He shrugged. “Your funeral.”

Teeth chattering, fists clenched, eyes bleeding hatred. “What about him?”

“Theodore?”

No. The Pope. “Yes.”

“Our deal still stands. You will get to keep him around as long as you provide the information I need on Rexroth. Now that my plans have changed, staying on top of things at Fiscal Heights Holdings is vital,” he said dryly, running a hand over the vanity I’d never used, a sheet of dust coating his palm.

“And if I fail?” I hoped he didn’t pick up on that gulp.

“You won’t fail. Failure would mean Theodore moving away to an East Coast facility. I know of an excellent one near the New York branch of Fiscal Heights Holdings.”

“It’s difficult to find things on Trent. He is not a stupid man.” I choked on my words, stomping my feet. I hated that I’d stomped my feet. I wasn’t that kind of girl. I wasn’t a girl.

“He’s smart, but I trust you’re smarter. You came from me, after all.”

Barf. How could I react to this without sounding hateful? I changed the subject. “Do you have someone else? Are you leaving Mom for a mistress?” The words felt dirty in my mouth. I wanted to take a shower and bury myself under the duvets, but most of all, I wanted not to feel so impossibly tired of fighting this cold war that never ceased. This was exactly how my mother had started off her rocky affair with prescription drugs and depression.

Not leaving the bed.

Day in and day out.

Jordan examined me emotionlessly. He took a step back, indicating he was done with the conversation, and wiped his dusty hand on my black hoodie, resting on the back of my chair. “Don’t be childish, Edie.”

“I got to meet quite a few of your lovers over the years. I’m wondering if one of them has finally managed to do what the others couldn’t. Is it Tracey? Holly? Maybe Cadence?” I pouted, knowing full well I was losing control and not caring anymore. I was vindictive and full of red wrath. A wrecking ball of fire. I was hungry for that power he took from me whenever he was in the room.

He shook his head. “Mental like your mother.”

I took a step toward him, watching as his face twisted in confusion. I never invaded his personal space. But now my nose was dangerously close to his and I saw everything swimming in his light blue eyes. I saw myself in his features, in his clenched jawline, in the little curve of our noses, in the pastiness of our skin—mine diluted by my tan and freckles and youth—his still stern white. And for the first time, I realized that maybe I was him. A product of something horrible, that was going to give birth to more awful things.

“I don’t care if you leave her for someone else. I know I can’t convince you to stay, and even if I could—half the time I think she’s still like this because of you. But I will tell you this—if you decide to parade your new toy around town and humiliate my mother, there will be consequences. As for Theo—not Theodore, Theo—and Trent Rexroth, I am sick and tired of asking you how high every time you tell me to jump. I will get you the goddamn flash drive, Daddy Dearest, but in return, you will sign all the legal documentation I have stashed in the drawer of that useless vanity you bought me when I was twelve and set Theo and me free. Agree to this right now, Jordan, or we don’t have a deal. And please, before you say anything, never underestimate a broken person. We’re unpredictable, because once you’re broken—what’s one more crack?”

The words left my body like a hurricane, and after I was done, I was left panting. I felt the disloyalty for Luna and the unfaithfulness to Trent in my bones. I was sick to my stomach, knowing how it was going to affect Camila, but things were getting too complicated. I needed to run away with Theo and disappear. SoCal wasn’t the only place in the world with good beaches. We could live somewhere else. Build a life. We could sit on a porch I hadn’t even seen before, watching the sunset, eating pistachio ice cream, laughing. Making good memories and bottling them in our minds. We could.

“Edie,” my father said. I looked straight at him, then past him. He knew that I’d meant it. Besides, something told me that he was done with me, anyway. With me, with my mom, with Theo. Getting the flash drive and cutting me out of his life was a two birds, one stone situation. Of course, he’d say yes.

“Get me that flash drive”—he leaned close to me, his cheek pressing against mine—“and you will get your future with Theodore.”

“Keep your lovers in the dark, where sin should be hidden,” I reminded him. This time it was me who held his wrist. I couldn’t wrap my fingers around his cold flesh—like a snake’s dead skin—but I’d hit home this time. The tightness of his jaw told me so.

“True Van Der Zee,” he muttered, shaking me off like I was a wet stray cat in the pouring rain.

Because at that moment, I was the kid who’d stared at the dying dog and didn’t blink.

At that moment, I was ruthless.

At that moment, I was the Van Der Zee I never thought I’d become.

I hated that person. But that person hated Jordan much more than she feared him.

My stomach growled for the eighteenth time that morning, loud enough to be heard even through the sound of the crashing Pacific waves.

“God, Gidget, what the fuck? Eat a goddamn energy bar.” Bane rummaged in his bag and threw a protein bar at me, scowling. His sullen expression didn’t melt one bit when I walked over and tucked the bar back into his backpack, sliding into my flip-flops and hoisting my board up to rest on my head the rest of the way to the promenade. I didn’t not eat to spite him. I couldn’t eat. The nausea ate at my stomach, making acid dance on the back of my tongue. Ever since I’d told my father I was going to retrieve that flash drive with God-knows-what on it, I’d felt sick. Not just physically, but mentally. I wasn’t entirely sure what I was feeling for Trent, but I was more than certain no one in the world deserved what I was about to serve him.

Bane snatched his radio from the sand, “Pacific Coast Highway” by Kavinsky blasting from the speakers. He grabbed my board and tucked it under his arm, carrying both our surfboards up to the boardwalk. I followed him on failing legs, the bile still fresh and sour in my throat. When we got to the walkway, he greeted homeless people living in makeshift cardboard homes on the grassy hills by the shops. He knew everyone on this beach. Every failing artist who shoved their CD into people’s hands, and every new salesman in the weed, surfing, and bike shops. Bane was still shirtless and barefoot when he walked me over to my car. A not-so-secret donor had paid my pending invoice at the shop and they’d finally released my Audi, new cylinder and all. Bane turned around and leaned against my passenger door when we got to my car, folding his arms over the angry dragon on his chest. His lethargic jade eyes scanned me with amused disinterest, and he tilted his head, like I was a weird mystical creature he couldn’t figure out.

“Come over to meet my mom,” he said out of nowhere.

The laughter bubbled from my sore throat. It wasn’t happiness, but embarrassment diluted with anxiety. I rubbed my hands together to warm up from the water, slapping my palms over my face to keep him oblivious to my blushing cheeks. “Aw, I didn’t know we were getting serious. And this, after you refused to take me to prom when we were actually dating.”

He rolled his eyes before shooting me a serious look. “Prom is lame, and we were never really together. We were fucking exclusively until your daddy issues came out in full force. Anyway, I think my mom could help you.”

“Help me with what?” I nearly snorted. I was beyond help. I was about to fuck over two people to save one I loved.

“With your family situation.” Bane didn’t know everything, but he knew enough. Getting assistance from an outsider was tempting, but I’d never met Bane’s mother before, and even though I knew she was a hotshot with all kinds of connections, I didn’t trust adults. Real adults. The ones who ran the world I lived in. “I appreciate the offer, but I got it covered.” I walked over to the driver’s side of my car and swung the door open, sliding into the Audi. I could still smell Vicious’—the previous owner—scent in my car, and he reminded me of Trent. Of his sharp posture and formidable frown. Bane appeared by my window and tapped the roof of my car, smirking.

“Is that why you forgot to tie your board to your roof? Look, you should at least think about it, Gidget. For what it’s worth, I think you don’t have it covered, and if you need a helping hand, you know mine is good for more than fingering.”

“Disgusting, but thank you.”

I tied my surfboard and drove away, not even bothering to make a stop at home to take a shower and change. I needed to think about what I was going to do with my mother. I needed to come up with a plan for that flash drive. But most of all—I needed to stop thinking about Trent like he wasn’t the enemy.

ATLANTA FUCKING GEORGIA.

“Are you sure?” I tap-tap-tapped my fingers on my desk, one hand cupping my cheekbone. I stared at Amanda like she was delivering me a stillborn, and not the fucking news I’d been waiting for, for years. In a way, she was. This information was useless, futile, dead weight. She sat across from me, looking every inch the professional private investigator—dressed smart, but not too sophisticated, in a white blouse and a pair of black cigar pants—and nodded, sliding a manila file across my desk.

“Positive. She lives in a nice apartment building in Buckhead, an upscale area in Atlanta. She has a Chihuahua. No husband. No children. As far as I am aware, she doesn’t work. Not sure where the money comes from. I can look deeper into it, of course, but that would entail flying out to Atlanta. You will need to cover the ticket, hotel, plus the hourly rate. Or I could connect you with a colleague who works there. He could find out all the data that you need.”

If there was a fucking guideline as to what to feel, about the Val thing and in general, I’d buy the shit out of it and order extra copies. For the first time in years, it looked like things were picking up. My parents and I took Luna to her weekly sign language classes. We all made an effort, and she actually started communicating with us. Luna had Camila, whom she liked, and Sonya, whom she absolutely adored. And, somewhere in-between, Edie Van Der Zee had managed to make my daughter smile, laugh, shop for clothes, and go to Disneyland. It seemed like I was on the brink of a breakthrough, and rocking the boat felt like a wild Vegas bet. When I’d started my hunt after Val, the situation had been different. I was sitting alone in Chicago with a one-year-old baby in my arms. I still remembered the moment I decided to pick up my phone and call my best friend Dean, asking if his lawyer dad knew of a good PI I could trust. I was staring at the city from my penthouse, Luna chewing my arm with her new pointy teeth between pleading cries for her mother.