47. Hayley

47

HAYLEY

S ophie looks up at Dad, her brow furrowed. She’s been quiet since we arrived—quiet in that way that makes me nervous, probably because she’s been sucked into whatever dark pit Charlotte and Michael have been swimming in for years. And I hate the way she’s been looking at me lately, like she’s seeing someone she doesn’t recognize.

“You’re going to do what you do best,” Dad continues, his voice smooth, like we’re talking about a trip to the store, not something far more dangerous. “We’ll get in touch with the right people. We’ll fix it.”

I can feel the coldness between them, but I don’t have time to focus on that right now. I just want to get the hell out of here.

“I’m not staying here forever,” I say. “I’m an extrovert. I need people. When can I have my phone?”

“Not anytime soon,” Mom says.

Dad’s eyes snap to mine. “And like I told you the last ten times you asked, we don’t have a choice, Hayley. We are here until it’s safe. Got it?” He pauses, the muscles in his jaw tightening. “You could be in London right now, but you messed that up too, didn’t you? ”

“I hate cold weather,” I say. “Send me somewhere warm. I promise to behave.”

“No dice,” he says. “We need to lay low right now. Your mother’s life, your sister’s—those people will never let them walk away alive. We can’t risk anything until we’ve dismantled their entire operation, so if I were you, I’d get comfortable. It could take a while.” He gestures around the house. “Consider yourself lucky—I can think of far worse places to hide out.”

Dismantle the operation? What the hell does that even mean? I don’t even know how he expects to pull that off, or who the hell he’s talking to on the phone, but he’s always on the phone.

Not that I’m surprised. I’ve learned one thing about Dad over the years: when he talks like that, when he gets that look in his eyes, something’s already been planned. He’s not waiting around for anyone’s approval.

“What’s the plan then?” I ask, hoping he’s not just going to tell me to shut up again and let them handle it. And it must be my lucky day, because he doesn’t.

Dad exhales, leaning against the mantelpiece. "I know a guy," he says, as if that explains everything. “He’s going to take care of it. We’re just hanging out here until the dust settles, easy peasy.”

“Yeah,” I drawl. “Easy peasy.” As if we’re not in the middle of nowhere with frigid temperatures, as if he hasn’t taken my phone, leaving me with nothing . “Couldn’t we at least hide out at the beach?”

“Too much sand,” Dad says. “Besides, this place is remote. No curious onlookers. No vacationers asking questions. We need peace and quiet, Hayley. We can’t risk someone recognizing us. There’s too much at stake.”

I want to ask more, to demand details, but the fire crackles and pops, and somehow I don’t have the energy. There’s a tightness in my chest that feels like it’s been there for days. Weeks, even. The idea of my parents and Sophie running around, setting up deals and plans —things they try to keep me in the dark about—it makes my head spin. This is all too much for me to grasp right now. I want to run, to disappear, to jet back to Texas, but I know I can’t. I’m stuck here in this giant house with nothing to do. No phone. No friends. No boyfriend.

My life is basically over.

Sophie, the golden child, finally speaks, her voice soft but clear, like she’s reading my mind. “I just want to go to school. I want to live a normal life…”

Dad’s face softens for a second, but only for a second. He’s trying to sell this like it’s just another task to check off the list. “I know. So we do what we have to do. We wait this out, and then we’re done. Then you’re done. We’re getting you out. You’ll become someone new—start over. Pretend your mother never dragged you into any of this.”

Sophie nods, but she’s not convinced. Neither am I.

I want to scream. I want to ask why the hell we can’t just be normal. But I know that’s not how it works. That’s not how they work. They’re too deep in this mess now to just walk away.

Dad clears his throat and stands up straighter, his face going cold again, that iron mask he wears slipping back into place. “Everything is being taken care of,” he says, looking at Mom. “Our new identities, all the paperwork—it should be ready in a few weeks…”

He glances at the clock. "For now though, we’re on vacation. Might as well enjoy it.”

I don’t trust it. I don’t trust any of this.

But here I am, stuck in the mountains, with them.

And no one’s going to let me out until they’ve finished their business .