Page 38 of The Good Girl

“And you served five years for this? Five years that were your brother’s to serve? That’s crazy!” I shout, unable to hold back my outrage. His lips twitch at my reaction as he waits for me to calm down.

“I’m sorry. Go on,” I say, trying to rein in my anger.

“No worries, Cupcake. Anyway, he would’ve served way more time. It was my first offense. And Khan—the president—he said he needed my brother for some big deal. He straight-up told me that if I didn’t take the fall, I’d be kicked out of the club in bad standing, and every other club out there would turn their backs on me. It sounds stupid now, but this is the only life I’ve ever known. My father was a biker, and his father before him. It’s a legacy I wanted to continue with my own kids. But instead, I ended up with a criminal record and an ex-old lady.”

“I’m so sorry, Havoc… And I thought my family was messed up.”

“I guess my family makes yours look tame, huh?” He chuckles, but I just shift uncomfortably.

He doesn’t miss a thing, his face turning serious. “Or not. Talk to me, baby.”

I close my eyes and let out a tired sigh. “It’s not like it’s a secret. Most of the guys at the club already know.”

I start picking at the label on the water bottle, avoiding his gaze. “When I was ten, my twin sister was kidnapped from our front yard.”

He curses, but I keep my eyes on the label I’m peeling.

“The only suspect was a man called Alan Ellwick, a pedophile who we found out lived nearby. He was killed when the police tried to question him. Apparently, he panicked and pulled a gun, forcing officers to open fire.”

“Suicide by cop?”

I shrug. “He was wanted for questioning in another case, too, apparently, so maybe he knew he wasn’t walking away this time. I don’t know. What I do know is he died, taking all the answers with him. There was nothing for a couple of years. No body, no new witnesses or suspects, and not a single sighting. It’s like she just vanished, and we had no choice but to exist withouther in this awful state of limbo. Then, out of the blue, someone confessed.”

I swallow hard, remembering the wild mix of emotions back then–relief, anger, hope, rage. “His name was Newton Helms. He was serving a four-year sentence for vehicular manslaughter. I thought it was finally over, but he was stabbed and killed inside before police could look into it.”

“Did they think it was him?”

“Honestly, I don’t know. He had no priors involving kids or violence, but there is always a first time. I tried to find some kind of peace with it all. If he was guilty, then at least his death meant he couldn’t hurt any more little girls. Of course, I told myself the same about Alan.”

He reaches over and slides his hand over my thigh, giving it a light squeeze.

“I know it’s not much, but at least you can draw comfort from the fact they’re both dead and likely rotting in hell.”

“John Cyrus, Michael Perkins, Alfonso Ramiro, Daniel Waterman.”

He frowns at me. “I don’t know who they are Cupcake.”

“Neither do I, but they all confessed to kidnapping my sister too. Each of them claiming to do unspeakable things to her. Police realized it was some kind of fucked up competition between inmates at various prisons. Nobody knows how they were communicating with each other. No letters or emails were found.” I sigh, wondering, not for the first time what makes these animals the way they are.

“In the end people stopped listening to these random confessions and they eventually tapered off. By then the damage was done. My mom just couldn’t handle it anymore and slit her wrists. And my dad... well, he couldn't look at me without seeing my sister. He couldn’t stand to be near me, but he couldn't let me go either. He was stuck in the past, and I was stuck with him.”

“Sounds like we were both in prison. I’m so fucking sorry, baby.”

I give him a sad smile before looking back down at my hands. “Part of that’s my fault. I gave in because it was easier than fighting with him. He had been through so much. I thought if I could make him happy, maybe he’d go back to being the dad I remembered—the one who loved me, not the one who just tolerated and resented me.” A tear slips down my cheek, and I wipe it away.

“You know what’s funny, though? People think you should just get over losing someone. That you’re supposed to move on, live the life they couldn’t, or some crap. What they don’t understand is that the pain never goes away. It’s always there, a living, breathing thing. You don’t get over it—you learn to live with it. You adjust, but you’re never the same. You walk with the ghost of your past beside you.”

I turn to look at him, surprised to see the look on his face. It’s like my pain physically hurts him.

“If I could take it away?—”

“I wouldn’t let you. The pain reminds me to breathe and that she was real. And even if every breath I take hurts without her, it’s one more breath than she’ll ever take.”

He pushes his chair back and pulls me into his lap, wrapping his arms tightly around me. For a second, I’m not sure what to do. When was the last time someone held me? Amity does, sure, but it’s not the same.

“I’m not sure why I told you all of that. Amity is the only person who knows it all. When people ask, we usually give them the simplified version––the pedophile was the main suspect and the cops killed him––end of story. The reality though, is there are so many loose threads that my whole life is just a tangled web of knots I stand no chance of unraveling.”

“Thank you for telling me.” He murmurs against the top of my head.

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