From Yesterday (5 page)

A single tear drop defies me and leaks out of my right eye, traveling a jagged path down my cheek. Brady takes his hand off of mine and wipes the tear away with one finger, then cups the side of my face and pulls me a little bit closer to him. "Don't be sad, Paige. I've grieved already. I will always miss her, but I have wonderful memories of my mother to take with me."

I close my eyes and lean into his hand without thinking. I'm sad for him, yes, but I also want to know why he can speak of his dead mother with such maturity when I can't stop conjuring the image of my dead sister. And I'm a selfish bitch for being jealous of his acceptance.

When I open my eyes again, he is looking at me with intent. His thumb moves to stroke my bottom lip and a tiny sigh escapes my throat. The table between us is quite narrow and there is so little distance keeping me from kissing him. It scares me. I feel like a bucket of ice water is being poured over my head and I snap back in my seat with such suddenness that I knock my bag over and the contents spill out on the floor under the table. Brady is still poised there with his hand extended, but the look on his face says he is disappointed. He recovers in record time and we both bend down to retrieve my things. I shove my clothing back in the bag and then I sit up too fast and smack the back of my head on the hard surface of the table. It stuns me and makes my vision swim for a minute, but I still see what is laying on the floor. The package I received earlier must not have been sealed properly because the contents have made their way onto the floor. The necklace my sister always wore, a platinum heart pendant with her Garnet birthstone in the center, is sticking out of the envelope. It is dirty; covered in a substance that I believe is dried blood, and a note is attached. The red lipstick from the mirror was used to spell out 'I will always find you'.

CHAPTER EIGHT

I hold an ice pack to the back of my head as I stare at Nicole's necklace. The one she was buried with. It is one of the only things I managed to hide from Brady as he pummeled me with question after question when we left the restaurant. I held my ground as firmly as I could and told him I need to go home and rest my head. I seriously doubt that he bought my explanation of an ex-boyfriend playing a sick joke.
I
don't even know what is going on.

I send off a quick text to Brady, letting him know I got home okay and that I will text him later. He insisted that he needed to spend the night at my place, on the couch of course, to make sure I didn't have a concussion. The only way I could get him to let me go home alone was to promise to text him every two hours. It is nice of him to be concerned, but I don't like the idea of having to check in with someone. That's part of the point of me coming here. I will just text him one more time before I go to sleep and then he's going to just have to deal. I didn't hit my head that hard and I think he knows that. It has more to do with what he saw in that package and the fact that he knows I'm not telling the whole truth.

My sister was buried with this necklace
. I keep saying it over and over in my mind like some kind of messed up mantra.

My sister was buried with this necklace.

My sister was buried with this necklace.

In the top drawer of my desk there is a false bottom. I feel around the edges until I snag the corner that only I know is there and I lift up. There is a knife with a mother of pearl handle, a Glock 29, and a small silver key. I take the key out, doing my best to avoid touching the gun, and I unlock the big drawer on the other side of the desk.

A photo album is the first thing I see and I pick it up. Nicole and I, much younger versions of ourselves, grace almost every page. I flip through to the last few years she was alive. In every photo after her fifteenth birthday, she is wearing this necklace. Our parents gave it to her that year and she loved it, refusing to take it off except for a few special occasions, like cleaning it or borrowing some of our mother's very expensive jewelry.

I put the album back and grab the thick file folder from the bottom. It's not in any particular order because I stole the file from my mother's home office and made copies before I took off. It takes a few minutes, but finally I close my fist around the paper I want triumphantly. This is the log of items that went into the casket with Nicole. I scan the list. Fourth form the top: platinum pendant with garnet inlay and platinum chain.

What kind of sick freak would dig up a dead girl and steal her necklace? Why send it to me? I don't have any answers, but I do feel a slow trickle of cold fear inch its way down my spine. I don't share my secrets with people. There isn't a soul in Miami that should know a thing about me or my sister. I know I haven't slipped up because up until a few days ago, I rarely spoke to anyone.

The number for the cemetery is listed here. They have to have surveillance cameras. I reach for my cell phone, but then I think better of it. If there was a disturbance, it would be a crime and would have to be reported. I'm better off looking that up instead because if I call there, I might look suspicious and phone calls can be traced. I can't let my parents find out where I am. They will think I'm losing my mind again and make me come home. That's not an option. I would rather die then go back to that hospital.

Two hours go by quickly, and I stop playing junior detective when the little alarm goes off on my phone to text Brady.

Still alive.

His response comes immediately.
Very funny. Two hours and text again. I'll be waiting.

I wake up to pounding. My face is stuck to the papers on the desk, and a tiny bit of saliva is crusted in the corner of my mouth. I wipe it off and grab my head. It throbs. I fell asleep in a very uncomfortable position and my neck aches as well. I just want the banging on my skull to go away.

Wait, that's not my head, it's the door. Someone is knocking on my apartment door? It's nearly impossible that anyone would have gotten in without calling up from security.

The spare bedroom that I use as my studying area is closer to the front door than my bedroom, so I answer the door without bothering to change from my pajamas. It's Brady. Of course it is. I should have known that he would do this if I didn't text him. I tend to underestimate how much people care about the well-being of others sometimes. Especially where I am concerned.

Brady moves around me and lets himself into my place before I have a chance to invite him in.

"Come right on in, then," I say, only slightly sarcastic, and gesture towards the couch dramatically.

He ignores me and puts one hand under my chin and tilts my face up so he can look at my eyes. "Your pupils aren't dilated, so that's good. You probably do not have a concussion."

I just stare at him. He drops his hands to his sides. "What? I majored in sports medicine before switching to Social Work."

"Why are you here, Brady? More importantly, how are you here? I don't remember telling you where I lived, or telling security to let you upstairs."

He smirks. "I don't need security to call me in, I live here. Three floors down and on the other side of the hallway. I thought you knew that. We both arrived here at the same time after class on the first day. Jake, one of the front desk guys, is a good friend of mine. I told him about your head injury and he told me which unit you live in. Don't be mad."

I sigh. "I'm not mad. I just feel a little overwhelmed is all. I don't ever have people here, and certainly not at two in the morning."

Brady crosses his arms over his chest. I notice then that he's wearing sweatpants and a soft gray t-shirt that shows off just how powerful his body is. "If you had sent that text like you promised, I wouldn't have had to come and knock on your door in the middle of the night, would I?"

"I fell asleep. I was tired."

He stalks toward me as though I'm his prey. When he is inches away, he lowers his forehead to touch mine. "You hit your head hard on that table, Paige. I saw that you were dizzy. I don't know anything about what is going on with you and I know you're not going to tell me, but I'm not going to let you have no one to worry about you when you're hurt. I would like to know that you are okay. Okay?"

"Thank you, Brady. Really. I'm fine, though, so you can sleep knowing that I'll wake up in the morning."

He says nothing, just stares at me for another minute or two, and then moves to the couch and begins moving the throw pillows around.

"What are you doing?"

His reply is a bit muffled since he doesn't bother to turn around or look up. "I'm sleeping on the couch tonight. No arguing, it's happening. Would you mind grabbing me a blanket or something? Your apartment is an igloo."

An ironic smile touches my lips. "You wouldn't have said that a few hours ago. My air conditioning was busted. That's why I was out tonight. I didn't want to be here until it got taken care of."

He looks up, finally. "Really? How strange. They had the maintenance crew out here for that a week ago. Anything wrong should have been caught then."

I wave my hand in the air. "I abuse the hell out of the thermostat. I'm still not used to this heat and humidity so I run the thing constantly on full blast."

"It still shouldn't have had problems. This is a pretty new building. Too soon for things to start breaking down and needing repairs."

I look to the side and gesture with my arms as if presenting something. "Yeah, well, leave it to me to always get the shaft."

I have foot-in-mouth disease. I look at him and immediately clasp my hand over my mouth, expecting the worst at any moment. Brady must have the worlds best poker face. His facial expression remains exactly as calm as it was before I started talking about shafts. I can't believe he isn't going to make fun of me at all.

And just when I think I'm getting away with that, he raises one eyebrow and says, "Yeah, well, I'm not going to touch that one."

CHAPTER NINE

We are at Turner's apartment for over an hour before I start to bug my sister about leaving for the dance. She clearly doesn't want to go, but I can tell she feels a bit guilty that I'm restless.

"Just a couple more minutes, Rebecca, I promise," she tells me and pats my leg as if to stay me.

"Maybe Turner could just come with us to the dance?" I ask.

Nicole shakes her head. "No, he went to school there a few years ago. The last thing I need is one of my teachers to recognize him and call Mama to tell her I'm with an older guy. Or any guy that isn't Justin."

Turner chimes in, and I dislike him even more. "What's wrong, Sweetie? I doubt you're dying to go to this school dance. You're determined to be a cock-block, aren't you? Keep reading that book and it will go by in no time."

I turn red and look back down at my phone, where I am using the electronic reader. Nicole gets up, abruptly, making both Turner and I jump. "Don't speak to her like that, Turner. Please apologize."

Turner laughs. "What is the big deal? Are you kidding me right now? It was a joke."

I can tell when Nicole is becoming angry even if no one else can. There is a quiet fury in the way she holds herself; a rage that can erupt and yet be so elegant you never even realize she just took you down a few notches until much later. It is a gift. I can see this start to happen now. "Not a funny joke, Turner."

The way she sneers his name when she says it has so much disdain in it that I almost feel bad for him. The guy just went from being prime in her eyes, to the lowest form of scum on the bottom of her shoe and he knows it. He turns to look at me and I tremble. I have definitely ruined this guy's night. He puts a hand on Nicole's arm, still shooting dirty looks my way. "Sit down, Babe."

Nicole shrugs him off. "No. Apologize to Rebecca, and make it sound like you are very, very sorry. I don't let people speak to my sister that way."

"Okay, Nicole. You're right, I was out of line. Rebecca, I'm very sorry to have made you feel uncomfortable."

I don't say anything, I just nod my head to acknowledge the apology. I didn't want to come here and I don't want to be in the middle of an argument between them. Nicole picks her purse up off of the coffee table. Turner looks incredulous.

"What are you doing? I apologized."

Nicole smiles at him sweetly, grabs my hand, and walks us to the door. "I know. Good job with that. Now I'm going to take my little sister to the dance like I promised her and maybe, if you're lucky, I will call you tomorrow."

Tuner gets up and is on us instantly. He yanks Nicole's hand out of mine and pulls her to him. "Go back and sit down. I wasn't done talking to you yet." He faces me. "You can go watch TV in my bedroom."

I watch in stunned silence as Nicole tries to pull out of his grasp, but can't manage to extricate herself from the force of his hold. Turner throws the deadbolt on the front door and pulls her further into the living room. She struggles with him, but he still won't let her go. "Stop it, Turner, you're cutting off the circulation in my arm. Let go of me!"

"No, I don't think I'm going to do that. Get over here, Rebecca. I'm going to teach you bitches a lesson in how to respect a man and be a good guest."

I can't move. I don't know what is happening; I don't believe any of this is real. The only thing I can say with certainty right now is that my sister and I are in serious trouble.

"Paige."

"Mmmph."

"Paige, come on."

A tingling sensation creeps along my arm and I take my hand to slap whatever it is.

"Hey, that's not nice, Paige."

Suddenly, I'm aware that I'm not alone in my bedroom. I open my eyes and sit up so quickly that I'm dizzy from the effort.

"Brady? What are you doing in my bedroom?"

"We're not in your bedroom, Paige. As far as I know, this is your living room."

He's right. The heavy drapes are pulled over the windows so it is still dark in here, despite whatever time it is. My eyes are slowly adjusting to the darkness, but I can start to make out the furnishings in my living room. Why am I not in my bed? Wait, why am I in boy shorts and a tank top next to Brady on my couch? I pray that I don't have morning breath.