Page 18 of Games We Play (Thistle Cove 2)

He blinks, trying to process what I’ve just said.

“I have a bad feeling, Finn. I don’t know what it is, but I think there’s more to all of this than we know.” I swallow past the lump in my throat to say what I’ve been thinking for weeks now. “I have a hard time believing Rose killed herself."

His eyes lock with mine, and his jaw tenses. Opening this back up with him—it rips that bandage right back off, but I don’t have a choice. He runs his hand through his hair and surprises me by saying, “Yeah, I know.”

“You too?”

“Rose was a lot of things. A diva, a drama queen, a ball-busting hot mess, and obviously an enigma, but there’s one thing she wasn’t—a quitter.”

I exhale, feeling a huge sense of relief that he doesn’t think I’m crazy. “You’re right; she wasn’t. Rose wasn’t perfect, but she deserves better than this. I’m not going to quit before I find out the truth, either.”

Alone in my room that night I think about Thistle Cove and missing girls and why the town seems so quick to shut the door on them. It’s the kind of thing that feels pulled out of a novel—a gothic novel—like the Audrina Dollanganger books. I look across the room at my bookshelf, where I tucked the Eden book I’d stolen from Rose’s room. I walk over and pull it out, feeling the worn paper. These books weren’t new when we bought them. They’d originally been popular decades ago, before ebooks and tablets. Rose discovered them one day at Castle’s Used Books when we were looking for Stephen King novels. It was the cover and creepy illustrations that caught our eye. The bizarre description that made us pool our money together and buy a copy. We’d gone to Rose’s that night and sat in her bed, reading side by side. I read faster than her and would wait for her to finish the page, heart pounding, body tingling, with one eye on the door afraid that someone would come in and catch us doing something indescribably taboo.

I open the book and look at the illustration of Eden and her possessive, manipulative, abusive family. The keycard from the East Point Suites is nestled against the seam. Like when I was a kid, I glance around, making sure no one sees me with it. I know in my heart it leads to trouble—to the taboo—and I’m terrified to know what door it opens.

I’m not ready to find out what’s at the Ea

st Point Suites but I do feel ready to conquer one fear. Carrying the book, I cross the room to my bed and open the bedside table. I pull out the iPod and unplug it from the charger I keep inside. I have an irrational fear that if I let it die, maybe it won’t start back up again.

I crawl into bed, pull my covers over my legs and turn on the phone. The home screen pops up, dozens of notifications filling the screen. I wipe them away and click the app with a heart and the letters SB in the middle.

SugarBabies

I go straight to my profile, the photo of me in a dark, black wig and showing ample cleavage in a revealing bikini. My lips are painted a dark, sensual red. I have dozens of messages, some weeks old.

JJ: Your profile caught my eye. Beautiful and smart. I love that you’re interested in journalism and a big reader…

Mike: I’d love to hear more about your experiences with…

Avery: Has anyone ever told you that you look like a movie star…

Wayne: Red is my favorite color and it sure looks good on you…

Those are the good ones, the messages shower me in compliments, little feelers about what I’m interested in, where I live, what made them click on my profile. There’s a different kind of introduction as well.

Paul: I can already imagine what those lips would look like wrapped around my…

Randy: What size are you? I’m not interested in anything less than a double…

Mitch: Are you a virgin, because I’m looking specifically for a cherry to pop…

Ugh. Gross. I take a deep breath and exhale. Reading these is amusing, sad, and toxic. I can’t imagine being wrapped up in this lifestyle, in filtering out these kinds of offers. Rose is so much better than this. Why? Why was she involved in this?

I’m about to put the phone away and go take a shower, when I scroll past one more message. It’s from BD. I click on his profile, confirming it’s the last man Rose had spoken to before she went radio silent, before, presumably she jumped off that bridge.

BD: Eden. A place of pristine and abundant beauty? From your photo I imagine being with you is like entering the garden, a paradise on Earth. Tell me, what’s your idea of paradise?

My heart slams into my chest and I toss the iPod down on the bed, hopping out and pacing around the room. I’d put up this account in the hopes of luring him out. I intentionally made myself look similar to Rose. And here he is. Weeks after she’s gone, trolling—no, complimenting—another girl.

It’d worked.

What the fuck do I do now?

I stare down at the device for a long time, hands on my hips, trying to make a decision. Do I ignore it? Do I reply? Do I pretend none of this is happening?

Light shines outside my window and I look up, seeing Finn entering his bedroom. He looks my direction and smiles, giving me a little wave.

I told Finn I wasn’t going to quit looking for answers. This guy, this pervert, BD? He’s probably one of the few people that may have them.

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