Hard As You Can

Chapter 8

Crystal was showered, caffeinated, and thinking about what to make for lunch by the time Jenna emerged from her bedroom. Her sister shuffled down the hallway, still in her rumpled clothes from the previous night, and leaned into the kitchen. “Hey,” she said, voice raspy and thin.

“Hey,” Crystal said, pushing the fridge door shut. “How are you feeling?”

Jenna crossed her arms and hugged herself. “Tired. A little shaky. I’m okay, though.” She attempted a smile, but the shades of gray in her normally blue eyes belied her attempt at optimism. “Thanks for being there for me last night.”

“Of course. I’m always here for you. Why were you sitting outside anyway?” A hint of color pinked Jenna’s cheeks, and Crystal chuckled. “You forgot your key again?”

“I left it at Rachel’s. She’s going to bring it to class this afternoon.” Crystal just shook her head. “So, it was bad?”

Crystal frowned, not needing Jenna to explain what she meant. “One of the worst I can remember.” She hesitated for a moment, but Crystal had to know. “Any idea what might’ve brought it on?”

Jenna tucked strands of sleep-tangled hair, a shade more fiery than Crystal’s own, behind her ears. “Rachel and I stayed up late finishing our history presentation for today.”

This was exactly why Crystal always worried when Jenna slept over at one of her friends’ houses. But Jenna knew lack of sleep could trigger a seizure, and she’d be twenty in two weeks. Crystal couldn’t mother her forever, no matter how much she wanted to sometimes. “So, you pulled an all-nighter,” she said as gently as she could.

“Almost. I’m sorry.”

Crystal nodded. “What can I get you to eat? Food might make you feel better.” She turned back to the fridge. “I can make you some butter noodles if your stomach’s still upset—”

“Wait. That’s it? You’re not going to yell at me?” Jenna reached around Crystal and grabbed a Sprite from the fridge, cracked it open, and took a small sip.

Jenna was the last person Crystal had left in this world. Arguing with her was nowhere near the top of her list of favorite things to do. Ever. “Nope. You know what you need to do and what you need to avoid. I’m not happy you stayed up when you know it’s dangerous, but I also get why you did it. Wasn’t like you were out clubbing or drinking. You know how important it is to take care of yourself without me saying it, and I’m guessing how bad you feel is punishment enough.”

Jenna braced her elbows against the small stretch of counter beside the fridge. “Yeah. Well, thanks. It’s cool of you.” She took another drink of soda.

Crystal smiled, feeling a weight lifted from her shoulders now that Jenna was doing a little better. “You’re welcome. Now, butter noodles or something else?”

“Noodles, please. And thanks for always being so good to me. I know it must be a drag sometimes.”

Settling the butter and parmesan cheese on the counter, Crystal turned back to her sister. “Don’t say that. It’s not. And, anyway, it’s what family does. We stick together through everything.”

Twenty minutes later, they were enjoying the comfort food at their tiny kitchen table. The carbs ensured that Crystal would have to add time to her workout. It was one thing to be required to wear revealing clothes. It was a whole other thing to feel like all her exposed parts jiggled as she moved. So she exercised pretty much every day whether she wanted to or not. It was also a great way to burn off the stress and frustration that came with living a life of lies.

Swallowing a bite of buttery, cheesy goodness, her gaze strayed to the living-room window. Nice as it was outside, maybe she’d go for a run instead of going to the gym—something else Bruno paid for.

A fork clanked heavily against a plate. “Sara!”

Jenna’s voice made her jump. Instinctively, she looked around, as if making sure Bruno hadn’t heard Jenna use the name. He was the one who’d insisted Crystal needed a new name—one with more sex appeal that would bring bigger tips. She’d gone along with it at work because she’d had to—Confessions was his domain. But she hadn’t realized he’d intended to change her name entirely. It had only taken one instance of his reacting to her request to call her Sara outside of Confessions for her never to ask again. And for her to give in and become the name. Now, how messed up was it that she was so used to Crystal that, for a split second, Crystal didn’t realize Jenna was talking to her? “What? What’s the matter?” As she gawked, Jen’s expression morphed from surprised to outraged to downright pissed off. “He hit you. Again.”

Damn. The mark was so much lighter this morning, Crystal had hoped Jenna wouldn’t notice. Once, Jenna had liked Bruno in a worshipful, big-brother way. When the violence started leaving visible marks, Crystal had been able to cover . . . right up until a set of finger-shaped bruises appeared on her arm. Since then, Jenna hadn’t been able to stand being in the same room with Bruno. She always managed a decent cover story, but Crystal still worried every time that Jenna would lash out at Bruno, and he’d turn on her. If that happened . . . Crystal shuddered and inhaled to reply—

“Don’t you dare try to deny it.” Jenna crossed her arms over her chest as her eyes went glassy.

As much as Crystal hated Bruno’s striking her, she hated Jenna’s knowing about it more. And the likelihood that Jenna lost a little more respect for her every time it happened hurt so bad, she was sure her very soul must be bleeding. But it wasn’t like Crystal could admit she only maintained the relationship to afford Jenna’s epilepsy meds and to keep them safe from the Church organization. Because Jenna didn’t know about the scars on Crystal’s back. Nor how she’d gotten them. And she could never know. “I’m not.”

Silence hung heavily between them.

“That’s it? That’s all you’re going to say?”

Crystal settled her fork on the place mat, her appetite gone. “What would you like me to say?”

“What would I like—Are you kidding me? Uh, let’s see . . . I would like you to say that you’re going to call the police. I would love you to say you’re getting a restraining order. I would freaking flip for you to promise you’ll never see him again.”

She inhaled to take a breath, paused, then tried again. “It’s not that simple,” Crystal managed.

Color flooded Jenna’s cheeks. “Like hell! It’s totally that simple.”

“Jen—”

“No.” She shoved up from the table. “When is it going to be enough, huh? When he puts you in the hospital? When he kills you?”

In eight months. That’s when it’ll be enough. But Crystal didn’t say that, of course. She didn’t want to do anything—yet—to give away her plans, not even to Jenna. Because waiting ’til winter wouldn’t make sense to Jenna unless she also understood the financial and safety considerations Crystal juggled. And those were burdens Crystal didn’t want Jenna to have to bear.

Because Crystal was the big sister. She was the one who’d promised their incarcerated father to do whatever it took to take care of Jenna. Crystal might’ve been forced to grow up fast and set aside her dreams at the age of nineteen, but she refused to let that happen to Jenna, too.

But what can I say? How can I make her understand? “Please sit down, sweetie. It’s okay.”

If possible, Jenna’s expression became even more irate. “It’s not even a little okay, Sara.” She shook her head, spilling fat tears from the corners of both eyes. “You want to know why my seizures are getting worse? Why I’ve been getting behind on schoolwork and having to pull all-nighters?” She plowed on before Crystal got the chance to respond. “Because I am so worried about you, sometimes I can barely think, barely sleep. Every time a new mark shows up, I wonder if the next time, I’ll lose you and end up all alone.”

Crystal rose, guilt and regret souring her stomach. She knew that feeling. God, did she know that feeling. “Oh, Jenna. No. If you could just trust me—”

“Trust you? Not until you’re willing to take care of yourself, too. Not until you’re willing to stop being a victim.” She ran across the room and down the hall. Her door slammed, punctuating the word echoing in Crystal’s ears.

Victim. Victim. Victim.

Crystal slumped into her chair as all the oxygen was sucked out of the room, and, for a minute, she couldn’t seem to catch her breath. She didn’t blame Jenna for being upset with her. If the tables were turned, Crystal would’ve been every bit as upset. Probably more. But that didn’t change the fact that Jenna’s words cut her deep because there was a small part of her that couldn’t help but wonder if it had taken her this long to plan a way out because she was just . . . weak. A victim.

Maybe if she was stronger, she would’ve found a way out sooner. Maybe if she was smarter, she could’ve figured out a way to avoid becoming dependent on Bruno while getting Jenna the care she needed. Maybe if she was braver, she would’ve fought back instead of going along, biding her time until all her ducks were in a row.

She gasped, trying to swallow the sob that lodged in the back of her throat. Biting down on the inside of her cheek, she forced a few deep breaths until her brain reoriented its attention from the agony in the center of her chest to the slicing pain on the side of her mouth.

When she’d successfully fought back the urge to cry, to fall apart, to curl up in a ball and scream, she cleared the table. Put away the leftovers. Did the dishes. The mechanics of the movements calmed her, helped her set aside the hurt.

Someday, Jenna would understand. Maybe then, she’d be able to forgive Crystal all the things she’d done wrong along the way. Until then, Crystal had to hold on tight to the belief she was doing the right thing. It wasn’t like you could take a class on how to survive and escape your relationship with an abusive boyfriend and a notorious organized-crime ring while taking care of your chronically sick sister. Or else she would’ve been first in line for that bad boy.

Doing the right thing.

Shane.

Why her brain brought him up at this moment, Crystal didn’t know.

Yeah, you do. Because helping him was the right thing. It had been the night he’d rescued his friend from Confessions. And it was now.

Crystal wasn’t a fool. She played ignorant really well, but she’d picked up on a lot more than people gave her credit for. Not just the never-to-be-seen-again women, but the drugs and the guns and the rampant violence and intimidation. These were daily life for Bruno and the whole Church gang.

Walking down the hall, she debated knocking on Jenna’s door. But between her sister’s anger and exhaustion, Jenna wasn’t gonna be in a talking mood for a while. And if Jenna had any hopes of making her three o’clock history class, she needed to get some rest. So Crystal gave her door a last look, then slipped into her own room, closed the door, and turned the lock.

Looking around her room, Crystal’s gaze went from the lavender comforter she loved to her sewing machine on a desk in the corner under the window, to the long dresser covered in picture frames and trinket boxes. For a long moment, she stared at the dresser like it might be filled with snakes, then she dug deep for the resolve to do what she needed to do. What she should do.

Getting a grip on the wooden molding of the old piece of furniture—along with her mom’s sewing machine, another of the things she’d saved from their house—Crystal heaved with a grunt and pulled the end out from the wall about eight inches.

An air-conditioning vent sat low to the floor in the shadow of the dresser. Crystal knelt, undid the loose screws with her fingers, and tugged the metal cover free. Stretching, she reached her hand in until her fingers encountered one of her stashes—about three grand in cash she’d squirreled away bit by bit, a handgun she’d stolen from the club, and the cell phone that Shane had given her the night before.

She turned the square rectangle over and over in her hands, debating, summoning the courage. Because unlike the other times she’d helped Shane McCallan, this time it would be intentional, purposeful . . . planned.

Could she call him from inside the apartment? Maybe make it sound like she was calling someone else and hope Shane got it? She wished she knew exactly how Bruno had learned a man had been in the apartment, but she didn’t. Better not chance it.

Retracing her way through the apartment, Crystal stepped out onto the cement landing the four units shared and eased the door closed behind her. The steps to the upper floor blocked her view of the street, which meant anyone watching from below shouldn’t be able to see her either.

Taking a deep breath, she turned the phone on. One missed call. A few button presses revealed the call had come from the same number programmed into the phone. Shane.

He called me?

Why?

Curiosity mixed in with her determination. She pressed the call button and put the phone to her ear. Her gut told her she was safe standing there, but as the phone rang, her skin crawled as if a thousand eyes were watching. On the third ring, her stomach slowly descended. It figured that she’d worked up the nerve to do this and he wasn’t going to—

“Hello?” Shane answered, his voice familiar, warm, and a little breathless, like maybe he’d run to pick up the call.

“Shane,” she said quietly.

“Are you okay?”

Her heart squeezed at the fact that his first question was about her well-being, but then a car started up in the lot below and she nearly jumped out of her skin. Be quick, be quick, be quick! “Yeah. I, um, have information,” she rushed out.

“Not over the phone,” Shane said.

“What? Oh. Then how—”

“I’ll come over.”

And Crystal thought her heart had been racing a moment before. “You can’t. Not to the apartment,” she said. Not after last night.

“Okay. Where?” he asked.

Crystal’s mind raced. “Out back of my apartment building. There’s a trail that leads into the woods.”

“That’ll work. What time?”

“Um. Around two thirty?” That would ensure that Jenna had left for her three o’clock class at Loyola and that Crystal and Shane would have enough time to talk before she returned.

“I’ll be there.”

That’s all she needed to hear. “Okay, then I should go.”

“Yeah. And, Crystal? Thank you.”

Heart in a full-out gallop, she hung up, nerves making her jittery.

Back in her bedroom, she turned off the phone, placed it deep inside the vent, and righted everything again, double-checking that the dresser settled precisely into the depressions in the old beige carpet. Using her fingers, she erased the marks in the rug’s nap that revealed the dresser had ever sat away from the wall.

Her gaze cut to her alarm clock on the nightstand across the room. Two hours until he would be here.

A ripple of fear and anticipation shot through her stomach—along with an excitement she couldn’t deny.