She opens the door slowly and steps into the room, bringing with her a cloud of expensive perfume and a reminder of my anxieties. She looks every bit the part of the stereotypical trophy wife—from her blond hair and perfect body to the single-carat diamond studs in each ear.
At twenty-six, Gwen is only six years older than me, five years older than her stepson. She married Arrow’s father a convenient eight months before she gave birth to Katie, making her husband a father to his second child at the age of sixty-five. I don’t judge her for marrying Mr. Woodison, a man nearly forty years her senior. We all have our reasons for taking paths for which the world will judge us.
“I’m guessing you heard that,” she says.
I nod and tell my racing heart to steady. If she asks me to leave, I don’t know what I’ll do. Get a job at Walmart, maybe? The pay cut would be a bitch, but it would be something. Of course, then there’d be no school next fall, and the fact that Mr. Woodison pays me enough that I’ll be able to afford my tuition at Blackhawk Hills U is definitely the sweetest part of this arrangement.
“He hates you so much,” she says. The words hit me with the dull force of a blow to the heart. “Why?”
Because I destroyed everything. “I don’t know.”
She extends her arms for Katie, and I hesitate. Seeing Arrow again—even for only the ten seconds it took him to climb into his car—has left me feeling ugly and guilty. The baby’s warmth is a soothing balm to my battered conscience, but I hand her over.
“I don’t know what we’re going to do about him,” Gwen says. “But if that’s a taste of what’s to come, it’s going to be a long six months.” She shakes her head and peers between the slats in the blinds. “I can’t say that I’m happy with him serving his sentence here, but it wasn’t my choice to make.”
“He’s not that bad.” When she cuts her gaze to me, I wish I’d kept my mouth shut. If I’m going to keep my job with the Woodisons while Arrow is home, I need Gwen as my ally.
With a sigh, she releases the blinds and turns back to me. “I won’t live in a house with you two at each other’s throats. So as long as I’m stuck with him here, you’re going to have to fix it.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Whatever is wrong between you and Arrow. Fix it. Or I’ll have to find someone else to help me with Katie and the house.”
My heart plummets, and I reach out and grab the edge of the crib. “I’ll talk to him.” Not that talking will help. The best thing I can do for Arrow is avoid him. He won’t be so angry about me being here if he doesn’t have to look at my face.
“Between you and me,” Gwen says, her lips curling into a perfectly painted snarl, “I’m hoping he’ll slip up and start using again. I’d rather see his spoiled ass spend the next six months in jail than have him under my roof.”
“Start using again.” I never thought those words would be connected to Arrow, and hearing them is a slap in the face. Because Gwen might be clueless, but everyone else in this town knows why Arrow’s life spun out of control this semester, and anyone who’s honest knows I’m to blame. I wasn’t driving the car. I wasn’t throwing the punches. But I was the catalyst. If I’d stayed home that night . . .
I keep my mouth shut, and I’m rewarded with a smile as Gwen hands Katie back to me.
Fix it. A simple command delivered by a woman who’s grown accustomed to having her demands met. Only she doesn’t know she’s asking for the impossible.
No one can fix this.
Arrow
The house is dark and quiet when I get home. Maybe everyone is sleeping, but that’s unlikely. At eleven, Dad’s probably drinking his first scotch. Maybe screwing his nubile young wife.
And Mia? Is she sleeping? Studying? Maybe she’s rocking the baby to sleep and humming a lullaby.
I climb the stairs and head straight to my room, each step feeling like another click of the invisible shackles of my house-arrest sentence. Tonight was my last night of freedom, and I spent it sitting in my car alone by the lake. Because apparently I’m a fucking masochist who wanted to wallow in his