“What are you doing, Sloane?”
“I’m texting my dad to make sure your friend is still alive. That okay with you?”
The anger temporarily fades from his eyes. “And is she?”
“Yes.”
“Give me the phone.”
“What?”
“Give me the phone.” He goes to take it from my hand but I sit upright, holding it protectively against my chest.
“I don’t think so. I’ve had enough of you stealing my phone.”
“Sloane, just…” He stops himself. Scrubs his hands across his face and then over his head, growling deep in his throat. “Just tell me what she’s been doing.”
“She’s been helping my dad prepare for his church youth camp.”
The expression falls straight off Zeth’s face. I may as well have just been speaking Swahili; he clearly did not comprehend a word of it. “I’m sorry, can you repeat that?”
“Church. Youth. Camp.” Those are the three words that matter here, I should think. I haven’t told him that my dad’s planning on actually taking the girl with him on the camp yet, either. I don’t know how well that’s going to go down.
“And she’s okay with that?” Zeth asks.
“She says she is in the text she sent me.”
“Oh my god, just give me your fucking phone!” He lunges for it again and this time I let him have it. He seems genuinely worried about the girl and me being pissy with him is only making matters worse. I shouldn’t do it. I should be doing everything I can to soothe him after the stunt I pulled earlier, but instead I feel like baiting him. Pissing him off some more. Seeing just how far I can push him. The problem is I’m still mad at him. Still mad because of this morning when he showed a side of himself that I just didn’t ever think could possibly exist. A sweet, vulnerable side that made my chest hurt.
“You’re confusing me.” That’s what he’d said as he let me stoke his back, his hair. As he’d held onto me, still inside me, after we’d just had crazy, confronting sex. And then he had promptly dragged that side of himself back into the dank, dark dungeon where he clearly keeps it locked up and has gone back to asshole mode. And I know I didn’t imagine it. Zeth Mayfair does have a vulnerable side.
I watch him as he scrolls through my messages to both Lacey and my dad, observing his reactions. I know what he’s reading:
Lacey:
You used to really like pink, huh?
Me:
Yep. I also used to like nsync and dungarees.
Lacey:
Yeah. Your mom showed me pictures.
Me:
She refuses to let me live that down! I’m gonna burn those pics.
Lacey:
Don’t. She’ll be devastated. She’s really lovely. Your dad, too. He’s got me pitching tents with him all day today.
Me:
Make sure he’s not using you for slave labor, Lace. If you leave, just let me know and I’ll send in a rescue, okay?
Lacey:
It’s fine. I like it. It’s fun. Say hey to Zee for me?
And then, of course, there are the messages from my dad.
Dr Sloane, MD:
Your mother caught her crying in the bathroom this morning. You didn’t tell me so I won’t pry, but this girl seems a little broken?
Me:
A little, yes. But please, don’t go trying to fix her. She’s already seeing someone for that.
Dr Sloane, MD:
Well, they don’t seem to be doing a very good job.
Me:
Just keep her busy, okay?
Dr Sloane, MD:
Already on it, kiddo.
I’m just thanking the stars that Lacey didn’t write, say hey to my brother instead of Zee in her message. That would be a pretty rough way for him to find out the truth—that the young girl he’s been watching over for the past six months is actually his blood relative. His sister. Zeth looks adorable as he frowns over my phone, re-reading the texts. Adorable in a terrifying kind of way.
“Is he gonna try and convert her?” he asks.
I shrug. “He might ask her what she believes. He won’t push, though. He’s not like that.”
Zeth just nods at this. I can’t tell what he’s thinking. He’s withdrawn to some place deep within himself; somewhere I’d have trouble reaching him. And then just as quickly he seems to realize what’s happened and he surfaces again, tossing me my phone. “You didn’t answer my other question. What the hell did you think you were doing this morning?”
I’m beginning to think this guy is bipolar. He swings so wildly from one attitude to the next. I didn’t see it at first. He just seemed arrogant and pissed off all the time, but I’ve begun to realize something; those negative emotions are his anchors. They keep him from drifting off someplace he doesn’t want to go. Maybe the place he drifted to just now? And I wonder…does he know he’s developed this coping mechanism? I sincerely doubt it.