The Moth and the Flame (When Rivals Play #2) - B.B. Reid Page 0,13

the ugliest one?” I grumbled instead. I knew I sounded ungrateful as hell, but it was better than swooning, for fuck’s sake.

He peered over at me in disbelief. “You’re a little shit, you know that?”

“Would you rather I lie?”

At his black look, I shrank back into my seat. He quickly closed his eyes and silently cursed. When he opened them again, his eyes were blue, but the scowl was gone. “Please don’t.”

I felt my eyebrows bunch and my heart crack just a little. “You have problems with trust, don’t you?”

“Everyone does. Some have trouble giving it, and some have trouble keeping it. We all learn that the hard way.”

I laid my hand on his arm and felt the muscles bunch underneath. “I have the feeling this will be the start of a beautiful friendship.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because I trust you.”

I didn’t miss his wince or the way his hands strangled the steering wheel, but I chose to chalk it up to grumpiness. Maybe he didn’t really want a friend, but he could sure use one.

Neither of us spoke the entire way back to Shane’s house. It had started to snow again, and I wondered—no, panicked at the thought of spending another night trapped in his house. When Wren turned down the street, my heart skipped a beat when I noticed the police cruiser and an all too familiar white Ford sedan with blue writing on the side.

Wren didn’t miss a beat as he pulled into the driveway.

“I have to get out of here,” I whispered. He must not have heard me, though, because he put the truck in park.

I looked around anxiously trying to figure out a route of escape. Seeing none, I turned helplessly once more to Wren and paused at the guilt I saw lining his profile. I knew right then that he had been the one to call them.

Sighing, he shut off the truck. “You really shouldn’t, Louchana.”

My eyes bulged at the sound of my real name even as my entire body shook with rage. He knew? How?

“Shouldn’t what?” I spat instead. It didn’t matter how he’d learned my name. What mattered now was what he’d done with it.

“Trust me.”

Snow continued drifting from the sky, and the silence that followed seemed heavier than the blanket of falling white flakes. Ms. Laura Strickland—my social worker—and two officers exited their cars at the same time and locked eyes with me through the windshield.

“Noted.”

“Now you just remember, young lady, we expect you back in this house by four and not a minute later.”

I shouldered my backpack and nodded while Eliza Henderson, my foster parents’ daughter, smiled reassuringly.

That smile quickly fell when her father added, “And Eliza, you will let us know if she’s late, won’t you?” The Henderson’s both worked for one of the prisons—I could never remember the name—and worked long hours that frequently extended into the night. And when they weren’t working, they were at the church down the street, at Bible study or running one of the many programs I refused to attend.

“Eliza,” her mother snapped when she hesitated.

Eliza reluctantly nodded while avoiding my gaze. I shrugged, not blaming her for the corner her parents had backed her into, and headed for the door. Besides, I didn’t think Eliza would snitch. I had a bus to catch that I didn’t want to miss because the alternative was a ride to school and more time for lectures.

The Hendersons were good people, but my parents had been good people, too.

Eliza, who was a year younger than me, had tried desperately to befriend me, but I refused to budge.

I didn’t like getting too close to people.

In the two and a half years since my parents ditched me, I had succeeded—until Wren fucking Harlan. In less than twenty-four hours, he had taught me a valuable lesson.

Trust no one.

No matter how much I desperately wanted to.

It had only been a week since he gave me up. Surprisingly, the Hendersons were willing to do what no other family had—they accepted me back into their home, which was more than I deserved. A good placement was like winning the lottery, and I’d unknowingly hit the jackpot when I found this kind family.

The only real problem in the multimillion-dollar equation was me. It was only a matter of time before I ran away again. I knew it, the Hendersons knew it, and my goddamn social worker knew it. But she was patient and kind too. Anyone else would have thrown me into a group home or juvie