Page 92 of Crossed
“Maybe,” I mutter. “What about you? You got plans?”
She taps her leg. “Physical therapy.”
“Need a ride? I’ve got this fancy town car now.” I wiggle my brows.
She waves me off. “Nah, I can drive myself.”
“Suit yourself.” I plunk my spoon back into my bowl and stand, placing it in the sink and spinning back around, my hands in my back pockets. “Come on, Quin. Time for school, dude.”
Quinten jumps up from the table, and I help him the same way I always do, slipping on his hoodie, then his coat, his beanie, and finally his headphones.
He’s used to the town car now, so he follows me outside and slides right in, and I can’t help but notice how at ease he is with everything. There’s a type of comfort that comes along with having the same driver and the same car every single day, and until this moment, I’ve never recognized how that would affect Quinten positively. Routine is everything to him.
Satisfaction rushes through me, happy I can give him this.
After I drop him off, I have Barney, the driver, take me to the dance studio in Coddington Heights. I’m not sure if anyone is using it right now, and I’m even less sure about allowing one of Parker’s guys to take me there, but the need to carve out a little time to get out of my head and back in my body washes away the reservations.
Instead of focusing on that, I pick up my phone from my lap and dial my old boss Phillip’s number, relieved when his voicemail clicks on.
I hate confrontation; this is much easier.
“Hey Phil, it’s Esmeralda, er—Amaya. I’m just calling because, well…I’m making some life changes and so I won’t be able to dance at the Chapel anymore. I want you to know I truly appreciate everything you’ve done for me, and maybe I’m a little bitch for telling you this over voicemail, but I really,reallyappreciate you, and I don’t want you to try and talk me into staying. But… um…I hope you’re cool with letting me still use the dance studio, because I’m on my way there now actually, and I, well, yeah. I don’t know. Let me know if it’s a problem.” I pause, cringing over my word vomit. “I’ll see you around, I guess? Okay. Thanks.”
I hang up the phone, dragging my hand down my face when I go over everything I just said, realizing that I sound like a disaster.
But that’s what I am, I guess.
A wreck.
Two hours later and I’m sweaty and spent, feeling more like myself than I have in the past month.
Sweat drips from my brow and my muscles groan with every step, my chest heaving with sharp breaths.
I knew it before, but now Ireallyknow that I can’t give this up. I can’t lose myself, not completely.
And maybe that’s why Cade affects me the way he does, because he’s the only person in the world who puts all his attention onmejust because I’m me. He’s the only other place besides the pole where I feel like myself.
I think back to the first night we met at the club, wondering if he knew who I was already then, if maybe he had followed me there.What if he had asked for a dance?If he hadn’t been a priest and I hadn’t been on edge from seeing Parker, what would have happened? Would he have let me dance for him?
Would I have liked it?
Or is this toxic, weird connection between us only made more intense because things played out exactly as they have?
Doesn’t matter now, I guess.
My phone rings and I pick it up, Dalia’s name flashing across the screen.
“What up, hoe?”
“Where are you?” Her voice is high- pitched. “Get home.Now. And call Parker. They found another body.”
Chapter36
Cade
THIS TIME, THE DEAD BODY HITS THE NEWS ALMOST immediately.
The Green Mountain Strangleris what the media has dubbed me, and their lack of creativity is almost insulting. I’m not even killing theminthe mountains.
