Between Now & Never (32 page)

Someone is on the ground now. Cody? I’ve dropped all my things. Call the police? Yes. I scramble for my cell phone before someone behind me yells. A woman. Donna.

She and members of the tech crew are across the parking lot. Fin pauses. Now I see blood on his fist, and I realize it must be Cody’s.

My gut sinks.

And yet Fin’s face doesn’t look so good either. Damian turns his attention to Donna as well. Blood gathers on his lower lip.

Fin backs away, making his way to the passenger door of the Jaguar in a flash. Then another car zips into the parking lot. The Buick. Vic pops open the door, but Heidi stays inside.

“Fin,” Vic calls out, the name putting my pulse on hold. They
do
know each other. Which means Cody was telling the truth. He
does
remember. A drug deal gone bad. Vic got Cody into this whole mess.

“It’s gone.” Cody’s voice.

I bite down on my lip as I round the Jaguar to see him on the ground. Blood drips from his nose, weaving a red trail over his lips and down his chin. I gasp and cover my mouth.

“The recording,” Cody says. “The phone. It’s gone. I threw it away. Now leave her alone.”

Damian looks satisfied with this as he gets to his feet and steps back to his car. A smile slithers over his lips.

The
recording
? The
phone
?

The Jaguar pulls out of the parking lot before Donna even reaches us, its deep rumble fading into the distance along with its taillights. Cody gets to his feet.

“What happened?” Donna is at my side now. “Are you okay? Oh my—”

Color drains from her face as she takes in the sight of Cody’s bloody nose. “I’m calling the police.”

Her phone is already drawn out.

Cody wipes the blood away with the back of his hand. “It was just a misunderstanding.”

“You need medical attention,” Donna counters.

“We’ll get him to a hospital.” Vic. He’s at Cody’s side now, his hand clasping Cody’s shoulder like a best friend as he urges him back to his car.

Cody shrugs him off. “We wouldn’t have been in this mess if it weren’t for you.”

“Cool off,” Vic says, keeping his voice low.

“Did you know?” Cody asks. “About the recording? That’s why you’ve kept your distance ever since the accident, huh? You claimed you didn’t know me and you were glad I’d lost my memory.”

Vic glances our way and so does Cody. Vic steps toward his car, facing away. Heidi stands outside the open passenger door.

“His dad is FBI,” I say to Donna, as though a link to the FBI lends some credibility to Cody, the one who started the fight. The thought of having police show up has my nerves on edge. I want to leave, to pretend none of this happened. At least give my mind some time to assimilate the events of the night.

Now that Vic and Cody are done, Donna won’t stop talking, and yet I struggle to process a single word she says. Something about being a witness if we need one, and will I be all right?

“Yes, yes, I’m fine,” I say as Donna helps me pluck my dress bags from the ground. Cody is here, too, bending down to help. Donna flinches at the sight of him.

“I’ve got this,” he says and gathers up everything, easily carrying three dress bags, two pairs of heels, and my makeup tote in one arm. My bouquet in the other.

“Jewel, get in,” Vic says, gesturing to our car.

But Cody is already putting my things into the back of his.

“I’ll take her home,” Cody says.

I dither back and forth between the two cars before hopping into Cody’s. The familiar leather seat and close confines of his car calm me, the purr of the engine comforts me. Once we’re in fifth gear on the freeway, Cody takes my hand in his, and it feels good. Safe. Before long, however, the silence between us that was once relaxing becomes uncomfortable.

“I’m sorry,” I say, still baffled at the confirmation that Vic knows Damian and Fin. Vic must have come as soon as he heard my last message, the one when I told him I was getting a ride home with Damian Acklen and his brother Fin. “I didn’t believe you—your story—and I should have.”

Cody glances down at our clasped hands with a hint of a smile before returning his gaze to the road. “It’s okay.”

I wish he’d say more. Damian and Fin are drug dealers, rich drug dealers. And Vic knows them. This reality spins around in my head, part of my mind refusing to accept it.

“Are we—” I pause—“in danger? Me, you, Vic . . .”

“No.”

Said with such assuredness.

“Without the recording, I’m no real threat to them,” he says.

“What recording?”

“Of the drug deal,” he explains. “That night, with Vic. I told Vic I didn’t want any part of it, but I didn’t get away in time. They showed up; Fin and some other guy. I recorded it all.”

“And Damian?” I ask.

“He showed up later that night during the dust storm. He hit me with his car—that Jaguar. I recognized his license plate when I drove up just now. He searched my pockets for my phone, but it was already gone.”

“So you remember?” I say. “The accident . . . the mall?”

He shakes his head, the muscle beneath the five o’clock shadow on his jaw clenching in frustration. “I don’t remember much between throwing my phone away in the mall and getting hit by his car.”

“You
threw it away
?”

“It was damaged,” he explains. “Totally shattered.”

“Oh,” I say, but so much of this still doesn’t make sense. “But I don’t understand why Damian would come back around. Wouldn’t he want to stay away from you? Wouldn’t he worry about jarring your memory?”

“Thing is,” he says, “I gave him a reason to worry that my memory was already coming back. I stopped by his car lot. The Acklen Motor logo caught my eye, and it looked familiar.”

“And he recognized you.”

Cody nods.

Did he give you anything else?
I recall what Damian asked me at the
Night with the Arts
, and my shoulders deflate. It seemed like an odd question then. Yet I realize now what was behind it. What was behind everything he did.

“Damian thought you might have given your phone to me,” I say. “At the mall.”

Cody nods again, and it all clicks. Here I thought I did some amazing thing by landing a wealthy sponsor on my own.

“Damian was getting close to me to get information, to tie up loose ends,” I say, receiving another silent nod from Cody.

“He’s one of the smart ones,” Cody says. “The smart drug dealers. Their distributors don’t even know who they are. I’m pretty sure Vic didn’t know Damian, not before tonight at least. During the drug deal he asked Fin when he’d get to meet ‘Ian,’ meaning Damian, and Fin said he wouldn’t.

“If one of the lower drug dealers gets caught, they’ll almost always rat out the higher-ups to get time off their sentences. The smart dealers insulate themselves. Having a perfect cover-up business to account for mounting income is a smart move, too. An owner of a luxury car lot like Damian would have an easy time spending lots of dough without getting flagged by the government.

“But he was also stupid because Fin is his brother, and I got him on camera. A recording like that is perfect evidence. Irrefutable. If I somehow still had the recording, or access to it from you, Damian would have every reason to be worried.”

“But you don’t,” I say, obviously bringing his enthusiasm down a notch.

His deep exhalation is almost a grunt. “No.”

“But you remember, Cody,” I say. “You remember the accident. Can’t you tell the police?”

“Yeah, I can. But the accident was more than four months ago, and I did get a serious concussion. Memory loss. My memories are worth nothing, especially in court. Can you picture me taking the stand, a kid who’s had
amnesia
, testifying against guys like Damian and Fin without any solid evidence? Defense attorneys would have a royal laugh at my expense, and they’d have every right to.”

“What about Vic?” I ask. “Couldn’t he testify?”

“Yeah, but would he?”

“Good point.”

It’s only eleven o’clock when we pull up to my house but it feels so much later.

“Congratulations, by the way,” Cody says with a smile, his eyes dropping to the boxed crown in my hands. “I knew you’d win.”

I certainly didn’t. I didn’t see any of this coming. The interview, the pageant, the fight between Damian and Cody—it’s hard to believe so much happened in one day.

“I’m sorry, too,” he says, the porch light from my house illuminating his green eyes in the darkness. “I trust you. That whole thing with Candace and the sweater story—I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

“It’s okay,” I say.

He lifts my hand and presses his lips to my knuckles, holding my gaze as he repeats, “I’m sorry.”

In light of everything that’s happened, Candace’s twisted story and the fact that Cody might have believed her shouldn’t matter, but his apology means the world nonetheless.

 

The lingering excitement of the night refuses to leave me alone long enough for me to fall asleep. Damian’s question won’t leave me alone either.

The glittering crown rests on my dresser in the darkness. I stare at it, thinking back to that visit with Mama at the beginning of the summer when all of this started. I recall the sweltering Arizona heat as we left the prison, the brown landscape dotted by cactus reminding me of how trapped I felt. I see this place differently now, see myself differently.

The question repeats in my mind as I toss around in bed.

I’m not sure which Dad was more surprised to see earlier tonight when I returned home: the crown in my hands or Cody Rush helping me bring my things in, his nose still carrying a trace of blood.

“You won,” Dad pointed out once Cody left.

I nodded. “And Hephaestus?” I asked hopefully.

Dad shook his head. I can’t say I was surprised the hunk of scrap metal didn’t win an award at the gala, but I felt bad for my dad anyway. “Next year,” I assured him and headed for bed.

Vic comes home late. I hear him crash in his room at 1:47 a.m. Part of me wants to barge through his door and demand the full story, while the other part of me aches to remain in denial. He was dealing drugs after Mama went to prison, which means her sacrifice for him was for nothing. He hasn’t changed at all.

Despite my restlessness I fall asleep, but the craziness of the night maintains a tight clasp on my subconscious. I’m at The Chocolate Shoppe. My apron is a mess. It’s been a long day and I’m about to close. But then I fumble a bottle of caramel and hold my breath as it dives off the counter, plummeting toward the ground before someone sweeps in and catches it.

I look up to find two very green eyes staring into mine.

“Got it,” he says, one side of his smile tilting upward into a crooked grin with killer dimples.

It’s a dream, a very pleasant dream as I relive that night in broken fragments, everything from him ordering chocolates to the photo-booth pictures to parting ways in the mall parking lot.

“Hey,” I call after him as he walks away. He turns, still walking as I hold up his chocolates and stuffed dog. “You almost forgot.”

He shakes his head, walking backward with a wide smile. “They’re for you,” he calls out.

I look at the bag of chocolates in my hand—all of
my
favorite chocolates—and the dog, stunned.

I spring out of bed, feeling light-headed and confused.
The dog.
Cody did give me something else that night.

The glow of early dawn slithers in through the broken slats of my blinds, illuminating my closet door with a hazy blue light. I throw open the closet and search through my things on hands and knees, remembering how I threw the stuffed animal in here in a senseless rage after seeing Cody at school that first day. And then I forgot all about it.

My hand brushes past something soft and fluffy and I drag it out.

The dog.

I stare at the cute white dog, wondering what on earth would possess Cody to take the time to buy a stuffed animal at the mall when he knew he was in danger.

What if Cody’s memory failed him yet again? Is it possible he didn’t throw his phone away after all?

I squeeze the dog, shifting the stuffing aside as I feel around. Nothing. No phone.

I let out a resigned breath of air. It was worth a try. Some of the stuffing has fallen out, littering the carpet at my knees. Curious, I pull the dog up to eye level, finding an opening in the seam—almost like someone tore it open.

I shove my finger inside and feel around, wondering if I’m crazy. Or could it be? A tiny piece of something hard touches my finger and I pinch, drawing it out to reveal a flat little square. A SIM card. For an iPhone.

I sit on my bed and stare at it. The clock on my wall ticks with the passing of time. My initial feelings of triumph ebb as I consider what this could mean—for Vic. Fin and Damian aren’t the only ones this recording will bring down. Am I actually considering this? Handing over incriminating evidence on another member of my family to Special Agent Rush?

Minute after minute passes until two hours have gone by.

I find myself at Vic’s bedroom door a moment later, slowly pushing it open to reveal a still-sleeping Vic, his sheets a tangled mess around him. The earthy, stale scent that is so my brother reaches my senses. It’s foul and yet, at this moment, oddly endearing. My throat tightens. Vic is a mess and is most likely involved with drugs again. When will it end?

He stirs in his bed. I should dart down the hallway, close the door, or at least flinch at the thought of Vic finding me in his room uninvited, but I stand my ground.