Page 45 of Crushed By Love

She checks her computer. “Not yet. There are three ferries tomorrow, 9 in the morning, 1 in the afternoon, and 6 pm. That’s assuming you still want to go to Boston? If you want to go to New York City or Hyannis, we have trips tomorrow as well.”

Just the thought of going to another city without a plan makes me squirm. At least if I go to Boston, I’m where I’ll need to be for dorm move-in day. “My boss is supposed to pay for my ticket. If I come back tomorrow and she still hasn’t paid for it, do you think there will be availability for me to buy my own ticket?”

“The 1 o’clock ferry rarely sells out and we’ve still got plenty of availability for tomorrow. It’s the first and last ferries of the day that usually sell out.” She peers around me at the line of impatient people queued up and I have no choice but to tell her thanks and leave.

It’ll be fine. It’ll all work out . . .

I stand at the bus stop for twenty minutes, watching the ferry drift out to sea with a pit of serpents thrashing around in my belly. There’s nothing I can do about this right now, but at least I’ll have one more night where I don’t have to pay for other lodging.

By the time I’m wheeling my luggage back to the beach house, anger has its punishing grip on me.

This is not okay.

Malory knows I don’t have a lot of money. And quite frankly, she also knows that I came here from a foster care situation, that I don’t have people back home to help me, and that I’m fucking screwed. All that and she still lied to me about the ferry ticket? Why would she do something unnecessarily cruel like that? It doesn’t make any sense.

Eighteen

Istand on the driveway of the King’s estate, glaring up at it like it’s a monster I’ve come to slay.

I really, really don’t want to be here.

Maybe I should find a way to contact Conrad and bypass his wife altogether, but he’s the asshole who screwed me over on the repair bills to begin with. Would he really help? Doubtful. Look who he’s married to and look who he fathered. Hell, look at everything I’ve been through this summer. These people are billionaires and they couldn’t even treat me with human decency, so what makes me think they’re going to help me now?

Conrad said himself they weren’t in the business of charity.

My code probably stopped working the second I was supposed to be on that ferry and there are security cameras monitoring the front door and garage. Carrying my suitcase in my arms, I traipse across the side yard to my basement window. There aren’t cameras on this side of the house, which is just my luck because the last thing I need is a police escort out of here.

My bedroom window is unlocked because I left it unlocked this morning. At the time I’d thought I was being paranoid but something told me to make sure I had a place to sleep tonight. Thank God I listened to my intuition.

I slide open the window and climb down into the bedroom, then head to the utility room to turn the water back on. I’ll try Malory again a little while after I’ve had a chance to shower and decompress. Returning to the bedroom sanctuary I spent nine awful weeks in, I peel off my sweaty clothing and slip into the shower. The water heater has cooled considerably in the last few hours, but I find the cold water refreshing after my terrible day. I finish up and change into pajamas, then I go upstairs to get something to eat.

The thought strikes me that I’m about to steal food.

It’s accompanied by a cruel memory of being hungry as a child.

Sneaking in windows and stealing food isn’t what I want for myself but I don’t see any other options. Sometimes you have to break a few rules before life breaks you first.

When I was nine, one of my foster sisters taught me how to pick locks. The parents in that particular home kept all the food locked up and didn’t feed the two of us as much as they fed their biological kids. Rose would sneak to the pantry and carefully pick the locks, bringing back fruit snacks and granola bars—things the family didn’t keep close track of. Eventually I got brave enough to go with her and we managed to steal food nightly for an entire summer until we were caught. We were sent to different homes the next day and I never saw Rose again.

Wherever she is now, I hope she has plenty to eat.

Stomach growling, I pad into the massive kitchen pantry. Camilla removed all the perishables but there’s still a hoard of nonperishables lining the shelves, everything neatly organized, and everything organic. There are bags of rice and beans, cans of fruit and vegetables, all kinds of soups, and even a few different varieties of canned meat.

I highly doubt they’re going to eat these foods. Most of it will probably expire and get thrown away, only to be replaced with more.

I grab some peaches and bean chili and get to work.

Twenty minutes later, my stomach is satiated and the dishes are cleaned up. I know this house top to bottom, but I never got a chance to enjoy it. The sunset is fading and I don’t want to turn on any lights in case the neighbors know it’s supposed to be empty. They’re not close by, several acres of lawns, gardens, guest houses, and garages separate the homes out here, but they don’t have fences.

No, fences would block the views.

Besides, the neighborhood entrance is on a gated street. I could easily get my bike in and out, but cars are stopped by an attendant. An attendant who didn’t seem bothered when I strolled up with my suitcase from the bus stop. He’s used to my comings and goings.

One of the few things I loved doing this summer was sitting under the gazebo and gazing over the cliff’s edge at the coastline and the semi-private beach below. But I can’t do that now, because if I can see people, they can see me too. One measly light could land me in a world of trouble. The last thing I need is any more trouble with the Kings.

I’ll take care of the ferry ticket myself if I have to.

That night I dream of Boston.

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