Page 97 of Tangled Ambition

We sat in silence, the robotic voice instructing me which route to take. It was while I slowed through the first toll that Taylor sighed. “I was home for winter break freshman year of college. Mom was out with one of her boyfriends or something. At this point, I don’t remember, but what I do remember is the sound of the glass smashing.”

I had no idea what she was talking about but reached over to lace my fingers with hers.

“Kennedy and I were going to have a movie musical marathon.” She breathed out a watery sigh, though I couldn’t see the emotion on her face in the dark of the car with only the occasional passing car. It was after nine o’clock, and this time of night, there weren’t a whole lot of cars headed toward the Pocono Mountains.

Another minute passed, and Taylor went on, “She used to be a big theater nerd. She was in all her school productions, but then she had her first seizure, and she didn’t want to do it anymore. She was afraid she’d have one onstage.”

“Kennedy’s epileptic?” I guessed.

Taylor rubbed her thumb over my knuckle. “She has juvenile myoclonic epilepsy. I found her that night in the kitchen, water everywhere and the glass smashed by her feet. There was blood, but I couldn’t tell where it was coming from, and for one moment, one horrible moment, I thought she was dead.”

With my own experience, I knew how terrified she must have been. “I’m sorry.”

She sniffed. “She’d ended up cutting her arm on the glass, and besides a few bumps and bruises, once she came to with the EMTs, she was fine. I was with her in the ER and then through all the tests at the hospital. By the time my mother arrived, the doctor had pretty much already diagnosed her.”

“That’s why you’re so protective of her.” It wasn’t a question, but she answered like it was.

“Yeah. I hated going back to school. I was worried about what would happen and came home almost every weekend. She had a really hard time in high school, rebelled a lot, like she didn’t care whether she lived or died, and my mother never set any boundaries, probably hoping it would keep Kennedy with her. Make her want to stay.”

When she sniffled again, I found a few tissues in the console and passed them to her.

“I worry about her all the time. I know she’s a grown woman and has matured a lot, but she still doesn’t make the best decisions.”

“So, you’ve never met this boyfriend?”

“No.” She thumped her head back against the seat. “All I know is that he’s a ski instructor named Jordan.”

“And that he’s a piece of shit,” I added.

“And he’s a piece of shit,” she repeated.

“When we get there, do not engage with him.” She started to argue, but I released her hand to curl mine around her neck. “You find your sister and get her out. I will take care of him. I don’t want either one of you even speaking to him, do you understand?”

She didn’t answer.

“I’m serious, Taylor. We have no idea what he’s capable of.”

“Okay,” she agreed eventually, and I stroked my thumb along her jaw.

“We’ll sort everything out. I’ll make sure she’s safe.”

CHAPTERTWENTY-SEVEN

Taylor

In the midst of my chaotic thoughts, I couldn’t believe that I had time to ogle Dean motherfucking Hargrove striding up to the little clapboard house. With his jaw working on his gum, hands in the pockets of his dark coat, and his legs eating up the sidewalk in black joggers, he looked like an avenging angel. I was two steps behind him when he banged the side of his fist on the door three times.

When I stepped up beside him, he eyed me. “Remember what I said.”

I nodded, and he raised his fist again. The door opened after the second hit, and Dean lowered his hand from where he had it frozen in midair.

“Jordan?” Dean asked the tall and dark-haired man.

“Yeah. Who are you?”

“We’re here to get Kennedy.”

Jordan, who had a few inches on Dean, puffed up his chest, filling the doorway. “Go away.”

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