Another pause.
“That’s true,” my grandfather says, but I can’t even look at him so it’s hard to place the tone in his words. It’s impossible to decipher without a facial expression to accompany it. “But you have to understand, we still didn’t know the whole story. We had no idea, until the episode of that stupid show. Frankly, looking back, we might not’ve made the call at all.”
“You kept my daughter from me for years beyond the period where you were guiltless,” Tess fires back, finally turning around to face them. It makes sense, why she’s angry. Logically, I know that. Rationally, I understand. But this is how she chose to confront the situation? By dragging me here when she knew I didn’t want to be interviewed? Forcing this on me when I’d rather dig my own grave and climb in?
“Fuck you,” I say, and the entire audience goes quiet. Tess stops talking, my grandparents stop talking, Martina stops talking.
At least for a second.
“Who are you speaking to, Dakota?” she asks softly, like I’m a delicate child whose petals might break. I glare at her.
“You,” I say, “because you exploit people.” I look up at my grandparents with angry tears brimming in my eyes. “And you two for having an inkling of what was going on and ignoring it.” Next, I look at Tess and she goes from seeming angry and self-righteous to wary. “And mostly you. For everything. For thinking more about yourself than me. Eat a bag of dicks.” I’m about to launch into a tirade, right there on a live feed, but then someone’s storming across the stage with their sweatshirt hood up and grabbing my wrist.
Parrish yanks me up from the chair and drags me across the stage while everyone watches.
Just a few steps later and we’re running.
We run down the hall, past the woman with the lanyard, past the Cortez twins who gape at us like we’re crazy, and right out the doors of the recording studio. It’s misting out here—of course it is, it’s the Pacific Northwest (gag)—but that doesn’t stop Parrish from dragging me down the steps and along the sidewalk.
A few minutes later, a car pulls up alongside of us and Parrish opens the door.
It’s Chasm.
“What’s the matter, Little Sister?” he asks, his voice edgy, like he hates himself for even asking that question of me.
I look back, finding Parrish’s gaze on mine as he takes a step back.
“I’ll tell Tess you’re headed home,” he says, pushing me in before he closes the door and turns back around on the sidewalk.
“Excuse me,” I breathe, trying to stop myself from hyperventilating. “Can you just … I don’t know, drive me around for a minute?”
The thought of going back to the ice palace is too much for me right now.
Instead, as Chasm drives, I roll down my window and stick my head out, even going so far as to get on my knees so I can breathe in the misty morning air. He leaves me alone for a couple of breaths and then reaches out, yanking on the bottom hem of my already too short dress.
With a yelp, I slap my hands over his and slump back in the car just before we hit a sharp curve and I wonder if I might actually have fallen out if he hadn’t yanked me back in.
“You can’t touch someone’s ass without permission,” I snarl, but he’s already giving me an apologetic look, like he knows something bad happened in that studio. Oh. Oh. He was probably watching the live feed.
“You okay?” he asks, but I’m not. He knows it. I know it. Even Parrish knew it. So why doesn’t Tess? How could my grandparents lie to me like that?
“No. Fuck them, fuck them all,” I grumble, wishing I hadn’t deleted all my social media accounts so I could go rant somewhere and people would listen.
“You just said that—live. Are you sure you don’t want to be internet famous? Because I’ve already seen GIFs.”
I whip my phone from the pocket on my dress—dresses with pockets are the fucking best—and stare at all the messages flooding in. Sally and Nevaeh, Lumen and Danyella. Maxx. Maxine. I pick up when an incoming call shows from my sister.
“I didn’t know, Kota. Oh my god, I swear I didn’t know.”
“I know you didn’t,” I agree, even though I’m breaking on the inside. My world already felt flipped upside down, but at least I was getting used to it. Now it’s been turned in a completely different direction and I’m starting to get dizzy.
The Banks knew I wasn’t Saffron’s kid? They might not’ve known exactly who I was, but shouldn’t they have known from principle that something bad happened? Am I mad at them for not coming forward sooner … or because I still—even after this—wish we hadn’t been caught?
