Killian: A West Bend Saints Romance (48 page)

But my coach had set me on the right track, told me there was no such thing as luck.
You make your own way in life
, he said.

Even so, it still took a long time for me to realize that luck was something for suckers.

Kind of like love.

I
tucked
my bare feet up underneath me in the oversized arm chair, turning the medal over and over in my fingers, the repetition of the movement combined with the sensation of the cool metal against my skin soothing.

Iver handed me a flute filled with champagne, and I took it, despite the fact that it was at odds with where we were at in the con.

“Champagne?" I asked. "It doesn’t seem like we have anything to celebrate.  Am I wrong?”

“There’s always reason for champagne, darling." Iver sipped from his glass.  "You and that coin. Are you going to ever tell me what - or
who
- it's from?"

"It's not a coin," I said, distracted by my thoughts. "It's just for luck." Embarrassingly, my thoughts weren't even focused on the grift, the way they should have been. Instead, all I could think about was the unexpected appearance of Silas in my life.

I looked down at the medal in my hands. The sight brought back the painful memory of the day I'd left West Bend.

* * *

"
I
'm not leaving
!" I protested. But I continued to throw my clothes into the suitcase, preparing for the inevitable.

Of course I was leaving. I couldn't possibly stay.

"What?" My mother stood in front of me, her hands on her hips, shaking her head. "You think you'd last a minute in this town after we leave? Your father and I are running a con. The bottom is about to fall out on that. Do you really think you could stay here and escape the aftermath?"

"I'm eighteen next year," I pleaded. "Can't we stay somewhere for one year?"

My mother gestured toward my father. "Talk some sense into her," she said, disgusted. "Is this about that Saint boy you've been mooning over for months? Do you really want to give up everything in your life for him?"

"Everything in my life?" My voice sounded high-pitched, as if it belonged to someone else. "Yeah, all of this is everything I could ever want, isn't it? Moving constantly, from place to place, with no more than a minute's notice, lying to everyone about everything? It's like living in paradise. No one even knows my name. This time I'm Mariah. What's my new identity going to be?"

No one knows my name except Silas, I thought. I'd told him that my name was Tempest. He thought it was just a nickname between us.

I wanted him to know the truth. It was important to me that someone knew who I was, even if he didn't know that Tempest was anything more than a nickname. I wanted to give someone that part of me that I couldn't give anyone else - some semblance of the truth, even if it was just a sliver. If I couldn’t give him anything else, at least I could give him my name.

"You're coming with us," my father said. "Be reasonable. Do you know what will happen if you stay? When it comes out that we've run a game on a group of families in town, you'll be arrested."

"I'm a kid," I said. "No one's going to arrest a child."

"A child who's very close to turning eighteen," my father said. "Remember that. Do you think the authorities will believe you had no actual part in this?"

I stood there, silently protesting my fate, even though I knew in my heart that leaving was the only option.

"You're stealing from good people," I said. "Decent people. It's not right."

I don't think there was a more hateful thing I could have said to my father, even if I'd have told him I wanted him dead.

He looked at me, shock etched on his features, before turning to my mother and then back to me again. "Have I taught you nothing?" he asked. "Anyone who allows themselves be conned deserves to be conned. These people - these good people - they have plenty more where that came from."

"It's not right," I said. "What about Letty? What's she going to do here after we leave? I could stay with her."

"Your grandmother is not fit to take care of you," my mother said. "She's struggling as it is. She doesn't have enough money to worry about another mouth to feed."

I swallowed my pride, stepped forward, and hugged my father. "Obviously I'm coming with you,” I lied. “But I won't be thrilled about it."

"I'm glad to see that you're being sensible," he said.

"Yes," I said. "Sensible. I just need to get some air and think about things."

Then I walked outside and headed straight for the car, holding the keys I'd slipped from my father's pocket.

I was going to see Silas. I wasn't leaving.

* * *

S
ilas' mother answered the door
, her bathrobe clutched tightly around her, a fresh bruise under her eye. She looked shaken, and I asked if she was okay. It was the first time I'd ever met her.

"Silas isn't here," she said, her voice unsteady. "He went off somewhere."

She backed into the living room of the small house, leaving the door open. I took it as an invitation to come inside.

The house was tiny, the interior dark and the curtains drawn, the only light inside coming from the inch wide gap between two panels of cheap fabric tacked to the frame of one of the windows. I stood there for a minute, blinking as my eyes adjusted to the darkness. I'd never been to Silas' house before. I'd asked him once if he wanted to bring me home, but he just shook his head, saying he didn't want his parents' poison to rub off on me. I knew that Silas' father treated Silas' mother as his personal punching bag.

Silas hated him.

Being here in person and seeing where Silas lived was somehow more horrible than I had anticipated. I felt my breath come in short gasps, almost like I was hyperventilating, even after I told myself to calm down.

When we were traveling two summers before, this old gypsy woman had talked to me about my aura. I laughed when she told me my aura was purple. She said it meant that I was intuitive and sensitive. She was a scam artist - I should know.
But standing here right now, all I could think was that this place, even Silas' mother, was surrounded by a dark cloud. If there were such a thing as auras, everything here would be black.

"Where is Silas?" I asked. "Is he okay?"

She sat hunched over on the sofa, her face in her hands. "He's out, gone somewhere. He goes sometimes. I don't know where. He just goes."

I felt a surge of anger at her for not knowing where Silas was. How could she have no idea where her child was? And how could she display such little concern for him?

The feeling was followed immediately by pity for this broken woman. "Are you okay?" I asked, my voice soft. "Do you need some ice?"

Silas' mother shook her head. "His room is down there if you want to wait. Don't know how long he'll be. I just need to lie down here for a minute. The headaches..." Her voice trailed off, and she stretched out on the tattered sofa. I wondered if she was drunk or if I should call a doctor.

I stood there for a moment contemplating what to do, when she spoke, her eyes still closed. "I know about you," she said. "About your family. Your grandmother, she's not as tight-lipped as you might think about things."

My heart sank. Silas would understand, I thought. I'd told him my name. I'd told him the truth.

Not really. He had no idea who I was. I was just as guilty as my parents, just as involved in all of their scams, ever since I was a kid.

Silas would hate me.

"Silas has a real shot, you know," she said, eyes still closed. She wouldn't even look at me. "Has a chance at a scholarship, at getting out of here. He doesn't need anything tying him down. Doesn't need anyone tying him down, neither. Especially not someone like you."

Tears welled up in my eyes, and I fought the urge to cry in front of her. I knew she was right. "I need to leave a note," I said. "I can't...just leave."

"Down the hall," she said. "Second door on the left. Don't go finding him. It'll only be worse on him, saying goodbye."

I stumbled my way down the hallway in a daze, unable to think. When I entered Silas' room, I paused just inside the door, taking it all in. A stack of books was tossed carelessly on the floor, a notebook resting on top, and a few papers were scattered on the bed. It was sterile, furniture and nothing more, except for Silas' wrestling medals hanging on one wall. They provided the only color in the room. Everything else was just...grey.

I fumbled around beside his books, reaching for a pen, and paused when I found one, waiting for the words that wouldn't come.

How could I explain the deception that was my life?

In the end, I didn't try to explain. There was too much to say and it was too overwhelming. Instead, I just told the truth -

I
folded
the paper and left it on Silas' bed. I almost walked out the door, but stepped back inside, pausing at the wall where his wrestling medals hung, memorializing his wins.

Memories of my time with him.

My fingers traced over the medals, and I considered my actions for a moment before slipping one of the medals from its place on the wall and putting it in my pocket.

It was the only thing I could think to do. I couldn't leave without something from him, a reminder of the boy who had stolen my heart.

Then I did the hardest thing I would ever do.

I walked away.

* * *

I
turned
the medal over and over in my fingers, the textured emblem and lettering on the surface the most familiar thing in the world to me by now. I had kept it, telling myself it was a good luck charm - like most grifters, I had a superstitious streak I couldn't help, no matter how irrational I knew it was. But it was more than just a good luck charm, and I couldn't bring myself to let it go.

A voice broke through my thoughts. "Well, Ariana?"

I looked up, responding to my name. Or, rather, the name my team knew me as. They were the closest people in the world to me, and yet even they didn't know my real name.

Only Silas knew.

Standing a few feet away from me, Iver pursed his lips thoughtfully, then backed up, sinking into a chair across from me, and smoothing the pant leg of what was undoubtedly a five thousand dollar suit.  If there was one thing Iver had, it was impeccable taste, and that went for everything - art, clothing, jewelry, women. He was gorgeous, and an impossible flirt. But Iver and I didn't have that spark. I hadn't had that spark with anyone but Silas.

That was the trouble with a first love, the kind that burned hot the way mine and Silas’ had. It ruined you forever, left you comparing everything else to it for the rest of your life.