Then I hear voices.
I pivot to my right and power walk into the living room and the crowd. The costume party is in full swing now. A few people look my way, stare. Do they know? I can’t tell and cold sweat rolls underneath my costume. I take one step forward. Two. No one starts screaming. No one asks where Jason is. More eyes slide in my direction . . . and stick.
Maybe it’s because I’m dressed as a blood-spattered Alice in Wonderland—that has to be a first—but it’s probably not. Some people see me as the girl who brought down her foster dad, the child molester. Others see me as the girl who asked for it.
Yet another reason not to stick around. I push through the other guests, heading for the backyard, where I left Bren and two investment bankers. Fortunately, she’s still there and the suits are still enthralled with her. Thank God. I’ve never been more grateful for my adoptive mom’s ability to go on and on about diversification strategies.
“There you are.” Bren wraps one arm around my shoulders, gives me a tight squeeze. I’m so glad to see her I hug her even harder, have to remind myself to let go before I completely crush her fluffy pink Glinda the Good Witch costume.
“I thought you were going to hang around with Lauren,” she says, adjusting the collar of my dress so it’s smooth.
“They had to leave.”
“Oh.” The skin between Bren’s eyes creases. “Did you have a hard time finding me?”
I almost burst out laughing. I want to tell Bren no, not at all, because I’m not ten and I can get around, but if I don’t want to be Carson’s pet, my alternative is cute-and-cuddly teenage girl.
Only I don’t like that option either.
“I had a hard time finding the bathroom,” I whisper, and everyone smiles indulgently.
Gag. Me. Now.
Bren’s attention drifts to my hair, noticing the absent wig. She starts to speak and I cut her off, holding up the dark wig like it’s a dead animal. “Sorry. It was itchy.”
The guy to my right glances at his phone. “It’s almost time for Bay’s speech. Shall we go up?”
Shall we? Now I really want to gag. Until I realize Bren is kind of digging his attention. Her smile is white and shiny and . . . unfamiliar. I can’t remember the last time she looked so happy.
“That would be perfect,” Bren says, gathering a handful of pink tulle skirt. “And if you do decide you want a proposal, here’s my card.” She passes him a cream-colored business card and the guy pockets it, eyes still pinned to her like she’s made of magic.
He doesn’t have a clue. I don’t mean that to sound like my adoptive mom isn’t amazing. She is. But ever since Todd’s arrest, most of the town treats her like total crap. They think she should have known what he was doing and stopped it. Thing is, Bren agrees and she’s hated herself ever since.
And while I don’t regret taking down Todd, I do regret the blowback on Bren. Maybe if I had handled things differently . . . better . . . she wouldn’t be suffering. I saved my sister. I saved myself.
I ruined Bren’s life.
Exposing Todd was right . . . and yet.
“Are you friends with the family?” Guy #2 asks.
A brief pause. Bren always hesitates before she lies. “We’ve known them for a long time,” she says.
But the only reason we even received an invitation to the party is because Bren donated money to Bay’s previous political campaigns. They can’t afford to snub her even though we can’t really afford to contribute anymore. Bren’s consulting company is struggling because people around here don’t want to do business with her. These guys must be out-of-towners and Bren saw the opportunity. She’ll do whatever she has to do to take care of Lily and me.
It’s one of the biggest traits we share and I hope she never finds out.
Bren hooks her arm through mine, tucking me close like I’m everything she ever wanted, like we belong together.
It feels so perfect I smile right through the guilt gumming up my chest.
The four of us follow the other guests up to the main house. Inside, most of the furniture has been cleared away and staff in matching burgundy polo shirts is waving us through, motioning for everyone to huddle closer.
I tilt my head toward Bren. “What’s going on?”
“Bay’s probably going to announce his intent to run for election again next year. It shouldn’t take too long and then we can go home. I only have Lily’s babysitter until midnight.”
Ahead of us, the judge stands up—probably on some table or chair because he’s suddenly two or three feet higher than everyone.