Chapter 4
Ella's POV
I looked down at my phone and pulled up the number.
"There's one more call I can make," I said to Cade. "My biological parents."
Even as I said it, I could hear how hollow it sounded.
I'd saved the number a while ago. The night the DNA results came back, three months ago, I'd put it in my contacts and told myself it was just a backup. I hadn't expected to actually need it.
I took a breath and hit call.
While it rang, the memory of the last time surfaced on its own. Three months ago — I'd worked up the nerve, and someone had picked up. The voice was polite, distant, the way you'd sound talking to a stranger who'd dialed the wrong number.
They said they were sorry, but their lives were settled now. They weren't looking to raise another daughter. And besides, twenty years had passed without any contact — as far as they were concerned, I was a stranger.
After I'd hung up that time, I'd sat in my room for a long time. Then I told myself: at least I still have the Sterlings.
The dial tone kept going. No answer.
I stood on the road outside the estate, the night wind pulling at my hair, a streetlamp throwing a yellow circle onto the pavement below me. I stared at the asphalt and counted the rings.
Ten. Twelve. Then voicemail.
I lowered the phone and watched the call timer reset. The screen went dark.
My eyes started to burn. I tilted my head back, pulled in a slow breath, and forced it down.
Okay. Got it.
My dorm had been given up at the end of last semester. Sophie had a single — I couldn't show up at her door at this hour. I ran through every option I could think of, and every one of them hit a dead end.
"No one picked up." I heard myself say it, and my voice cracked a little in spite of everything.
Cade was standing beside the motorcycle. He didn't say it's okay, didn't reach for any of the usual things people say. He was quiet for a moment.
"Come back with me," he said. "I've got space. You can stay until you figure something out." He paused. "And if they end up saying no — you can still stay."
I looked at him.
The streetlight caught the edge of his face, and his expression was the same as always — flat, unreadable. He said it without hesitating, as he'd already thought it through before I'd even asked.
I considered saying no. Moving in with a man I'd known for less than twenty-four hours wasn't something I could make sound reasonable no matter how I framed it. I didn't know where he lived, what the place looked like, what kind of person he actually was.
All I knew was his name — Cade Reno — and that until tonight he'd been a driver for the Sterlings, and now he wasn't that anymore either.
But did I have another option?
No.
"Okay," I said. "Thank you."
The motorcycle was steadier than I'd expected, but I held onto the back of his jacket the whole way and didn't let go. The wind tangled my hair. Streetlamps slid past one by one.
Going from the north side of the city to the south was like crossing into a different place entirely — two worlds stitched together at the seams and not quite fitting.
I'd ridden through this city plenty of times before, but always in the back of the family's black car, the windows keeping everything at a distance.
Now there was nothing between me and the street. I watched the wide, tree-lined roads give way to low warehouses, the neon signs getting more cluttered, the vehicles parked along the curb shifting from luxury cars to rusted pickups and beat-up motorcycles.
The bike stopped in front of an old building.
I climbed off and looked up. Half the lights in the stairwell were out. The paint on the walls was peeling at the corners. Someone had written something on the mailboxes in house paint, the letters worn down to almost nothing.
The stairs groaned under every step, and the smell changed with each floor — paint, motor oil, cheap takeout, all of it sitting heavy in the hallway.
Yesterday at this hour, I was at Sterling Estate.
I followed Cade and didn't say anything. I kept my eyes on the steps and held everything else back.
He pushed open the door. The lights were on inside.
A guy was sunk into a beat-up couch in the living room — grey sweatpants, hair flopping over his eyes, remote in hand, some game on the TV.
He heard us come in and looked up. He saw Cade, then he saw me behind Cade, and he shot up off the couch so fast the remote nearly went flying.
"Holy —" He caught himself, cleared his throat. "Cade. You, uh. Brought someone home?"
"Roommate," Cade said. "Jack. This is my friend Ella. She needs to stay here for a few days."
Jack stared at me for a solid three seconds, his expression doing several things at once. Then he grinned and shot a look at Cade.
"Friend?" He dragged the word out. "You sure she's not your girlfriend, man?"
Cade didn't answer. He walked past him toward the back.
Jack pulled his chin in but kept his eyes on me — the kind of look that said you two don't exactly match, with something else underneath it he couldn't quite name.
He smiled. "I mean, no offense, but you don't really look like someone who comes around here a lot." He let that sit for a second. "Cade never brings anyone back. You're the first."
I was about to say something when he added:
"Oh, and heads up — my wife's moving in in a few days. Be a full house."
I blinked.
Someone else is moving in?
I'd assumed it would just be Cade and me, which was already awkward enough. A roommate I hadn't expected. A roommate with a wife who was also moving in. I took a quick look at the size of the living room and kept the rest of the thought to myself.
Cade led me down the short hallway and pushed open the door to his room.
It was small and spare — a bed, a desk, nothing on the walls. The only thing that stood out was a laptop sitting closed on the desk, a power cable coiled beside it. Everything else was the kind of clean that came from having almost nothing to begin with.
He pulled open a drawer and took out a folded stack of clothes, then held them out to me.
"Bathroom's through there," he said, nodding toward the inner door. "These are clean, never worn — they'll do for tonight." He paused. "I'm going out to grab some food. You'll be fine. Jack's here."
I looked down at the stack. A black long-sleeve T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants, folded neatly.
"Okay."
The bathroom was small — the sink and the toilet practically touching, grout lines stained in a way that wouldn't scrub out. I set the clothes on the edge of the sink and turned to look at the shower.
A silver handle, a few knobs along the wall, a thin hose connected to a valve I didn't recognize.
I stood there and studied it for a moment.
The shower at Sterling Estate was built-in, automated — you pressed one button and the temperature and pressure adjusted on their own. I'd never had to touch anything.
This one looked simple enough, just a basic knob, but when I turned it, only a thin trickle came out. I turned it further, and the pressure picked up, but the water was cold.
I worked through every knob on the wall.
Still cold.
I held my hand under the stream to check.
Cold.
I stared at it for a few seconds. Then I set my jaw, undressed, and stepped in.
The cold hit my back all at once, and I sucked in a sharp breath, every muscle pulling tight. I kept my head down and let the water run over me and tried to move fast, tried not to think.
Yesterday, I was at Sterling Estate.
Today I'm standing here in cold water, not even knowing how to work a shower.
The sound of the water covered everything else. The tears came and washed away with it, and no one saw.
