Page 13 of Sins (The Sins Trilogy 1)
Suddenly, the interior of the car feels suffocating. I lower the windows and let some air in. Although the sun’s down, the humid breeze is sweltering as the car skims along the blacktop. But at least it no longer feels like a jail cell.
I drive to a small mound—too low to be called a hill—north of my parents’ house. It overlooks a swampy bayou. Not the best view, especially at night, but it’s quiet without prying eyes. A good place to regroup.
I park the car. Ivy pulls the robe tighter around herself.
Ugh.I should’ve dropped her off at the house to cower alone in her room. For some stupid reason, I thought she’d appreciate some time to pull herself together before going home. But for her, of course, home is a place of solace and comfort, not one where she has to be perfect in a quest to earn back the love she lost.
I get out and stand by the car. The air is hot and heavy under the moss-laden trees. Did I make a mistake in coming back to Tempérane? My parents are perfectly capable of coming up with a reason why I couldn’t be in town for the TV special. My best friend Ryder’s invitation to hang out together in L.A. feels very, very tempting at the moment.
“Open-ended, man,” he said. “Any time you want to come out, feel free.”
With Ryder, I don’t have to be perfect and in control all the time. Although I never told him why I was banished, he understands me better than anyone because he too was exiled. Unlike me, though, he wasn’t sent away because he did anything wrong. His parents didn’t like that he and his siblings were in the way of the carefree lifestyle they wanted for themselves. So Ryder spent most of his time in Europe screwing girls and doing everything in his power to show his parents he didn’t give a fuck. I sometimes can’t decide which of us is worse off.
I hear the car door open and shut. “I’m sorry,” Ivy says, coming around.
I tense, forty percent relieved that she seems okay and sixty percent unhappy I have to face her. She bothers me. Mother wants me to treat her like Katherine—and stay the hell away from her—but my body doesn’t want to. There’s a part of me that likes her, and not just because she’s beautiful. She’s smart and disciplined. Nobody gets into Curtis without talent and a lot of hard work. She’s spirited and doesn’t like to lose. Contrary to the stereotypical image of a sweet, dignified classical pianist, sipping champagne and waxing poetic about the genius of Mozart and Beethoven, elite pianists are freakishly competitive. They have to be for all those auditions and competitions.
“About what?” I say without looking at her.
“Getting involved in all that.” She hesitates. “I shouldn’t have gone to the party or gone up to the room with the boys and…you know.”
My head hurts. “You have it all wrong.”
“Oh.” Her voice is tiny, like a mosquito flying over my ear.
“Parties are fine,” I clarify.
She nods. “Right. It’s just that they…the boys… Sue Ellen said they invited us, and it was going to be fun… I just…”
My head throbs as the murderous urge swells in my chest again. I inhale deeply, then turn and hold her eyes. “Listen, Ivy.” I wait until her focus is one hundred percent on me. “They can look, but they can’t touch. Understand?”
“Sure.” She says it half a beat too fast, like she’s uncomfortable.
“What happened wasn’t your fault. Not even a little.” I don’t care if her skin’s crawling. She’s going to get it through her head one way or another. “Say it. Slowly. Like you mean it.”
“It wasn’t my fault. I get it, Tony.”
“Good.” I look away and lean my hip on the hood of the car.
She lets out a soft gasp. “Your hands.”
I look down, flexing my fingers. My knuckles are bruised and bloodied, slightly swollen. The damage is mostly from the beating I gave Caleb, but it’s not bad, considering how many times I hit him. Besides, the blood isn’t mine. “That’s what happens when you punch a few thickheaded idiots.”
“But…you’re hurt.”
“What would you have me do about it? Go to an ER for blood that isn’t mine?”
“Are you sure? Shouldn’t you get checked out or something anyway?”
Ivy is an impossibly young girl, who probably hasn’t seen anything rough or ugly in the world. “How old are you?”
“Eighteen.”
Okay. Maybe not impossibly young. Just three years younger than I am. Still, she seems very unworldly. Innocent. Just being around me is soiling her. She’s freaked out about a little blood, but she doesn’t see the real blood on my hands. The blood that can never be cleansed, not without Mother’s forgiveness.
“I can’t believe I have to point this out,” I say. You may be eighteen, but you’re ridiculously naïve. “But my knuckles are nothing compared to what happened to you back there. Nothing’s broken, and the skin will heal in a few days. You, on the other hand…”
“I’ll be more careful. You saved me, Tony.” Her gray eyes shine.
Oh, no. No, no, no…
I don’t want that or need that. I’m nobody’s hero. I make my voice colder and crueler than I should. “I did it because my family doesn’t need the scandal or ugly whispers, and I couldn’t let anything happen to my mother’s pride and joy. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have bothered.” The look in her eyes doesn’t change. “You have no idea what kind of monster I am.”
I open the car door.
“I’m going home. Get in unless you want to spend the night out here.”
