Page 115 of Law Maker
She arched a brow. “Yeah?”
“If he texts back, could you tell me?”
A shadow of a sad smile flickered across her face. “Of course.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Kaia
Alba sat on the same windowsill as yesterday, needles flashing as she worked a ball of pink yarn in her lap. The last of the sunlight caught and shimmered across it.
“I didn’t know you could knit,” I said. I’d always wanted to learn but never had anyone to teach me.
She set the needles down. “It’s relaxing. Where’s your backpack?”
I stepped closer. She shifted to the side, making room for me.
“I don’t know what to do.” I climbed up beside her, settling against the glass. “I don’t want to be here, but I also don’t want to screw up my future. If I went back home—assuming my dad let me—I wouldn’t magically be free. I’d still need to study for the SATs. The other option would be a job, but what could I get at eighteen that pays enough to rent an apartment?”
Alba rubbed a strand of yarn between her fingers. “You probably wouldn’t have many options.”
“Right.” I swallowed. “And I don’t want Ash—the guy I tried calling last night—to think I can’t manage on my own. He’d want to help, but then I’d just go from depending on my father to depending on him, and that’s not what Mom wanted. Before she died…” I’d never told this to anyone, but Alba was here, patient and willing to listen, and unlike Mandy, I felt that she wouldn’t judge me. “She told me I was smart enough to do what she couldn’t—to get a degree and a job. I feel like I already failed her. I repeated a year.”
Alba leaned her head against the glass. “If it makes you feel better, I’m a year behind too. Dad insisted on a sabbatical after Mom passed. Neitherof us was okay, so we traveled the world for a year. He’s a football coach, and he took a break between contracts.”
“I’m sorry about your mom.”
“It’s fine,” she said quietly. “You learn to live with it. What’s your dad’s deal?”
“My father owns a motorcycle racing team.” But he’d never take a sabbatical with me. He didn’t even take a day off when I was sick. It was always Mom—and then nobody. Admitting that out loud felt too raw. I’d already told Alba things I hadn’t confessed to my therapist.
“I don’t know your whole story,” she said, “but from what I’ve seen, you’re hard on yourself. Losing someone isn’t easy. Did you ever let yourself grieve?”
Tears burned my eyes. I should’ve been over it by now. It had been almost six years. “I don’t think I’ve ever stopped.” I rubbed my face with my palms. “She wanted me to go to college. I just want to make her proud.”
Alba nodded. “Lots of things about this place suck. The uniform skirt—you flash your ass every time the wind blows. The stupid no-phone rule. Some girls are awful, too. But academically, this is the best school your dad could’ve chosen.”
“It’s also conveniently far from Stetbourg. I think that was his deciding factor.”
“And Teagan called him lovely.” Alba scoffed. “Not that I’m surprised. She sucks up to every authority figure in a ten-mile radius.”
I cracked a smile. “Didn’t realize it was that bad between you two.”
“That’s why I avoid the room when she’s there. Once she tattled to Sarah that Dad brought me sushi when he visited. Not even against the rules. If she knew I had a phone, she’d sprint to the office.”
I’d shoved my diary under my pillow. I should’ve hidden it in a drawer. “Good to know.”
A faint buzzing came from Alba’s side. “Speaking of phones.”
My pulse quickened even though the odds of Asher texting were slim. At least he’d read my message.
She glanced at the screen. “It’s for you.”
I took her cell with shaky fingers and stared at the text. What the hell could he mean byTe puedo ver?
“He says he can see me,” I whispered.
She grinned. “Then he must be here. Visiting hours are over, so we’ll need to figure something out.”
