My time was spent volunteering at national forests and FreeTree Society （Ransom wasn’t kidding, he really did sign me up for everything under the sun） and drawing nonstop.
Calluses formed on my middle finger and thumb. And yet I continued.
Even when my wrist hurt.
Even when my hands began to shake, so weak I could barely wash my hair, pick up my phone, cut my food with utensils.
Max had arrived in Dallas, armed with enough sunscreen to drown an army. He and Ransom took turns watching me. On one hand, I felt more comfortable with Max—he was chill, sweet, and never mean to me. On the other, every time Ransom was away, I was worried he was getting frisky with other women.
Why did I care? While it was true that Ransom and I were no longer at each other’s throats, we were a very long way from being buddies. It was more a case of my wanting to save my energy for the battles ahead of me, with Mom, Dad, Hera, and Craig.
“So let me get this straight,” Keller said. He was back in L.A. from Palm Springs, munching on a celery stick while we were on the phone. I was sketching on my pad. An elaborate tattoo of a sexy-looking Medusa, pouty and luscious, her snake hair curling over her throat, cutting off her air supply. Beautiful Death. “You’re currently protected by two seriously hot men, and you’re not getting D-ed by either of them?”
Keller didn’t know that I wasn’t in the business of hooking up.
“Correct.”
“Okay…why?” He seemed flabbergasted.
“Because it’s a bad idea.”
“And since when do you shy away from those?” He laughed.
“I guess I’m trying to do better.”
“By whom?” Keller demanded. “Not your vajayjay, that’s for sure. The younger one seemed into you at first, right?”
“Max? Oh, I think so. He’s sweet, but…I don’t know, too meek, maybe? And Ransom is hot, but also a massive jerk.”
“You mean, the type to release a sex tape of you two?” Keller asked dreamily. He had a thing for bastards. His ex-boyfriends were atrocious. From emotional abusers to serial cheaters, it was very easy to give up on happily-ever-after when I had a front-row seat to Keller’s love life.
However, Ransom was the opposite of a man who would air out his business to the world. I wasn’t worried that he’d land me in trouble. He gave me every indication he wanted to keep me away from it. He just seemed like a really bad person to put my trust in. So wildly disconnected from his soul, I wondered if he had one at all.
“Just trust me when I say they’re both off-limits.”
“All right, but I’m starting to worry about you, girl. I haven’t seen you with any arm candy for a while.”
The last man Keller had seen me with was Dash Rodgers, a Seattle Seahawks quarterback who needed a few dates in L.A. while he was negotiating a new contract. Truth was, he was desperately heartbroken from a recent breakup—his country singer fiancée had been caught cheating on him with her guitar player—and I needed a way to boost up my image to get more gigs. We both benefited from the arrangement and parted as friends. But when Keller had asked about him, I relayed my wild nights with Rodgers while he was in town, omitting what we actually did—played Monopoly and Patchwork while discussing a National Geographic documentary about whales.
“I’ll get back on the horse in L.A.,” I assured him.
“Just as long as you make sure the horse is well-hung.”
“Keller…” I closed my eyes.
“Too much?” He laughed.
“Way too much.”
“It sounded better in my head.”
I hung up before he made a joke about giving head.
You could never be too careful.
Craig’s grandfather passed away at the age of a hundred and one.
Since my parents were already in D.C., Hera demanded the funeral take place as soon as possible so that the wedding plans could continue uninterrupted.
“She’s devastated,” my mother felt the need to explain to me on the phone, “but she knows that’s what Bill would have wanted.”
Yeah. I was sure Grandpa Bill cared specifically about Hera and Craig’s wedding while hospitalized with severe pneumonia as he succumbed to systematic organ failure.
“Yes. Terrible. Show must go on.” I chewed on my vegetarian chow mein in my suite’s room, flipping through one of my drawing books. Dallas felt much more bearable when I knew my family wasn’t in town. My new, cool hobby also kept me busy.
I could hear Ransom returning from the gym, and practiced admirable self-control by not peeking outside my room to see if he was in any state of undress.
“You should probably come to the funeral.” My mother sighed. “Show your support to Craig.”
My blood froze in my veins. Going there…seeing everyone…seeing him again…
“I didn’t even know Bill,” I argued softly.
“Does it matter? Craig is family.”
“Your family,” I enunciated. “Not mine.”
Thinking of Craig as family made me want to rip my skin off and dump it in a bonfire. Especially after I found my own rhythm, my own passion in sketching right here. I dropped my sketchbook, sitting back in my desk chair. Ransom popped his sweaty face in my door, to check that I was alive. I waved him away.
“You’re coming to D.C., Hallie. I will not hear any excuses,” Mom said.
“Mom—”
“Pass me to Ransom, please.”
I felt like a thirteen-year-old negotiating curfew time. Groaning, I handed Ransom my phone. He stepped inside, wearing a soaked wifebeater and gray sweatpants with a promising bulge.
“Yes?” Ransom asked. “Yes,” he said again. Then “When?” And finally, “She’ll be there.”
He hung up the phone and handed it back to me. My eyes were hot with unshed tears.
“We’ll be leaving tomorrow,” he announced.
I rolled the statement off my shoulders, redirecting my attention to the sketchpad in my lap. It was fine. I would just let everything fly past me. Through me, maybe. Just as long as it didn’t stay inside me.
“Brat,” he said, to draw my attention.
I picked up my sketchbook, flipping through the pages.
“Brat.”
Nothing. Not my name, not my problem. I’d had enough.
“Hallie.”
I looked at him reluctantly. “Yes?”
Maybe this was the time when he grew a heart and asked me what was wrong. About my aversion to Craig. Or maybe he would talk it out with me. Try to figure out how the trip could be a little less awkward for me. “Don’t forget to memorize your speech.” He pointed at the pile of pages on the corner of my desk, before slamming the door and heading to the shower.
Ransom Lockwood didn’t do compassion.
Then.
The pickpocketing turned into larceny. We ended up breaking into places, Tom, Lawrence and I. Mainly big stores and corporate chains. People who wouldn’t want the hassle of pressing charges even if we got caught.
At some point, we graduated and became small-time drug dealers. Mr. Moruzzi was a prolific criminal, with many people working under him. On the surface, he was a successful businessman, with several hotdog stands across Chicago. But the amount of dirty money that passed through our hands was ridiculous.