Don't Breathe a Word (14 page)

Chapter 26

Creed held me tight. His body shielded me from Asher, the club—everything but his own voice.

“Shhh,” he kept whispering, into my hair, my ear, my forehead and letting his lips brush against my skin. Relief flooded through me, washing out every emotion I'd experienced in the last twenty-four hours.

He drew me out of the fray. “Come on,” he said gently. “Come with me.”

I stumbled along blindly toward the back of the room, looking over my shoulder to see Neeta and Asher in the crowd. Were they alone? Asher looked angry. Intent. Gripping Neeta's arm as if he owned her already. She was my innocent friend, too smart to get involved with someone like him. What was Neeta thinking? Would he do to her what he'd done to me?

Creed led me through a back door I never knew was there, into the alley where a trailer balanced on cracking cement blocks. In the moonlight, I emptied myself of air and took two desperate puffs of my emergency inhaler, then coughed until I thought I would throw up.

Creed's arm still held me close as we got into the trailer, lit by a small, olive-green lamp. There were chips all over the floor, empty beer and water bottles littering the counter. He settled me onto the dilapidated couch, which smelled like sweat and booze but felt comforting and warm with Creed there beside me.

When my sobs had subsided, he gently put his finger under my chin. I'd been hoping and waiting for this all along, but now that it was here, I couldn't believe it was happening.

His heartbeat pounded slow and steady beneath my hand, the wire between us as taut as a guitar string. I ached for it to break.

My breath came out in ragged wisps. We were totally alone in the trailer, no air but our own breathing, the music muffled by the door and floating into the trailer like a mist.

He watched me. Gauged his moment. Could he feel the tightness coiled inside me, waiting to be released? “Triste.” The way Creed said my name, it sounded like a prayer. “
Triste
. What happened? Why aren't you with May? Where were you?”

I didn't trust myself to answer. Not when we were here on this couch together, when I wanted him so badly I could taste it. His eyes lingered on me.

And then the story came rushing out in a flood—how I wasn't contributing, how I'd gone with May to Julian's, how I'd left her there, or maybe she had left me. I couldn't tell anymore, only that I couldn't stay. I
couldn't
. And I told him what Maul did, and how I saw Santos in the alley, only I wasn't sure it was Santos, and he'd left me alone and afraid and I'd run to the club and right into Creed.

But I'd left out the most important part: seeing Asher.

After what I told them on the beach, I knew what Creed would do if he saw Asher out there now. He had already fought for me once and would do it again if I asked.

The scene played out in my head, half dream, half nightmare: Creed storming out of this trailer and into the club with one thing on his mind. He was going to kill Asher.

And I wanted it
.

No, I didn't!

Because then Asher would know I was here. I would have to go back. . . .

No
.

The scars burned under my clothing. The bracelet closed in on my wrist, as if it knew Asher was only a hundred feet away
.
As long as I had it, he would have some kind of hold on me.

Creed said nothing, but I could tell his body had a coil in it, too, another kind of desperation and desire. “So May is still at Julian's?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

His lips pressed together in a thin line.

“Creed,” I said softly, “do you want me to stay?”

His lips parted. I could feel his heart thudding against my chest. He was so close.

“Creed!”

Pounding on the door almost made me jump out of my skin, and Creed pulled away as if I'd burned him. A round guy with a couple days of beard popped his head in. “Oh. Uh, sorry. You're on in a couple minutes.”

Creed nodded to him, then turned to me in one awkward motion. “Yeah, I'm supposed to be playing with the band tonight. It's pretty cool—they're looking for someone to play with them for local shows . . .”

The rush in my ears made it hard to hear. Hiding out in this trailer with him, I could pretend none of this was happening. He hadn't almost just kissed me.

“You wouldn't want to come watch me, would you? There's a backstage area behind the curtain, so you could hang out there . . .”

Asher was still out there. So was my best friend.

“You can see the stage and the crowd,” Creed was saying. “Nobody will be able to see you . . . ”

He wiped a tear from under my eye then led me to the wings. I was cloaked in darkness, safe for now.

Creed was in his element, with a borrowed electric guitar across his stomach and his fingers finding the melody. His voice flooded the microphone like warm liquid reaching deep into my parched and frozen body. It wasn't the words he said but the way he said them, as if everything in his heart were pouring out, expansive and beautiful and true and touching me in the place I wanted him to know but couldn't show him.

For him, that place was here, on the stage, making music.

And suddenly I could see what his future held, where his path was headed.

He already knew his first love. Why would he need me?

Chapter 27

That night when Creed wrapped his arms around me before falling asleep, I made myself turn away. May came in later. Santos didn't come in at all.

The next morning, I found Santos downing his coffee and feeding nibbles of day-old bagel to Faulkner. “Hey,” I said, my mouth moving like cotton. “Were you—”

“Where's Creed?” he cut me off.

“I don't know. He wasn't here when I got up.”

That's when I remembered. Today, I had a mission.

“Hey, Santos, I need your help with something. Know any good pawn shops?”

Santos and I headed to Pioneer Square, the oldest part of Seattle, where Gold Rush-era buildings competed with shiny new high-rises and the homeless population nearly outweighed the normals. “Never go to the same place twice,” he advised. “There's plenty of shops, and the last thing you want is to be remembered.”

When we got to the shop, I slipped him the bracelet. “Holy effin' eff-bomb,” he whispered, dangling the white gold chain. It would be worth more in the Tiffany box, but this is what I had.

The crow taunted me with its ruby eyes. I was glad to get rid of it—to get rid of Asher's hold on me—for good. Hopefully it wouldn't be a cursed item coming back to haunt me, like the crows that still dive-bombed the UW researchers generations later. Santos examined it more closely, reading the
Little bird
label on the plate. “Yeah, I can get you good cash for this.”

I waited outside and tried to blend into the scenery. Anyone could identify me—the girl with white-blue hair and black eyes—even if no one knew my name.

Afterward, we walked down to the waterfront. “I wanted to ask you,” I began nervously. “Did I see you out last night? In the alley?”

Santos looked away and shrugged, his face unreadable until I saw his hands—brown and wiry, veins popping with whatever he was hiding. “Maybe. I was spainging up on Broadway.”

I gave him a narrow look. “I walked most of the way up Broadway and didn't see you—I saw Maul, though.”

“Yeah. Asshole,” he muttered, confirming the feeling all of us had about him. “I saw him, too.”

He walked faster, but I kept pace.

“I didn't see you there.”

“Maybe I was taking a leak in the alley or something.” Puget Sound stretched out below us and sent fishy wind into our faces.

“I went through the alley to avoid Maul,” I said. “I was there. I saw you.”

Suddenly Santos kicked a giant blue mailbox, causing the crowd around us to leap backward. “You didn't see shit! Just leave it alone, okay?”

I staggered backward. Creed was right. There were secrets we kept, even from family.

We made our way back to Broadway without saying much. I'd almost forgotten the pawn shop when Santos reached into his pocket.

“Okay, so—you're not going to believe this!” He stopped, right there at the Pine Street crossing, and handed me a huge wad of tens and twenties. “They gave me almost three hundred friggin' bucks for your bracelet! Which means, that's like a
quarter
of what it really costs. Where the hell did you score that?”

“Um, somebody gave it to me.” My wrist seemed so much lighter now that it was gone. The cash didn't feel so heavy, since I knew exactly what to do with it.

“If somebody's just giving you something all dope like that, I don't get why you hang out with us.”

I pondered the question. “Well, why do
you
hang out with
us
?”

“Better than being a
ward of the state
.” He said it like it was a title, no better than
trash on the street
. “Obviously you've never been in foster.”

I shook my head.

“Then you're lucky.”

“What's it like?”

Santos whistled. “I lived in, like, ten places in two years—none of them good. It's like child slavery, that's what it is. Fucking child abuse. And the worst part is they'll move you or send you back to your shitty parents in a heartbeat. I'd rather live in the pit of hell with my street fam than get lost in that shithole ever again.”

The smell of Dick's french fries wafted in our direction. Usually Maul and his gang hung around outside the stand, but I didn't see them today. Faulkner stuck his pink nose out of Santos's hoodie to take a long whiff.

“Man, you're lucky I didn't charge a finder's fee,” Santos wheedled. “Otherwise I'd be going over there and buying myself an ass-load of those fries.”

I smiled—I was forgiven, I hoped. “Come on, I'll buy you some.”

A half hour later, Santos and I were munching on our fries and climbing through the hole under the stairs. That's when we heard the yelling.

“What the hell were you thinking?”
Creed shouted. “What did you
think
they wanted?”

May's voice came back shrill and quavering. “She's been sitting around on her ass all day and doesn't do a fucking thing to contribute!”

A pause.

“She wanted to
do
something, Creed! What the hell is your problem? You don't
own
her.”

Something crashed.

“You don't own any of us!”

Boots stomped across the floor. “You had no right.”

“Fuck you! Just because you can't protect your
mom
doesn't mean you can control the rest of us.”

I followed Santos up the stairs and burst into the kitchen, but the yelling had stopped.

We found them in the living room. Creed crouched over May, who curled into a tiny ball on the couch, eyes puffy and red.

“What's going on?” Santos demanded. “You're going to alert the whole neighborhood.”

“Creed thinks he's my fucking
parent
,” May sniped.

I knew what this was about. It was about me, and what had happened last night at Julian's.

“Creed, listen,” I began.

“What?” he exploded, and I realized I'd never seen him explode at anything. Ever. “You're gonna tell me you wanted to strip for a bunch of losers and then fuck them afterward? That's what you wanted?”

It was like he'd hit me. Like Asher's words used to. I felt a burning in my throat. “No!”

“Then what?”

Now was the time.

The wad of cash bulged in my pocket. I whipped it out and tossed it in the middle of all of us—dollars fluttering to the ground in a heap while everyone watched the pile breathlessly.

“Oh my God,” May said.

Whatever they had been arguing about came to a full stop.

“Where did this come from?” Creed demanded.

“It doesn't matter where it came from—it's my contribution.”

They were too stunned to say anything, too mesmerized by the pile of money to care.

“Maybe for once we can eat something that doesn't come from a garbage can,” I said wearily.

“I get at least half,” May said, when she found her voice again. “I've been floating her for weeks.”

Santos: “No fucking way—I've been taking her all over the place, getting her socks, and teaching her how to live out here.”

Creed: “Santos—what did you do? Where the hell did she get this money?”

Santos started to backpedal, and the argument took off in a totally new direction with all three of them going at it.

It's her contribution!

You
brought her here, she's your responsibility.

You should have told her she couldn't just squat here from the beginning.

She owes us.

Wait, everyone, just wait.

“I'm done with this,” I said.

They were still fighting when I went to the bedroom. Arguing over me. May's voice was high pitched and birdy, Creed's like the thudding of a bass line and Santos interjecting. The words disappeared into a blur of sound as I lay down on the bare mattress and watched the dust particles rise in the air. Moldy sharpness pricked my nose, the hazards of living in a leaky squat house. The black fuzz growing in damp corners was starting to affect me.

I took a long breath of my inhaler, then swapped it out for a new one. The weight of everything pressed on my chest.

Fatigue overtook me, and I lost track of the discord below until something sharp and loud startled me. A door banging?

Then male voices—not Creed's or Santos's.

I almost choked on the air. More shouting followed a slow crack, like bones bending and then breaking.

A scream—May? May was screaming. What was happening?

“Creed?” I called down the stairs.

“No!”
someone yelled amidst a scuffle. Something hit the wall with a sickening thud.

I had to will my feet to move—down the stairs, over the rotted boards to where I could see into the living room. It wasn't Creed and Santos at all.

I thought getting rid of the bracelet would free me from a curse—instead it only brought a new one.

Oh my God
. How had they found us?

Maul and his gang filled the living room—and Maul had Creed pinned to the floor.