

  “You were supposed to be my friend!”

  “I’m not anyone’s friend.”

  “I don’t believe you.” Vince squeezes, pulling my hair tighter, and suddenly my knees are buckling, and I’m falling, swirling, plunging forward. The bright, white paint of my freshly-washed car rushes toward my face. My head slams into the side, body jolting as we connect. A numbness washes over me as the metal crunches beneath my skull. And the pain begins, radiating in waves, moving from my forehead and scalp down my neck and spine, all the way to the nails on my toes. The entire world spins. Shimmering and black and beautiful.

  I collapse, knees weak. Someone is there, lifting me to my feet. But my strength is gone and I can’t stand. A sweaty arm wraps itself around my throat. Squeezing. Tighter. Tighter. Pressing against it. I wrap my fingers around it, digging my nails into the greasy skin. It doesn’t budge. I force my eyes open. Trying to focus. To breathe. I blink back tears.

  And I see him through the haze, the blur. Parker. Eyes hard. Angry. Gun pointed directly
at us. Blood—warm and sticky—oozes from my head, running down the side of my face and neck and Vince’s arm, staining my clothes. He tightens his arm around my neck. I don’t feel the pain anymore. I struggle to breathe. To satisfy my lungs. The world sparkles, glittering, enveloping me.

  Breathe.

  “Parker.” My lips move, but no sound comes out.

  “Let her go,” Parker demands. “It’s done, Vince. And I will not lose sleep over killing you.” He grips the gun steadily, aimed at the face of his target, unflinching, eyes narrowed. “Don’t make me.”

  “I dare you to try.” Vince pulls me directly in front of him, and in one, heart-stopping moment there’s a click, and a cold, hard piece of metal is jammed into my temple. Driving. I wince, head tilting, choking on nothing. Parker’s jaw tightens, face ashen.

  “How does it feel, man? Think I have it in me?” Vince laughs. It’s short, bitter, devoid of humor. “Guess what? I do.”

  I close my eyes tightly. Because I can’t breathe. Because there’s a gun to my head and he’s going to shoot. And I know that this is where I die. How I die. How we both die. Lying in a pool of blood like some kind of ghetto Romeo and Juliet. And I can’t help but think that neither of us should be here. Not Parker. Not me. This didn’t have to happen. We shouldn’t die. Not like this. And I think of my mom and my dad and Daniel and Phillip and Joshy and Sarah and Savannah and Blake and I wonder if I’m going to a place where I can see my grandpa and if Parker will be there and I’m not going to Harvard and somehow it doesn’t even matter anymore and I can’t breathe and its all disappearing and I feel like I’m slipping . . .

  And then, through the haze, there are cars. Squealing tires. Blinding lights. They’re so fast.

  And a voice from Heaven, raucous and garbled: “Drop your weapon!”

  Parker shouts something as they come in, not taking his eyes off me.

  Vince loosens his grip, startled by the chaos. It’s just enough for me to react, to make one last effort. And so I ram my heel into his shin, and, as he stumbles, slip beneath his arm, falling, crashing to the pavement, pressing my cheek deep into the gravel.

  A crackle of gunfire. My ears hum, ring. And everything is muffled. I open my mouth to scream, but I can’t tell if anything comes out. Another gunshot. And then there’s someone on top of me. More shots, but they’re muted. Far away. Like the entire world is covered in a thick, wooly blanket. And my lungs won’t fill even though I can breathe and I’m panting and coughing. I taste blood and gun powder. Sharp and metallic and acrid.

  Someone rolls me over and Parker is there. The fog crowds my vision. Sunlight blinding my eyes. His mouth is moving but I can’t understand what he’s saying. He’s searching, checking, lips forming the same words. Over and over and over again. Fingers wiping the blood off my face.

  The sound is slowly coming back. I close my eyes. There are new voices. But I’m underwater. Drowning. The pain pressing in on all sides. I hear Parker, voice shaking, violent and anxious, and my heart hurts listening to him.

  “Are you okay?” someone shouts.

  My eyes flutter open, and I see him. Mouth set with concern. Pulling off his leather jacket, and unstrapping . . . something. It snaps apart.

  “I’m fine!” Parker says. “Just give me your keys!” He pulls the black vest over his head, off his chest. There’s a tear in it. Frayed edges. It’s like . . . something. My eyes narrow, squinting.

  Nothing makes any sense anymore.

  I close my eyes.

  “Jade? Jaden can you hear me?” he asks. I open my mouth to speak, but my throat burns, flaming. I can’t.

  “You’re going to be fine, okay? You have to stay with me,” he urges.

  The voices grow louder. The ringing—the humming—the fog—it’s all dissipating, like I’m breaking the surface.

  In the next moment Parker’s arms wrap around me, lifting me off the ground. Carrying me. I move into him, burying my face in his neck.

  The world is coming back and I’m gasping for air, and I’m crying. I didn’t even realize. My shoulders heave. Coughing. Desperate.

  “I’m sorry. I am so sorry.” Parker speaks into my ear, over and over and over.

  He pulls open the door of a squad car and sets me down in the passenger’s seat. He moves my hair out of my face, and his bloody fingers wipe beneath my eyes. Smearing my hot tears.

  “Shit,” he mutters, examining my forehead. He pulls his shirt over his head, and I see the bruises again. The newest one. Violent and flowering across his stomach. He bunches up the fabric and presses it against my hairline. It stings, the searing pain ripping, spreading. I feel it everywhere.

  “Hold this.” I place my palm against it. It’s shaking. Unsteady. I shiver, freezing.

  Parker reaches around and buckles my seatbelt, fumbling, like he can’t move fast enough, face drained and dirty, and sweat beading along his brow. He keeps trying to swallow, forcing something back, and swipes at his eyes with the back of his hand. They’re glassy and wet, red around the rims.

  I lean back and close my eyes, head throbbing. Listening to the sirens blaring. The police scanner. Parker, speaking into the radio. Reports going back and forth. Arrests. Letters. Numbers. Codes I can’t even begin to process.

  I open my eyes and turn toward the window as we pull away. Tony, Blake—they’re both handcuffed. And Vince—lying by my car, edged in a puddle of blood.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  “I’ve never seen a patient so well-guarded,” the nurse says, smiling. I know she means well, but I struggle to find the humor in the dozen or so cops swarming the hallway outside my room. She wipes my forehead with antiseptic, and it stings.

  The room is cold and sterile. The hospital bed is hard and it makes squishy noises whenever I shift. Everything smells like hand soap and bleach and flowers.

  The nurse and the doctor on call worked quickly, cleaning the wound and stitching the laceration on my forehead closed. She’s re-bandaging the site when I hear it: heavy footsteps thudding against the tile floor. A loud, angry voice.

  “What the hell did you do to her?”

  The nurse pulls open the door. Three of the officers are holding Daniel back, and the others have moved in front of Parker, protecting him. If I had more energy, I’d roll my eyes. I should’ve known he would be the first to show up.

  “Daniel.”

  I don’t know how he hears me, but he shoves the cops aside. “Get out of my way.”

  “I’ll leave you alone for a minute,” the nurse says, heading into the hallway.

  “They’re going to arrest you,” I warn him as he closes the door.

  “Jaden, what happened to you?” he asks, eyeing my forehead. I’m thankful I’m cleaned up and in a hospital gown. Minus the bandage and a few scrapes, I look okay. I got a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror on the way in. My face and hair streaked with blood, my shirt stained a rusty brown. If he would’ve seen me like that. . . .

  “It was an accident. I stayed after school. For a meeting. It was some kind of set-up and I got in the way. It has nothing to do with him, I swear. He was just . . . doing his job.” I let out a frustrated sigh. “Are mom and dad coming?” I ask. The heart monitor bleeps beside me, and I fight the urge to yank off the plastic piece squeezing my index finger. It’s all so dramatic.

  “They’ll be here any minute.”

  “Can you do me a favor, then? Can you please relax and try to convey the idea that I’m okay and that it’s not Parker’s fault? I need to talk to him. And on your way, could you maybe act like you’re thankful he saved my life?”

  He exhales loudly, then turns to leave, pulling on the door.

  “She wants to see you,” he says. “I don’t know why. What I do know—and all of your little officer friends can hear this—is if you ever, ever, hurt my sister again, I will disfigure you so badly it’ll take weeks to identify what’s left.”

  “Daniel,” I mumble.

  He turns back to me. ?
??Sorry. That’s the best I can do.”

  He disappears down the hall and Parker enters, shutting the door behind him. Someone loaned him a clean t-shirt.

  “Are . . . you okay?” he asks, hesitating.

  I don’t answer. I don’t know.

  He takes a deep breath. “Look, Jaden, I am so, so sorry this happened.” He pauses, exhaling loudly. “No one was supposed to be at the school this afternoon. If I had any idea you were still there. . . . ”

  “First, I think I should thank you,” I tell him calmly. “You know, for saving me.”

  He runs his fingers through his hair, eyes aching and raw. “I didn’t save you,” he chokes. “It happened because of me. Every time I close my eyes I see. . . . And you have to know that I will never forgive myself . . .”

  “Still,” I interrupt, “it happened. And you’re obviously good at whatever it is you do, because it could’ve been worse. For both of us.”

  He exhales.

  “So. . . . Who are you?” I ask, gaze leveling.

  “Parker Whalen.”

  My eyebrow lifts. “Really?”

  “Yes.”

  “Parker Whalen. High school student?” I press.

  He clears his throat. “Officer Whalen, actually,” he says slowly. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his badge, handing it to me. The gold shimmers in the light, glittering. I run my fingers over the shield, the star in the middle. It’s heavy and cold and official.

  I set it down beside me. “What’s your story? What are you doing?”

  “I was on assignment. At your school.”

  “You were after my boyfriend.”

  “I know it looks that way, but it’s not like that, I swear. Until a couple of weeks ago I didn’t even know Blake knew Vince.”

  “You were undercover the whole time,” I say, shaking my head, trying to understand.

  “Yes.”

  “So . . . everything I know about you. It’s all . . . a lie.”

  He swallows hard. “Jaden, I know it seems that way. And yeah. I had a backstory. I had to. I couldn’t fall for you. And you have no idea how wretched I felt lying in bed at night trying to think up stories to tell you, knowing they weren’t even true. All those things I said. . . . I didn’t have any other choice. But you know me, Jade. You do. Deep down I’m the same guy. I love the zoo. And Sun Chips. And I think Mr. Darcy is a pretentious . . .”