Chapter 11: The Broken Note: Chapter 11

I frantically climb off Dutch’s lap and drop to my knees in front of the sofa. He sits up, his brow wrinkled and his eyes hot on me. There’s a flush on his skin. His hair is mussed from my fingers and he’s breathing heavily.

“Brahms.”

“It has to be in here.” I stick my hand under the sofa and feel around in the dark. “It must have rolled out. There’s no other way.”

“Cadence.” Dutch calls my name more forcefully.

I freeze and look up at him with pure panic.

His expression shifts from belligerent to concerned. “What’s wrong? What are you looking for?”

“The box had a hook to keep the ring from falling out. It was clasped. I made sure I locked it tight last night just in case it fell out of my backpack at school.” I scramble to my feet and keep my eyes on the floor. “But these things break, right? It could have fallen out.”

“What are you talking about? The ring?” He runs a hand through his hair. His mind is still, clearly, on where things were going in the sofa. I can see him wrestling to switch gears. “You’re saying the ring fell under the chair?”

“I don’t see it, Dutch.”

“It’s fine. I’ll get you another one. My grandmother had plenty. She never could find Mr. Right.” He gets up and slides his arms around my waist.

I push him back, my heart pounding. “You don’t understand.”

“What don’t I understand?” He sounds frustrated.

“Can you move the chair for me?”

His eyebrows pinch together.

I don’t wait for him. I push at the chair myself.

It doesn’t budge.

Dutch sighs and shoves the sofa aside. I turn on my cell phone’s flashlight and shine the light behind the sofa.

Nothing.

I hunt around the table legs. Check the restored trophy case.

Nothing.

I look around Zane’s drums, even though we were nowhere near it.

I check behind Finn’s guitar.

And then Dutch’s.

Nothing.

“Cadence, stop.” Dutch wraps strong fingers around my upper arm. He holds me in place. “Explain. Why is this such a big deal?”

My chest feels hollowed out.

I stare into the wall, terror overtaking me.

I’m thinking about this morning. The stench in the bathroom. Mom’s smiling face.

She wasn’t scratching anymore.

“Oh my go—that’s how she got the money to buy weed.” I gasp.

“What?”

“She stole it.” My throat tightens until I can’t even swallow. “She stole the ring last night.”

“Who stole the ring?”

“I need to go.” I wrench away from him, hurrying to the door.

Dutch’s ring didn’t look cheap, but it’s not like that matters. Mom wouldn’t be worrying about getting a fair price. She would have sold it for any amount of cash she could get her hands on.

How much did that ring cost? What if I have to pay that back? I can’t afford another bill right now. I can’t even afford groceries until my next pay day.

Dutch easily catches up to me. He grabs my hand, bringing me to an abrupt stop.

“Let me go!” I snap at him, unleashing my panic, my anger at my mother, and my helplessness all at once.

“Dammit, Cadey.” There’s a harsh bite in his words, but I’m sensing that it’s from impatience more than anger. “I’m not letting you go. I am letting you go. I warned you when you kissed me and I meant it. Whatever’s going on, you either tell me or don’t. I don’t care. But I’m in this.”

Tears flush my eyes. I’m not sure if they’re angry tears or relieved tears.

I just know that it’s starting again—the cycle of me cleaning up mom’s messes and taking responsibility for all the ways she screws up.

For a few blissful months, I’d forgotten what this weight felt like.

For a few blissful months, I was free.

But it’s over now.

“Where are you going?” Dutch asks soberly.

“Home.”

He gestures to me. “Fix yourself up first and then I’ll take you.”

Heart thundering, I stuff my blouse back into the hem of my skirt and Dutch pulls his shirt back on. After we’re dressed, he leads me down the hallway.

I climb into his car, barely noticing the trees and buildings blurring outside my window. My fingers are tapping my pants. My heart is pounding in my throat.

Mom isn’t answering her cell phone.

Not a surprise. She stopped answering that right after she ‘died’. I’m guessing one of the first things she pawned while laying low was the phone.

I snuck it out of my bedroom last night. I checked it right before I went to sleep and made sure it was still there.

“Dammit!” I explode suddenly.

Dutch glances over, his lips twisted.

I ignore him and rub my chin. Mom must have spotted the ring when I tried to hide it in my pocket. I can practically see her plotting her theft, crouching outside Vi’s room, biding her time, waiting until I fell asleep before sneaking in and taking it out of my backpack.

How foolish of me.

I thought I’d gotten one over her, but she turned out to be the victor instead.

“Am I heading into a fight?” Dutch stares straight ahead.

“What?” I ask distractedly.

“How many of them will I need to take out? If it’s more than five, I’ll have to call my brothers.” His eyes shift to me. “I’m not a ninja.”

His words are so ridiculous that a small smile trembles my lips. “You think I’m going to fight someone?”

“You have that look in your eyes,” he says, returning his attention to the road. “It’s that face you make when you’re going to shatter someone’s world.”

My eyebrows hike. “I do?”

He nods. “It’s hot as hell.”

I stare at the side of his face, and I can feel it. Attraction. Wild desire. Destruction. The tension between us is hot and sticky, thick enough to hold in my hands and stroke. And I’m desperate to touch it, but it’s not the right time.

Jerking my eyes away, I mutter, “It’s better if you don’t ask questions.”

“Fine. But I don’t want you throwing the first punch. You’ve already got a scarred heel from those shoes you wore and now your arms are scratched. The next person who bruises your body is not going to survive.”

My eyes narrow. It genuinely sounds like he would kill someone for me.

Possessive bastard.

“That isn’t funny.”

Amber eyes meet mine. Still. Determined.

A predator’s eyes.

“Who said I’m joking?”

In that moment, I realize how serious Dutch Cross is.

I tell myself it should scare me.

But it doesn’t.

And that lack of fear, that brutal recklessness, is the scariest thing of all.