“Good.” He smirked, jerking his chin up. “Because the feeling is mutual. You’re going down, sweetheart. On your knees, and otherwise.”

“That’s no way to talk to a child, Rexroth,” I taunted, flashing him a grin to match his own. I turned around and walked away, not bothering to close the door behind me. I believed him when he’d said he knew what I came there for. I also knew that Sonya was his answer for me telling him I’d slept with Bane. She was not a part of our equation. In his mind, he was evening the score.

I got to my car in the parking lot, expecting him to follow me, spin me, stop me. That’s what the only constant man in my life had been known for. Tugging at my arms and making sure I listened, and obeyed, and complied. But Trent was the antithesis to Jordan. He enjoyed pushing me, but he never really let me fall. I started my coughing piece of old metal, looking around the blackened parking lot, swallowing down my erratic pulse and the scent of burned rubber and fuel. Nothing happened. I was alone.

Driving home, my mind was not on the road. Somehow, I made it back in one piece and cooked my mom some dinner. She was always watching her weight, so I opted for quinoa with veggies and a tofu burger I pulled from the pack and threw into the oven. I brought it to her bed on a tray and sat at the edge, offering her my idea of a smile, considering my crazy evening. Her eyes were sunken, and so were her cheeks. My mom had been a Miss America contestant at one point. She was still beautiful, but in a sad, wilting way. A flower in sand, without water, air, or roots. She never asked Jordan for anything but to love her.

But he couldn’t even do that.

“Did you have dinner, darling?” She sniffed around the food, like I would poison her or something.

“Yes,” I lied. Maybe it wasn’t such a lie. I’d just had a big slice of humble pie, served by my very own dark knight. He’d shown me what he could do to a woman’s body, and I’d wanted to continue watching even though it made me sick. A tight knot squeezed my throat at the memory of Trent having sex with a woman who wasn’t me. It not only felt bad, it also felt awkwardly good.

Anything that could drive you mad cannot be all bad, right?

Even jealousy. Even hate. Even Trent Rexroth.

“That’s good. Hear from Daddy?” Her tired smile failed to light her face. My father asked me about Rexroth, my mom asked me about my father, and no one asked me about me. Or Theo. Or surfing. I pushed my lower lip out, ironing her linen with my open palm.

“You know how he gets with the time difference and everything.”

I had no idea where my father was, but I wasn’t protecting him. I was protecting my mother. Though I really wished she would divorce him and spare me from taking part in this charade. According to the laws in California, she was eligible to fifty percent of everything he had. She didn’t even need five percent of it to maintain a luxurious lifestyle. I was going to convince her to do it one day, to just get rid of him. But she needed to get better first, and I wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to.

A part of me suspected that her helplessness was a trap. My father couldn’t discard my mother like he did his mistresses when she was in such a fragile state. It was the kiss of death to his career for two reasons: it made him grossly unrelatable—which he was—and it made her a ticking time bomb who could dish out all his dirty secrets.

Mom sprawled in her bed and blinked at the flat TV in front of her. She was watching a soap opera without really paying attention. The show played on mute, and it made me think about the Rexroths.

“I think we should all go on vacation when he comes back,” she declared, tugging at her blonde locks like she wanted to get rid of them. I raised a hand and stopped her from pulling her hair, afraid she was going to yank it out.

“Sure, Mom. Sure.”

The last time the three of us had gone on a vacation was eight years ago. Jordan snuck out one of the nights to sleep with one of the hula girls. Mom had a claustrophobia attack in the sauna—probably as a result of his disappearance—and was rushed to the hospital. Needless to say, it hardly left me craving more family time.

“Is there anything on your mind, Edie? You seem quiet.” Mom paused the TV and cupped my cheek, frowning. Her room was huge and white. It suffocated me, pregnant with still air from her sitting in it all day and stale with her Chanel perfume. I wished I could tell her. About Trent. About Theo. About Bane. About Sonya. I wished I could tell her about Jordan and what he’d blackmailed me to do. I wished I could be the daughter in our relationship, just for once, and break down. Instead, I rolled my eyes, patting her blanketed knee.