Wait for You - Armentrout Jennifer L. (книги бесплатно полные версии .TXT) 📗

“It’s really not,” I said as my gaze crawled over the manicured, bare lawn and then the massive brick structure. “Your parents have a home. This is just a really big shell.”

He parked the rental in the center of the circular driveway, near the marble fountain that bubbled with water. Eyeing it, he smiled slightly. “I don’t think I’ve actually seen a house with a fountain in front of it in real life.”

I took a deep breath, nervous but determined. “I can do this.”

“You can.” He squeezed my knee gently. “You sure you don’t want me to come inside?”

“Yes.” I looked at him, smiling. Of course I wanted him in there with me. “I need to do this by myself.”

He settled back in the seat. “If you change your mind, text me and I’ll be right there.”

I leaned over, kissing him softly. “You’re amazing.”

His lips curved against mine. “So are you.”

Kissing him once more, I then opened the door and climbed out. If I stayed a moment longer, I would change my mind. As I shut the door, Cam stopped me.

“Just remember that whatever they say doesn’t change the fact that you’re a beautifully strong woman and nothing that happened was your fault.”

Tears filled my eyes and a steely resolve fortified my spine. “Thank you.”

Cam winked. “Now go do good things.”

Giving him a watery smile, I turned and headed up the wide stairs and across the porch. A fan in the ceiling stirred hot air and lifted a few strands of my hair. I raised my hand to knock and then shook my head. I reached into my pocket and pulled out the key. I didn’t need to knock.

The lock gave and with one more glance back at where Cam waited, I stepped inside my parents’ house.

Nothing had changed. That was my first impression as I quietly shut the door behind me. Everything was clean and shiny. There was no smell or sounds. Nothing welcoming about the cold foyer.

I walked under the golden chandelier and entered the former sitting room. “Dad? Mom?”

Silence.

I sighed as I passed white furniture my mom would have a shit fit over if anyone dared to sit in. I checked the dining room and then the living room. Finally, after checking out the study and then the kitchen, I headed upstairs.

The steps made no sound.

On the second floor, I headed toward the end of the hall, to the last door and pushed it open.

It was my bedroom—keyword being was.

“Holy shit,” I whispered.

All my stuff was gone—my books, my desk, the posters and other little odds and ends I’d left behind. Not that it really mattered, but geez, nothing about this room would make anyone think I used to live in it.

“We packed your stuff up.”

I jumped and spun around. She stood in the doorway to what used to be my bedroom, dressed in beige, linen slacks and a white blouse tucked in. Her strawberry-blonde hair was coifed, her face void of any line or physical imperfection.

“Mom.”

A delicate eyebrow arched. “Your stuff is in the attic if that is what you’re here for. We had the help move it up there after I spoke with you in the fall.”

“You forgot my birthday,” I blurted out.

She tilted her head to the side in a smooth, elegant movement. “We did?”

I stared at her a moment and all I could think was what a bitch. Anger rose, but I pushed it down. Anger got you nowhere with Mrs. Morgansten. You had to beat her at her own game—stay calm, stay collected. “I’m not here for my stuff.”

“Are you here to move back in?” she asked, and she didn’t sound hopeful. She sounded like nothing. I wondered if she got plastic surgery for her voice. It was as expressive as her face.

“No.” I almost snorted. “I’m here to talk to you and Dad. Is he home?”

She didn’t answer immediately. “He’s out on the veranda.”

Most folk would call that a covered porch, but not Mom. “Well, let’s go.”

Not waiting for an answer, I brushed past her and headed downstairs. She trailed slightly behind and I could feel her eyes boring into the back of me. I started counting. I made it to five and the bottom step before she opened her mouth.

“Have you’ve gotten a haircut recently?”

“No.”

There was a slight huff. “I can tell.”

I sighed. “Then why did you ask?”

Mom didn’t respond until we reached the den that led out to the porch. “What are you wearing by the way?”

“Thrift store shit,” I replied, even though that wasn’t true.

She tasked softly. “Very nice, Avery.”

I rolled my eyes as I pushed open the door, half tempted to race back through the house and start rolling around on all the white furniture. Dad was sitting on one of the chaise lounges, reading a newspaper. Before I could open my mouth, Mom did.

“Look who decided to pay us a visit.”

Dad lowered the newspaper as he looked up. Surprised flickered across his face. “Avery.”

“Hey, Dad.”

Sitting up, he folded the newspaper and placed it aside. “We weren’t expecting you.”

No ‘how have you’ve been’ or ‘happy to see you.’ I sat in one of the wicker chairs. “I know. I’m not going to be here for long.”

“She wants to talk to us.” Mom remained standing. “I cannot fathom what it could be about, but there is a rental in the driveway and there’s a boy in the car.”

I ignored that comment. “This has nothing to do with the rental or who is in the car.”

“I’d surely hope you didn’t come all this way to talk about that,” she replied.

I took a long, deep breath. “I spoke to David.” My father stiffened, and Mom was surprisingly quiet. Good signs. “He told me about Molly Simmons and Blaine Fitzgerald and what happened last summer—what will happen this summer.”

“Avery…”

“No,” I said, cutting Mom off before she could say anything else that would surely piss me off. “I haven’t broken the agreement. I’ve kept my mouth shut all these years. I’ve done exactly what you two told me I should do.”

Mom drew herself up. “David had no right to call you—”

“Why not?” I demanded. “Is it against the law to let me know that Blaine raped another girl, just like he had raped me?”

Dad sucked in a shrill breath, but Mom, she got whiter if that was possible. “There is no reason to put that out there so crudely,” she said, crossing her arms. “We know what you said—”

“What I told you that night at the hospital is the same thing I told the police. Blaine had raped me. It was you two that decided I should drop the charges, which made everyone think that I had lied.”

“Avery,” my father began.

I didn’t let him get any further. “The reason why I even came here is because I need to let go of what happened to me and the only way I can do that is by telling you two what I should’ve said then.” I took a breath, one I didn’t need. “You two were wrong. You were so unbelievably wrong in what you decided.”

Mom stepped forward. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” I stood, my hands balling into fists. “You should’ve told his parents to go fuck themselves. You should’ve told them to get the hell out of your house. You should’ve gone to the police and told then what his parents were trying to do, which was to bribe your daughter into silence. And for what? So you wouldn’t have to go to court? So that no one would ask questions? And you all could still go to the club and things wouldn’t be awkward? Meanwhile, I was labeled a lying whore by everyone? And Blaine was free to do it again to another person? How culpable are we? You should’ve stood beside me and believed me! You should’ve gotten me help. I’m your daughter. You should’ve been thinking about me.”

Dad looked away, and I could understand why. Maybe he’d always suspected the truth. I would be ashamed, too.

“Things haven’t turned out that bad for your, Avery.” Mom let out a noisy breath. “After all, look at what you’ve been able to do with that money. Go to college. Furnish your own apartment.” Her lip curled. “You make it sound like we did nothing for you.”