Amber

One day—fourteen years, three months, and sixteen days ago to be exact—Elizabeth took her two-year old daughter Freda Rivers to a low-cost daycare center down the street from the diner she was waitressing at.

According to her, she was holding a red plastic tray with four Cokes, three cheeseburgers, and a chicken salad on it when her phone went off in her apron.

Somehow, she knew something was wrong. The first line of her book sums it up: In my stomach, I could feel it, a primal fear as cold as the snow and ice that kiss the Cascades.

Elizabeth dropped the tray to the floor and started running in kitten heels and an apron. By the time she got to the parking lot of the daycare, panting and shaking and sweating, she saw the red and blue lights of a police cruiser.

She never made it inside, falling instead to the pavement outside the cheery yellow walls of the building and screaming.

That’s the day Freda Rivers became Amber Cross.

“You’ve got your own bathroom, too,” Elizabeth gushes all a sudden, like she can’t bear to leave just quite yet.

She moves over to a shiny white door on sliders, like the barn doors at home in my grandparents’ house. Only, this one looks space-age.

It’s shiny and perfect, and I don’t see any sort of handle. Elizabeth seems able to slide it open with just a few fingers.

I step forward and peer into the room, finding it just as sterile and cold as the bedroom. At least there’s black marble on the floors instead of white, and the shower is big enough for four.

A bathtub rests in the center of the room, with windows all along the wall. That’s the only thing I see that makes me feel any better. A bath in that giant tub, looking out at the water and the city lights across the lake, that should help a little.

But only a little.

I’d do anything to go home and soak in the old clawfoot tub in my grandparents’ house.

“Gabriel will be home soon, with the rest of your siblings,” Elizabeth adds, and I can hear the slightest warble of nervousness in her smooth voice. “If you’re too tired to meet them tonight, we can go out for breakfast …”

“That’d be fantastic,” I blurt, wrestling my rebellious lips into forced smile Number One-Thousand.

If Caden is any sort of indication as to the reception I’m going to get here, I’d much rather wait until morning. Elizabeth’ face falls a bit, but she, too, manages to maintain a smile.

“Sleep well, Freda,” she breathes wistfully, and then we both freeze up completely, any pretense of normality flying out the window. “I’m sorry, I meant … Amber.” Elizabeth pauses awkwardly as I do my best to swallow past the lump in my throat.

“It’s okay. We’re both working our way through this,” I respond with all the politeness my grandparents taught me but with absolutely zero sincerity.

On the inside, I’m screaming. Why couldn’t you just leave me alone? Why couldn’t you just leave me where I was happy?

Elizabeth nods once, her smile faltering just a little, before heading for the bedroom door. She glances over her shoulder one more time before leaving, but whatever it was she intended to say dies on her lips.

“Goodnight … Amber.”

Elizabeth steps into the hallway, closing the door behind her. I don’t hesitate more than a handful of seconds before moving over to it and locking the handle.

I toss my backpack on the floor and then flop down on the bed, putting my face in my hands. I don’t cry. I’ve cried enough over the last several weeks. Instead, I gather myself together and pull my phone out of the pocket of my hoodie.

It’s hard to fathom the facts: that my family—that is, the Cross family—is legally obligated to refrain from contact with me for an entire year. So I’ll have time to adjust, Elizabeth says.

Personally, I think that’s the most awful and wicked thing anyone has ever done to me. I video-call my grandparents, but nobody answers. I can only imagine Elizabeth’ scary expensive lawyers and fancy legal documents are keeping them from picking up. Doesn’t stop me from texting them though.

I miss you guys, and I want to come home. I send that off, and I don’t care if that makes my grandfather cry again. I need them to know how much I want out of this place.

Next, I video-call my sister, Elena.

She, on the other hand, isn’t intimidated by anyone or anything.

“Amber!” she calls out, appearing on my screen with a smile. We used to say we had matching smiles—the same small mouth and full bottom lip, a thin bowtie shaped upper lip.

Guess it was all bullshit, huh? God, you sound bitter. Don’t do that to yourself, Amber. There’s no sweetness to be found if you keep chewing on the same old sour crap. “Where are you right now?”

“My new bedroom,” I say, my voice strained and forlorn. I lift the phone up and pan it around so Elena can see what I’m working with here.

Multimillion-dollar views and about as much love and warmth as a block of ice. I turn the phone back to my face. “Elena, I can’t do this.”

Her face softens as she sits down on the edge of her own bed.

“It can’t be all bad, right? Moving in with a famous author and a plastic surgeon? You could probably guilt-trip them into buying you a sportscar.” Elena puts a hand to her chest, the phone jiggling around as she clutches it in her other. “A Ferrari. A white one with a red leather interior—”

“Elena,” I scold, but I’m smiling anyway. I knew talking to Elena would help. Besides, unlike my grandparents who are a forty-two-hour drive away from me, Elena is going to the University of Oregon in the city of Eugene which is only four and a half hours south of here.

We’re actually closer now than we were when I was living at home. Silver linings and all that. “You’re probably right, but I don’t want a Ferrari; I want to go home.”

“I know, Amber,” she says, her body deflating just a bit. “I don’t like any of this either, but you know what?”

“What?” I lie back on the bed, staring up at the screen and wishing my sister were here to wrap her arms around me the way she used to do when I was little.

That’s my very first memory, of Elena smiling at me and stroking my hair back while I sobbed. I don’t remember anything about my life with Elizabeth before that, when I was named Freda Rivers. Not a damn thing. Not surprising, considering my age at the time.

And still, the scent of her perfume lingers. I choke a little on the thought.

“This doesn’t make us sisters any less, you know that, right?”

“Blood is thicker than water,” I spit out, and then cringe. There I go, being bitter again. But maybe I’m just not giving myself enough credit? This is a lot harder than I thought it would be.

“Wrong. That’s one of the most misused quotes in the entire world. The real quote is: the blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb. What it really means is that the family you choose is stronger than the family you’re born to.”

Elena pauses for a moment as my eyes water, and I blink back the tears I promised I wouldn’t shed.

“Hey, how about I come and visit you next weekend? I’d come sooner, but I have a paper due.”

“The lawyers …” I start, and Elena snorts, tossing her auburn curls. We always used to say she took after grandma while Mom and I took after grandpa with his espresso-colored hair. Irony, at its finest.

“Fuck lawyers, Amber. I’m not about to let some suit-wearing bigwigs tell me I can’t see my little sister. Besides …” She pauses and gives me such a goofy grin that I just know I’m about to hear about a boy. Elena is so predictable. I smile.

“This is about Maxx—the boy with two X’s in his name, right?” I ask with a roll of my eyes. Maxx Wright is a fellow student at the U of O, some motocross superstar, and the exact opposite of any boy Elena has ever gone out with. I have yet to meet him, but I hear good things.

“I’m going to bring him with me,” Elena declares, grinning. “You can just call him X, like I do. That way we don’t have to worry about any confusion.” She leans back on her bed, so that our positions are mirrored. Four and a half hours away, but just alike, as always. “You’ll like him, Amber, I know you will.”

“I don’t doubt that,” I say, my thoughts straying to my new stepbrother, Caden. “Speaking of boys, I just met one of my new brothers.”

Amber

“Oh?” Elena asks, her voice tightening just a little. She’s jealous of my newfound siblings; since she was five, and I came home clinging to Mom’s neck—I mean Saffron’s neck—it’s just been us. Me and Elena. “Well, did you like him?” I snort, and my sister raises her brown brows. “I take it that’s a no?”

“My stepbrother,” I correct with a sigh. “Elizabeth’ husband’s son. He’s a year older than me and a total asshole.” I can feel my face contorting with irritation, remembering his expression as he glanced over his shoulder and caught me checking him out.

“As if, little sister. In your dreams.”

I want to throw something.

“Whoa. So … he’s hot as fuck then?” she asks, and I choke out a caustic laugh.

“If you like rude, lazy assholes covered in tattoos and bulging with lean, stupid muscles,” I growl, and Elena howls with laughter.

“Um, yes, please. Sign yourself up for that, Amber. You need something to focus on, something to distract you from … well, everything. Lean, inked, and stupid is just about right.”

“He’s my brother, Elena,” I say, but really, he’s not. First off, I just met him.

Second, he’s not Elizabeth’s bio-kid anyway. And that’s all that matters in this family, right? Biology. That’s why I’m here, isn’t it? Because I came out of Elizabeth once upon a time. That’s the only thing connecting us anymore, just that thin strand of DNA.

I know it’s there, too, because Elizabeth made me take three DNA tests to prove it.

“What’s his name? I wanna social media stalk him,” Elena says, but I just roll my eyes.

“Caden Bricks,” I admit, and then we both pause for a minute as we minimize our video-chat windows into the corners of our phones and start stalking.

She starts with Insta; I go for TikTok.

“Oh dear sweet baby Jesus,” Elena groans as I click on a short video that Caden posted all of ten minutes ago. “Get on his Insta, stat. This boy is fire, Amber. You need this. You need a sexy, sordid stepbrother affair.”

I ignore her in favor of watching the TikTok video. It’s just Caden sitting on a hideous rectangular sofa in that awful, white-washed living room.

“Just met my new stepsister, Amber, today,” he says, shirtless and gorgeous, slouched against the cushions. One elbow rests on the arm of the couch, the other holds his phone up at an angle, emphasizing the long, lean lines of his body. “As you know, I rate every student at the academy—even the poor, lost lamb that’s just stumbled into my family.” Caden pauses, giving a fiery smirk to the camera. “Fuckability rating …” He pauses like he’s deep in thought and then shrugs. “Three. Three and a half with the right outfit. She’s just too”—Caden gestures at his face with a single finger—“melancholy in the face for my liking.” He licks his lower lip and smirks. “Pair that with the puke-green and emo-black hair, the thrift store sneakers, and the anime hoodie and we’ve got a Twitch-streamer wannabe on our hands.”

I stop listening, closing TikTok as the blood drains from my face.

“Oh, Amber,” Elena starts, but I just wave off her concern like it’s nothing, like I don’t care.

Instead, I’m quivering with frustration. How dare he?! Seriously. Fuckability rating? Of all the stupid, misogynistic shit. I’m so furious that I forget for a moment that I’m also supposed to be sad. See?

Told you I hated that guy from second one. He isn’t just a Chad: he’s a troll, too. “Don’t let him get to you. He’s probably, like, a mama’s boy or something. I bet he’s jealous of you.”

“You’re too nice, Elena, you know that?” I say instead, acting out a pretend yawn. I’m not just saying that: my sister really is too nice. If I give any indication that I’m about to start shit … “I think I’m going to take a bath and go to bed.” I pause for a second, glancing past the phone screen and out the window toward the water.

That’s right. This isn’t my usual nighttime chat with Elena; this is different. My whole life is different.

“Promise you’ll really come next weekend? I don’t think I’ll survive if you don’t.”

“Oh, I’ll be there, come hell or high water.” Elena smiles softly at me, reaching up two fingers to touch the screen. I do the same and we sit there for a while, pretending like we’re in the same room together, like old times. Until I was nine years old, I refused to sleep in my own room, choosing instead to bunk with my older sister. “X is driving me up; he has a Jeep Gladiator.”

I laugh. My sister has always been obsessed with cars. Me, I couldn’t care less. But I’m glad she’s excited.

“Until next time, I love you fierce,” I tell her, and Elena nods.

“Until next time. Love you fierce, baby sister.”

I hang up first, biting my lower lip for a moment. My natural inclination here is to sulk. But that fury inside of me, that burning ember in my belly? It’s just been fanned into raging flames.

With that heat as fuel, I get up and crack the door to my bedroom, glancing down the hall to see if Elizabeth is around.

Much as I dislike Caden, I’d rather not run into my bio-mom right now. The way she looks at me makes my shoulders hurt, like I’ve just been yoked to a wagon full of boulders. Heavy, that’s what her stares are. Desperate.

I slip out quietly and let the door snick shut behind me before braving the stairs. At each turn, I check for people. I am officially peopled out. Well, you know, except for the throwdown I’m about to have with Caden.

Amber

I find the asshole lounging on the same couch where he filmed his TikTok video, scrolling his phone and listening to some god-awful Drake song.

The milk carton is sitting on the table next to his bare feet. When he hears the soft shush of my footsteps on the floor, he gestures to the cushion beside him without looking up.

That’s how self-absorbed he is, that he doesn’t even bother to see who it is that’s just walked in.

“About time you got here; sit your ass down,” he murmurs as I take his instruction and flop down on the cushion next to him.

It takes a good thirty seconds for Caden to look up and realize that I’m not whoever he thought I was. That Ben guy he mentioned, maybe?

“Hello Caden,” I grind out through clenched teeth. The song switches to … something. I’m not a fan of mainstream rap so I have no idea what’s playing now.

What I do know, however, is this: Caden smells amazing. Like, amazing-amazing. My nostrils flare to take in the scent and I hope it makes me look really ticked off. Because I am. I don’t care if the guy smells like clean linen and dewy clovers and bright citrus. He deserves a kick in the balls.

“You.”

Just that one word.

Our eyes meet and my heartbeat picks up speed, adrenaline surging through me as I do my best not to compare the color of his irises to toasted coconut.

“What the fuck is this?” I ask, turning my phone around so that he can see the offending video. “Is this supposed to be funny?”

Instead of getting defensive or even angry—I guess both of those emotions just cost too much energy for the lackadaisical lord beside me—Caden smiles.

It’s a terrible smile. It’s a smile that you could only paint with oil, that’s how slick it is. He looks pleased with himself, and if I thought I was mad before, it’s nothing to how I feel now.

“You’re stalking me already?” he asks with a confident laugh. Those stupid stomach muscles of his—remember, they’re extremely stupid muscles—clench as he chuckles.

Caden sets his phone down and then licks his lower lip, swiping a thumb across the shiny surface as he takes me

“Let me reiterate this for you: no.”

“No, what?” I blurt out, shooting to my feet.

Violence isn’t really my go-to response in uncomfortable situations—I do my best to be nice most of the time—but I feel positively murderous in that moment. The dark tones of the song Caden is listening to actually suit my mood. “No, you’re not going to take the video down?”

Caden surprises me by standing up, too, towering over me like he thinks I care that he’s taller. One swift kick to his junk could easily level out the height difference between us.

“No, I’m not interested in you.” He says the words slowly, as if he’s worried I won’t understand. But oh. Oh. Oh. Screw this guy. I’ve dealt with worse online; most girls have.

A laugh escapes me, something dry and mocking and foreign. Who is this person that’s standing here smirking with my face?

Anybody that’s met me for even three seconds knows I despise conflict yet here I am inviting it into my life when I should’ve just blocked this douche and given him the silent treatment.

“Interested in you? Are you insane? We just met ten minutes ago, and you’ve managed to show me that you’re a clout chasing misogynist with bad tattoos and an ugly face.”

Oops.

I clamp a hand over my mouth to stop the verbal diarrhea. Sure, I dislike the guy, but does he really deserve all that?

Despite the harsh words I’ve just thrown in his face, Caden doesn’t stop smiling. There’s a slight tensing of his lips, but it’s so minor that I could’ve easily imagined it. Nah, he doesn’t seem fazed whatsoever.

He reaches up to cup the side of my face.

“Try hard not to fall in love with me,” he drawls, his voice a menacing purr that raises goose bumps on every inch of my skin.

Gah! I want to slap this asshole in his too-pretty face. Instead, I smack his hand away and give him a dismissive once-over the way he did me.

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that if I were you. I don’t like guys with mommy complexes.”

This time, I get the sort of reaction that I wanted. A dark shadow passes over Caden’s face, knocking that sultry smirk of his into a deep-seated frown.

“This,” he hisses, pointing at my phone to indicate the offending video and then snapping his fingers, “is just the beginning. I’ve hated you since I was three years old, Freda.” My breath releases in a rush at hearing my birthname, a moniker that I wasn’t aware of until six weeks ago.

If I didn’t even know that I was Freda Rivers, how could Caden possibly hate me so much? It makes zero sense. “I’m going to bury you.”

We’re so close now that we could kiss. That is, if we both wouldn’t rather murder each other.

“I love a good challenge,” I start, pushing over the milk carton with my foot. Milk floods the coffee table and spills across Caden’s phone.

His eyes narrow to slits as he looks from the phone to my face. He makes absolutely zero move to pick it up or dry it off.

There’s basically no chance in hell that his phone isn’t waterproof, but milk is sticky when it dries, and it smells if you don’t get it out of every nook and cranny.

Hope he enjoys the exercise in humility. “Too bad I don’t see any challengers. Fuck off, rich boy.”

I shoulder past my new stepbrother and saunter out of that room like I’m not shaking and sputtering and burning.

My skin feels like it’s on fire, and the nerve-endings in my fingertips are going batshit. I’ve never hated someone the way I hate Caden Bricks, not even close. I’ll even go so far as to say I’ve never actually hated anyone before. Disliked, sure, but hate?

I hate Caden Bricks and nothing was ever changing my mind.