The Secrets We Carry Page 4

  I restlessly tap my fingers against the side of my phone until I calm myself down. Then I lean against my headboard and send Ari a message .

  Me: Hey! I need a favor. Can you get me a list of all the Maci’s that go to our school ?

  In typical Ari form, he doesn’t respond right away. Not that he’s flaky. Ari just isn’t the type of person who carries his phone around with him twenty-four seven, waiting for texts to roll in .

  I used to be one of those people, the kind who responded within seconds, who thought my social life was everything. Now I ignore messages most of the time, just wanting to be left alone .

  To kill time, I take a few more hits and try to take a power nap, even though I loathe closing my eyes. But I need to catch some z’s .

  Rolling over, I kick off my boots, rest my head on my pillow, and shut my eyes. But every noise, every tick of the clock, the neighbor’s dog barking, a scratching noise that’s coming from God knows what throbs against my brain. The images come next. The sharp fragments of that night .

  Music surrounds me, along with laughter and chatter. The lights are so bright. So blinding. So dizzy .

  Or maybe I’m dizzy .

  Why does it feel like my head’s spinning ?

  Hands settle around my waist, fingers digging into the sliver of skin between the bottom of my shirt and the waistband of my name brand jeans .

  “You okay?” a guy whispers in my ear .

  His voice sounds familiar, but through my hazy brain, I can’t put a face or a name to it. Maybe Travis? But his scent doesn’t match Travis’s .

  Where did Travis go anyway? Why am I here—wherever here is—alone ?

  My head bobbles back, and I squint against the lights as I try to get a good look at him. “I’m … not … sure …”

  His face is a blur, but his toothy smile stands out against the flashing lights above. Or maybe it’s the stars. I’m not even certain anymore if I’m outside or in .

  Did I drink that much ?

  When I shake my head, the blurriness amplifies, my surroundings shifting into a giant blur of bright lights that sting my eyes .

  “Come on; let’s go get this started.” The guy loops an arm around my waist .

  Even though I have no desire to, I lean into him, unable to hold up my own weight. “Where … are we … going ?”

  “Somewhere fun.” He drifts his fingers downward from my hip, winding around and cupping my ass. “Fun for me anyway .”

  Chills break across my skin as my stomach ravels in nauseating knots .

  “No …” I lift my hands to shove him away, but they remain limp at my side .

  His lips touch my ear. “Try all you want, Wynter, but you aren’t getting out of this .”

  Tears prickle in my eyes, blurring my vision even more. “Why?” I manage to get out .

  His laughter is hollow and sends a chill down my spine. “Because you’re Wynter Porterrsen, Walter Porterrsen’s only child .”

  My stomach clenches, the alcohol I drank earlier threatening to come up. I may not understand everything my father does for his job, but he does do some sketchy stuff with a lot of terrifying, powerful people. If this guy is after my dad and is using me to get to him …

  I swallow back the vomit. “Who … are … you ?”

  His breath smells like stale beer as he breathes against my cheek. “The guy who’s about to destroy you. You can thank your daddy for that.” He kisses my lips. Vomit burns at the back of my throat. “Make sure to pass that message along to him. Make sure he understands what happens when he double- crosses us .”

  I open my mouth to scream, but no sound passes from my lips .

  I’ve lost my voice. I can’t speak. This guy, he took away my ability to use my voice —

  My eyes pop open, and I let out a blood-curdling scream. Thank God I don’t live in an apartment anymore or my townhome. However, the nice, two-story homes that make up the neighborhood I live in are rather close. Hopefully none of my neighbors heard my scream and decided to call the police. Not that I’m worried I’ll get into trouble. I just worry that, at the sight of a uniformed officer, I may crumble and tell them about what happened that awful fucking night. And then what? The guys who hurt me will make good on their threat and come after me, along with everyone I love .

  What if it doesn’t go down that way? What if the police come through and actually arrest them ?

  That thought crosses my mind a lot. Sometimes I can almost convince myself that maybe it could be possible. That Travis and his hotshot friends will get in trouble for what they did to me .

  To remind myself of how this town works, I grab my phone, open the internet app, and type in “Fairs Hollow” along with “Marilellie.” The first handful of pages that pop up are articles beaming of Travis’s family and their business, and then of Travis and his sibling’s achievements. His dad, Jack, is the current mayor, the family donates to charities all the time, and the kids in the family have won more awards and done more public good deeds than most of the families in this town all put together .

  And that’s just the start of why I fear going against Travis and his friends .

  Tapping to the next section of results, I skim-read the titles of the articles declaring how many times the Marilellies have been accused of a crime, some of which are very similar to mine, only to somehow turn the situation around so the victim gets accused of lying or of breaking the law. In the end, the Marilellies come out looking better than they did going in, whereas the victim usually ends up either in jail or ridiculed by the town .

  “I hate fucking small towns and their stupid politics,” I grumble as I clear my search history, toss my phone onto my bed, and reach for my bowl, deciding it’s time to let Mary Jane ease away my pain .

  I take a hit, the smoke saturating my lungs. Then I sit back and wait for the drugs to take over, to calm me, to take away my racing thoughts, but a few manage to snake through the hazy smoke .

  “They won’t do anything,” my father told me the night I told him what happened to me. “In fact, if you go to the police, more than likely Jack Marilellies will find a way to get you arrested .”

  “But I haven’t done anything!” I sob, the fresh wounds on my back aching along with my withering soul. “I’m the victim here .”

  “No one’s a victim, Wynter,” he said with a drop of remorse. “Everyone has done something bad in their lives and anyone who says differently is a liar .”

  Tears sprung from my eyes as he practically called me a liar, as if he was accusing me of lying about what happened to me .

  “I’m not a liar,” I whispered as tears streamed down my eyes. “And the only reason this happened … was because of you. What did you do to these people, Daddy ?”

  He didn’t even so much as flinch .

  Didn’t react .

  Didn’t care .

  The scars on my back throb, reminding me that they exist. That I’m not a liar. That my dad is wrong. That that night did happen. That those guys broke me to get back at my father .

  Sometimes, I fucking hate him .

  Hate or not, my dad may not be wrong about me having done bad things. Or, at least he won’t be in the future once I get my revenge .

  Revenge. Revenge. Revenge. My pulse pounds, red hot anger scorching through me so potently I nearly go blind. My fingers curl inward as I imagine what it’d be like to hurt the guys who hurt me, the anger consuming me, blinding me —

  Ding . A text message pings, startling me so badly I drop my phone .

  Ari: There are only two Maci’s in Fairs Hollow, one of which is a forty-year-old woman who lives over on the east side of town, and the other goes to the university. I’m assuming she’s the one you’re looking for. She’s a sophomore and her last name is Princingten. She lives in the Farris Hallow Subdivision in the east condos .

  Her last name rings a bell, but I don’t think I’ve ever met her. That may complicate getting her to believe me. Still, I have to tr
y .

  Me: Thanks, Ari. You’re the best . :)

  Ari: Anytime. Just glad I can help. If you need anything else at all from me, please let me know. We haven’t hung out in a while and I really miss you. I hope you know that .

  His words make me feel a bit sad. I wish I could be the old Wynter for him, the bubbly girl who loved to hang out and party, but just thinking about socializing like that, of trying to have fun makes me feel sick .

  Me: Thanks. I miss you , too .

  I wish I could say more—I really do—yet I can’t bring myself to do so .

  Pushing down my guilt, I sit up and lower my feet to the floor as I debate the best way to get ahold of Maci. I could just send a simple text, but that’s so impersonal. No, if I want her to take me seriously, I need to see her face-to-face. I just hope she’ll listen to me .

  Six

  Wynter

  I clean up a little bit before I drive over to Maci’s, combing my hair and reapplying some eyeliner. Deep down, I know this might go over better if I dressed up in my old clothes, considering her address is located on the more lavish side of town. The problem is, I gave my old clothes to the homeless shelter. The lady in charge looked utterly confused when I handed over bags full of designer clothing, yet she gladly accepted the donations .

  I guess I could run to the store and buy a new outfit. I’m not broke by any means, having received trust fund money from my grandma last year. I bought my house and a car with some of it and have been living off the rest while I work my way through school. Once I get my bachelor’s degree in business, I plan on attending design school so I can open my own clothing company. Or, at least I used to want to do that. Now I hardly think about my future. My past is too consuming .

  Revenge. Revenge. Revenge. The word is a chant in my mind as I grab my car keys and head out the door, deciding to skip a trip to the store to avoid wasting time .

  My heart is a nervous mess as I drive the short distance to Maci’s condo then make my way up the landscaped path toward her front door. The sun is lowering behind the mountains, the sky greying, the stars rising to shine in the night sky. The air is a bit chilly for spring, and I shiver as I lift my hand to ring the doorbell .

  From inside my pocket, my phone buzzes. I ignore it as the door swings open .

  I try not to cringe at the sight of Maci. Long blonde hair, a black dress that I can easily recognize the designer, and heels to match. She’s practically the spitting image of me. Or, well, the old me. And the old me would definitely have a difficult time believing what I’m about to say .

  Lovely. This is going to be a pain in the ass .

  I at least have to try .

  A pucker forms at Maci’s brow as she eyes me over. “Can I help you ?”

  I shift my weight. “Are you Maci ?”

  “Um, yeah …” She blinks at me, looking lost. “Who are you ?”

  “I’m Stella Anderbellinton,” I give her a fake name .

  Recognition strikes her features. How, I have no idea since I didn’t even give her my real name. “I think I’ve seen you at the country club a couple times .”

  I struggle not to make a face. I hate the country club. Always have. The sole reason of its existence is to give the rich and famous a place to hang out and throw parties where they don’t have to interact with the middle- and lower-class citizens .

  Before I turned eighteen, my parents would sometimes force me to go with them. I despised every second of it .

  “Yeah, I think we have seen each other,” I lie with a fake smile .

  She smiles back. “It’s a great place, right ?”

  My smile turns even more plastic . “Sure .”

  Awkward silence stretches, so I decide to get right to the point .

  “Look,” I start, “I know this is going to sound a little strange, but I overheard you might be going to a party with Travis Marilellie — ”

  “Oh, my God, please don’t tell me you’re, like, one of those girls obsessed with him.” She groans, her head bobbing back. “Seriously, this is getting ridiculous .”

  “I’m not obsessed with him,” I protest with irritation. “Not even close.” No, I’m just obsessed with getting revenge on him .

  “Yeah, right.” She rolls her eyes. “What exactly did you expect to happen when you came here? That you could just show up at my door and scare me into not going out with him ?”

  “That’s not even close to why I’m here.” Good hell, was I this stupid? “I came to warn you about him .”

  Annoyance flickers in her eyes. “Of course you did .”

  Anger simmers underneath my skin. “I’m not a stalker. I’m being serious. Travis is bad news and so are his friends. And if you go to this party with him on Friday night, you might get hurt .”

  “Hurt by him or you?” she challenges with an arch of her brow .

  “By him,” I grit through my teeth .

  “Okay, well, thanks for the warning.” She moves to shut the door .

  I slam my palm against it, stopping her. “You don’t believe me ?”

  “Why would I?” she sneers. “I’ve known Travis for a couple years and I’ve known you for like what, a total of three minutes ?”

  “And during those years, you’ve never seen or heard anything that’d lead you to believe him or one of his friends may have harmed or hurt someone ?”

  She hesitates for a heartbeat of an instant. “No, Travis is a good guy.” She straightens her stance, running her hands over her head to smooth her hair into place. “You need to leave before I call the cops. Or before Travis gets here and finds out what you’re up to .”

  Fear freezes me in place. “Travis is coming here right now ?”

  She elevates her chin. “Yep. He’s taking me out tonight .”

  “What about the party on Friday?” Did Travis change his plans ?

  “We’re going to that, too.” She rests an arm on the side of the door with an arrogant smile. “We’ve actually been on and off for quite a while, but we’ve been talking about becoming exclusive for months now, so back off, okay? He’s not even going to be available anymore .”

  “So, were you on or off when the frat held their annual party?” My voice trembles .

  “I was actually in Paris with my family.” She frowns confusedly . “Why ?”

  I swallow hard. “Let’s just say I heard a rumor that a couple girls were hurt at the party and that Travis and his friends were behind it … And I’ve heard it might not have been the first time they’ve done it.” My heart is thrashing, begging for the rope around my chest to alleviate the pressure, begging for the end of my pipe to kiss my lips .

  Please, please, just believe me. Because this isn’t only about getting revenge. It’s about making sure Maci doesn’t go through what I did .

  Her face pales, and for the most relieved instant, I think she might believe me. Then her worry alters into anger .

  “You need to leave,” she snaps. “Don’t ever talk to me again. And stop spreading lies about Travis.” She slams the door in my face, leaving me speechless .

  “Fuck,” I grit out, my hands balled into fists. “Why doesn’t anyone believe me ?”

  What am I going to do? What if something happens to Maci ?

  Oxygen slowly starts to slip away from my lungs as the rope around my chest tightens and tightens and tightens. I stare at the door, contemplating knocking again and demanding she hear me out. Maybe I will even tell her how I know Travis and his friends hurt a girl that night .

  “Don’t you dare fucking tell anyone about this,” he whispers in my ear. “You’ll regret it if you do .”

  I scream through my clenched teeth, causing an older woman who’s collecting her mail across the street to stare at me in horror. Sucking in a breath, I stomp down the stairs and back to my car parked across the street .

  I’m about to duck into my car when a Mercedes appears at the end of the street. Not too unordinary of a car for this neighborhood, but t
he frosted bell silver color definitely is. I spent over an hour listening to Travis tell me about the custom paint job he got on his car .

  “Frosted bell silver isn’t even a color they use normally.” He grinned so proudly, as if he made the damn car himself. “They created the color just for me .”

  I was bored to death while listening to the story, yet I faked interest because that’s what I did .

  Fake .

  Fake .

  Fake .

  I was plastic .

  Travis is plastic .

  His friends are plastic .

  This stupid town is plastic .

  That fucker is going down .

  I duck into the driver’s side, shut the door, and start up the engine. Then I drive forward before parking a ways up the street, hoping he doesn’t recognize my car. He’s never seen me near it, not that I know of .

  After I dim my headlights, I sit back and wait for Maci and him to walk out to his car, hoping she didn’t tell him I stopped by. Thank God I gave her a fake name. Still, what if Travis puts two and two together? What if he saw and recognized my car ?

  Fuck, why do I have to be so afraid ?

  I wish I could just stop .

  Wish I could just let this go .

  Wish I could tell someone who would actually listen and believe me .

  I wish that night never happened .

  Seven

  Wynter

  I sit in my car for about an hour, watching the house before the two of them waltz out. They look like a stupidly adorable couple, laughing and smiling, his hand on the small of her back. He even opens the door for her, putting on a façade that he’s a real gentleman. And people believe him. Believe the illusion. I wonder why. Why do they believe so easily that he could be good yet have such a hard time accepting that he hurt me? What makes him so much more believable than me? Or do people just believe him because it’s easier ?

  My mind is on overload by the time Travis pulls his car out onto the street. I wait a handful of seconds before turning my headlights on and tailing him. As crazy as this is going to make me sound, this isn’t my first stakeout. I know to keep enough distance so he doesn’t catch on that he’s being followed .