Page 47 of Never Broken

And Option A still didn’t have a chance.

The worst part was, once I got home, I had no time left to freak out about it. Ten minutes at most. If I waited any longer, he’d be ordered upstairs to do some thankless task, and I’d miss my chance, maybe forever. All I could do was hope my legs held out as I forced them to carry me out the access door, down the path of lava rocks, behind an artfully placed clutch of palo verdes, to another, smaller door that opened to reveal the top of a narrow staircase, where I paused. I already felt utterlydisrobed under the lurid yellow fluorescent light and its passive-aggressive buzzing that was nevertheless not loud enough to drown out the hammering of my heart and the churning of my insides as I descended, trying to keep my footsteps light.

At the bottom was an empty corridor. And at the end, more cinder block, more fluorescence, and another door—thedoor, probably. I glanced at the walls, suddenly fearing danger. Security cameras? Microphones? Or maybe a two-way mirror, or a curtain allowing my second-grade teacher to jump out and announce she was hereby revoking that “Excellent conduct” score I’d earned on my report card all those years ago? I knew it was ridiculous, but?—

“Lost?”

I jumped. He stood right there in the doorway at the end of the hall, arms crossed. He looked better rested and was wearing a shirt I hadn’t seen before, a soft aqua blue one that somehow fit him perfectly; it hugged his torso and even under the harsh lights, seemed to turn his eyes and hair to liquid gold, a glittering treasure submerged in a coral reef.

A few mangled erasers were a small price to pay.

I couldn’t see much of what was in the room behind him. More cinderblock: what a surprise. Also: a few narrow metal bunks, the threadbare sofa that used to be in our media room and that I thought my parents had thrown out years ago, and light struggling to spill through a single high window in the corner.

So this was it. His everyday reality. For some reason, I felt grateful that he was letting me into it, even though technically, I could have come down here years ago, at any time. Yeah, it was supposed to be off-limits, but it wasmyhouse, for God’s sake.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“About what?”

“About this.” I gestured lamely to the dismal space. “Believe it or not, I had no idea.”

He seemed confused. “Are you kidding me? I mean, there’s a window. And asofa. Trust me, the place is a palace.”

“I really don’t want to know what you’re comparing it to.”

“No, you don’t,” he said, even though he must have known that actually I did. “Come,” he said, and for one absurd second, I actually thought he mighttake my hand.

He didn’t, though, just beckoned me around another corner, where we found ourselves in an alcove made of yet more cinderblocks, plus the bonus of a dingy area rug, a dented metal stool lying on its side, and a broken bookshelf stuffed with old cookbooks and dated encyclopedias. Down the hall, another door was ajar, and I could just see more bunks, one with a handmade quilt—the women’s quarters, I could only assume.

“Sorry I can’t offer you a drink,” he said, raking his hand through his thick golden strands as he followed my gaze. “Or a chair.” He turned around and offered me a sheepish half-smile. As if I would ever criticizethisview.

I glanced behind me. “Should we be?—”

“It’s okay,” he assured me. “They’re all busy. You should see the housekeeper’s to-do list for today. ReadingAdvanced Quantum Mechanicswas less scary. Nobody will be down here for hours. Oh, and there’s no security camera. Not in this spot.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a thin wire. “And not as of this week. Anyway.” With that one word, his easy confidence melted away, replaced by that hesitance when he’d called back to me in the pantry. “I just wanted you to know that my sis—Maeve’s—messages were on that phone.”

So he’d spoken to her. I knew, now. I knew why he’d given me the indescribable look he had when I’d walked in, like he was seeing something in me I’d never even seen in myself. That look he was almost giving me again, now.

“I don’t know how you did it, or what you had to do.”

I closed my eyes, trying not to think about what I’d had to do, or what I’d heard between him and the gardener, or whether any of it should, or did, involve me. It all could wait.

“But you were amazing.”

I popped my eyes open. “Wait.Iwas amazing?”

“Are,” he clarified. “Are amazing.”

For the first time in twelve hours, I genuinely smiled. “Is … is this a thank you?”

“A really, really incredibly shit one, but yes, it is,” he said, rushing ahead. “Also, I, um—I’m sorry.”

“Youdon’t need to apologize!”

“Yeah, I do.” He kept running his hand through his hair. It was a nervous habit of his I’d noticed right from the start, one he would probably never admit to having. But I’d never seen him do itthismany times in a row. “And I’m completely fucking it up, too. I guess because I—we—don’t do this very often. Not for real.”

“What do you mean?”

“So sorry, sir, thank you, sir, please don’t beat the shit out of me, sir.It sort of loses all meaning after a while.”

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