Page 189 of Fearless

Ava elbowed him. “What is it, Carter?” she asked.

He pulled something from the envelope – it was a large legal envelope, eight-and-a-half by eleven. What he handed to her was a photograph, a class of students arranged in kneeling, standing, chair-standing rows in the elementary school library, the teacher and para-pro framing the class one on either side. The children wore bright colors and straight-leg jeans: kids in the nineties.

“What is this?”

“My second grade class,” Carter said, stepping in closer and pointing to his seven-year-old self, tow-headed and adorable in elastic-waist Levi’s and striped t-shirt. “Your boyfriend came in the store today–”

“Ex-boyfriend,” Mercy said.

Carter nodded. “And Leah was there. She said his name was Ronnie Archer. I knew I knew that name.” His index finger shifted, moving to the upper right among the rows of students. “He was in my second grade class.”

Ava’s eyes flipped wide as she took note of the small, baby face of the little brunette boy Carter pointed out to her. Softer and rounder in youth, there was still no mistaking Ronnie’s face. She checked the bottom of the photo, the list of names, just to be sure. There it was: Ronnie Archer.

“How…?” She glanced helplessly at Carter, reeling.

He gave her a gentle non-smile. “We were part of the same circle of friends that year,” he explained. “Him, Beau, Mason and me. Ava…Ronnie is Mason’s cousin.”

Thirty-Seven

Carter stared down the entire club, and to his great credit, he didn’t shrink, or duck his head, or slump his shoulders. He stood straight and looked each of them in the eye in turn, his focus centering on Ghost, as it should.

“Explain it to me,” Ghost said. “Because I’m angry enough to rip heads off with my bare hands.”

Without blinking, Carter said, “Yes, sir,” and launched into it.

Ava didn’t listen, because she couldn’t bear to hear it again. Let’s play Six Degrees From Mason Stephens. How close are you? Closer than she ever would have thought possible.

According to Carter, the Archer family had lived in Tennessee up until Ronnie turned eight, at which time they’d moved to Georgia so Mr. Archer could take a profitable job. Ava, not a part of Ronnie’s first or second grade classes, had never met him, and Ronnie had never breathed a word about living in Knoxville before his family moved to Atlanta.

Why would he? He’d been hiding so much from her, after all.

She swallowed against another wave of nausea. The urge to be sick came and went, stronger each time, tugging harder at her stomach. She leaned forward and put her head between her knees, took a slow deep breath and let it out through trembling lips.

Ronnie was Mason’s cousin.

Mason’s cousin.

She’d dated Mason’s cousin.

Slept with mason’s cousin.

Brought him home with her, into her family’s house, into this clubhouse.

Hadn’t she had any idea? Carter had wanted to know.

No, because of the club, she’d never jumped on the Facebook bandwagon. She’d never asked Ronnie about his extended family – and it was extended. Mason Senior and Ronnie’s father, William, were first cousins, which made the boys…some kind of cousins.

Hadn’t Ronnie ever done anything to make her suspicious?

No, because she didn’t know enough about non-club men to know what counted as normal.

The shame was relentless, washing over her again and again. She wanted to take a shower until the top layer of her skin had been scrubbed away. Wanted to cut off all her hair, because Ronnie had touched it.

She was up out of her chair and moving toward the dorms before she could register thinking it. Only when she heard the heavy footfalls behind her did she realize she was halfway down the hall, and that Mercy had followed her.

When his big hand closed around her elbow, she tried in vain to jerk away from him.

“Don’t touch me.” Her voice was high, strained, wavering. She turned, trying to twist loose, pushing at his chest with both hands. “Mercy,don’t touch me.”

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