That, and I’m struggling with the normal anxiety that comes with being in front of a crowd of people. It’s a lot to deal with. Especially when Justin introduces himself for the camera. His assistant with the zebra glasses is in here coordinating things for him.
It’s all so … seamless.
Tess is absolutely right: this wasn’t something he thought of on the fly.
Oh no, he’s been planning this for some time—since the day I arrived in Washington state. Maybe before. But what I can say for certain is that the heart pin was in my drawer the moment I walked into that bedroom, just waiting for me.
Justin knew. He already fucking knew. And on top of that, he must’ve already had a plant in the house to get that pin inside my nightstand drawer.
When he introduces the name—and purpose—of the app, I almost lose my shit.
“Fortunately, my daughter is already returned safely to me,” Justin says, sitting beside Tess and Paul on the couch. “But I’ve spent the last fourteen years of my life developing this very tech: tech that’s meant to bring lost children home through facial recognition. If we hadn’t had such luck locating Dakota, I’d intended on using our new app to bring her home.” He turns to the sea of reporters with such a genuine expression on his face that I’d likely believe him—you know, if he hadn’t kidnapped my crush and tortured him by cutting giant gouges in his chest every day for fourteen days. “Instead, I’m dedicating every resource that my company has at its disposal to help my ex-wife find her son.”
He reaches out and puts a hand atop Tess’. To her credit, her expression doesn’t change one bit. She’s got that power bitch neutral thing going on.
“I dream of a world where no child is ever separated from their parents, where no child ever goes missing.” Justin accepts a milk carton from his assistant, setting it on the table and turning it around so that a child’s smiling face is beaming at the camera. The words above her head read MISSING CHILD.
She is … me.
I recognize the baby picture as one of the ones that was on the Netflix documentary that changed—and ruined—my entire life. But also … my eyes slide over to where Chasm’s standing at the edge of the crowd. He’s full-on slouchy bad boy today, one foot kicked up against the wall, the sleeves of his Whitehall Prep dress shirt rolled up to reveal inked forearms. He’s even got a cigarette stuck between his lips, unlit and hanging.
Our eyes meet.
If I had the chance, would I rewind time and turn that documentary off, start up a K-drama while Nevaeh bitched and Sally sighed dramatically? Would I do all that knowing what I was giving up?
The answer to that question terrifies me.
I turn my attention back to Justin.
“We’ve come a long, long way since grainy black and white photos and simply hoping for the best. That’s why my new app—Milk Carton—was created: not just for peace of mind, but to dig into dangerous situations and discover the truth. Whether Parrish Vanguard is alive or dead, we’ll find him.”
I cannot be the only person in that room who shudders at the way he says it.
The crowd is abuzz with chatter and shouted questions, but I don’t pay attention to any of it.
All I can think is: what the hell happens next in all of this?
“What the fuck did I just miss?” Maxx asks, staring at Justin Prior from across the hallway. He’s just come back from the track, and there’s a fine layer of dust on his green, black, and white riding gear. He’s a bit sweaty, and his dark hair is mussed up from being stuck inside a helmet all day.
He must’ve rushed back here after getting Chasm’s text about Justin—he didn’t even stop to shower.
I refuse to allow myself to appreciate any of that, either his appearance or his dedication.
“This is my … biological father, Justin Prior,” I explain, gesturing to the man standing near the front door. Maxx, Chasm, and I are clustered near the garage door watching the man with unbridled suspicion. Tess and Paul are out front, finishing up with the last of the reporters.
Justin, thankfully, is on his way out. His assistant is helping him into what appears to be an absurdly expensive suit jacket.
Maxx just stares at the man with a gaze so dark that it gives me chills. When he turns it over to me, I shiver involuntarily.
“This is the bastard who has Parrish?” he murmurs as Chasm studies my bio dad with an expression very similar to the one X is wearing. If given the chance, I think any one of us might just stab the creep. If I at all thought it would be that easy to solve our problems, I’d do it. But I don’t know where Parrish is. I don’t know how many people like Mr. Volli are working for Justin. I also really don’t want to spend the rest of my life in prison. All of that, of course, depending on me actually getting the opportunity to kill the guy without him retaliating and killing me instead.
