Broken Knight (All Saints High #2) - L.J Shen Page 0,54

Knight…”

“Really? You drag your ass across the country, and all you have to say to me is a weak ‘but Knight’?”

She burst into tears. I turned my head to watch her, my face dripping nonchalance. She was tall, with blue eyes and blonde hair. I wondered just how dark my dad had been to dilute the Reese Witherspoon genes she was sporting. We looked nothing alike, and that made me happy somehow. Proud.

“Don’t send me any more letters.”

“But…”

“Call me again, and I’ll take it to the police. And never, fucking ever, bypass my parents when you want to get to me, eighteen or not.”

“But…but…”

“Stop with the buts! I didn’t want to open the case. You sure as fuck don’t deserve to make that decision for me.” I stood up, plucking a bunch of bills from my wallet and throwing them in my birth mother’s general direction. “Cab fare back to the airport. Ciao, Dixie.”

I tried to ignore Knight’s existence for the next few days.

I went surfing with Edie every morning, took Racer to the mall twice, and caught up on reading material for college. I rode my bike. A lot.

Even though I didn’t actually see him, Knight was always there, hovering in the back of my mind. Everything I did was tainted with the vision of his face. To silence the demon with stabbing green eyes, I decided to dig deeper into Val.

Last night, I’d gone into my father’s walk-in closet when he wasn’t home, risen on my toes, and slid out the shoebox where he kept everything Val-related. There were mainly legal documents, most of them about me—my birth, my heritage, and the documents proving he had full custody of me. I didn’t know why he still kept them. I was nineteen and wasn’t going anywhere.

Nowhere near Val, and nowhere at all.

The more I dug into my biological mother’s case, the more I realized how much of a mystery she was to me—no address, no background, no relatives I knew of. She had a mother—wasn’t my grandmother curious to meet me?—and not much else.

I decided to talk to Edie about it. Edie was a better bet than Dad because she didn’t have an allergic reaction to the name Valenciana. I wasn’t really sure why, because when I was four, she hadn’t been immune to being screwed over by Val.

I found Edie in the kitchen, making sugar cookies with Racer. They turned around when I entered, both of them wearing matching Why Are You All Up in My Grill? aprons. Edie took one look at my face before she dropped a kiss on Racer’s head.

“Go help your dad in the garage.”

“Help him with what? He’s watching a football game.” Racer frowned.

“Well, he’s old and nearsighted.”

“No, he’s not.”

“He needs you to read the score for him. Go.”

I plopped down on the barstool by the kitchen island, rubbing my face. Edie walked over to the fridge and took out two Bud Lights, popping them open and sliding one in my direction. I loved how she put the Mom cap on when I needed her to be the responsible adult, and the Friend cap on when I didn’t want to be lectured. She could always sense which version of her I needed and slipped into the role like a chameleon, changing her colors but still staying the same, sweet Edie.

“What’s the story, morning glory?” She tipped her beer bottle up, taking a sip.

“Val,” I signed.

Edie gathered her long blonde hair into a messy, yet somehow perfect bun.

“All right. I’m listening.”

There was always a dash of guilt thrown in when I mentioned Val to Edie. After all, one of them was an MIA birth mom who wanted nothing to do with me, and the other was a girl who’d met me when she was a teenager herself—nineteen, as I was right now—and immediately took me under her wing, sacrificing her youth for Dad and me.

“Have you ever tried to find out where she was?”

Edie shook her head, peeling the label off her beer bottle. “Your dad doesn’t like talking about her. I doubt she’s in the country anymore. Last we saw her, when you were four, she was deeply troubled.”

“I want to find out.”

“Why, Luna?”

“Why?” I threw my hands in the air, wanting to punch someone. “Because I can’t move forward! Because I have no roots, so how can I know where to grow, in which direction? Because she is my past!”

“Exactly. You can’t do anything about your past. Focus on your present. On

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