Hero Complex (10 page)

Devon caught a glimpse of Bodhi and Raven slipping into the living room through a side door. Both had their dreads pulled back in neat ponytails. Raven wore an elegant black dress; Bodhi’s dark suit was indistinguishable from the cluster around Bill. It looked brand new, neatly pressed, a perfect fit. Devon thought of their faded black outfits at Hutch’s funeral only months ago. Then they were friendly misfits, whereas now they gracefully blended in among the high-class crowd. Devon stared down at her feet, suddenly feeling claustrophobic.

She hadn’t had a chance to talk with Bodhi since their kiss. He’d flashed her a brief, sad smile over Reed’s coffin during the service. Did that count as flirting? No. Of course not. What was she thinking? In fact, Devon realized,
flirting
and
coffin
were words that shouldn’t be used in the same sentence ever again.

Cleo handed her drink to Raven. Bodhi sidled up to Devon but avoided her eyes. “Don’t worry. It’s vodka,” Cleo said.

Raven took the glass and drained it. After a small shake of her
head and a vodka-soaked exhale, she spoke. Her eyes started watering. “We just met with Reed’s lawyer about his will.” She shook her head again and looked to Bodhi.

“He left us everything,” Bodhi stated.

Devon blinked several times. Even Cleo was speechless.

“Everything?” Devon finally repeated.

She scanned the massive living room. This whole house, the guest house, the vineyard …

“Everything,” Raven said, as if she could see Devon’s mental checklist. “Except the land. He donated that to Keaton, for the school legacy or something.”

“He put his patents in a trust in our names. The future of his work is in our hands.” Bodhi spoke as if he was reciting what the lawyer had just said to him. His tone was empty, as if none of it were real.

“
Elliot
.”

The voice was a growl. Bill Hutchins broke from his huddle and made his way across the living room in three long strides. Devon took a step back. Raven’s shoulders hunched up, and she leaned against Bodhi, who stretched an arm in front of her. “You put him up to this, didn’t you?” Bill spat. “What did you do, give him drugs?”

“Mr. Hutchins, we didn’t know that this was Reed’s plan,” Bodhi said in a calm, measured voice. “He never told us, and we would have never asked. But we also want to respect his wishes.” It was hard not to be impressed that in front of the towering six-foot-plus Bill Hutchins, Bodhi stood straight. He didn’t even bristle.

“Cute.” Bill’s eyes narrowed. His lips twisted in an angry smirk. “Respect his wishes all you want, but my lawyers are going to go to town on you two. The future of this family will not be determined by a pair of surf bums from Monte Vista.” Bill glared at Bodhi just long enough to make Devon more uncomfortable than she already was. She couldn’t breathe again until Bill had whirled and stomped toward the side door.

The crowd around her began to whisper.

Through the open door, Devon spotted an old man with a wooden cane in the garden, flanked by a man about Bill’s age. Both were short, round, with the same pug noses—a father-and-son pair, no doubt. They looked familiar, but Devon couldn’t place them. Probably another Keaton family. The old man waved Bill over.

After a quick, hushed conversation, Bill shook hands with each of them. Devon realized she was staring. She turned away, but caught a glimpse of C.C. Tran.

Who had Maya in tow.

Devon’s eyes widened.
Right
, she realized. Those two guys were Edward Dover and his son, Edward Junior, Maya’s dad. Behind her father, Maya kept her eyes glued to the floor. Devon couldn’t blame her. Under the flowing black dress, Maya’s pregnant belly was getting too big to ignore.

She and Bodhi traded looks. Did Eric know that Maya was here? It was doubtful, unless Eric had found some way to communicate with her. After the service, two security guards had escorted him back to a private town car and presumably driven him back to San Francisco. Devon had so many questions. But Maya stayed in the shadows, hidden behind her father. There had to be a way to get her alone.

Cleo nudged Devon. “We have to say something to her.”

“It doesn’t look like she can get away from her parents.”

“Shall we sorority-girl her?”

Devon had no idea what it meant to
sorority-girl
someone, but she did know that the world of this funeral—with its wealth, its privilege, and its reputations to protect—was Cleo’s, not hers. She nodded. Before Devon could protest, Cleo grabbed her wrist and led the way.

“Maiii-ya!” Cleo squealed.

Devon winced. The decibel levels were way too high and inappropriate. But now she understood Cleo’s strategy. Everyone would
stare for a second, then turn away. Their embarrassment would guarantee the three girls a few precious moments of privacy.

“Ohmygodddd!!” Devon tried to get her voice as high as Cleo’s.

Maya’s face fell as they burst outside and swept her into a hug. She looked as if she wanted to melt into the garden flagstones. Overflowing with excitement, Devon and Cleo pushed her past the Dover men and C.C. Tran.

“What the hell are you guys doing?” Maya hissed.

Devon glanced over her shoulder as Cleo fawned over Maya’s long hair and pregnant belly. Sure enough, everyone was making a concerted effort not to look in their direction—in particular, Maya’s own family.

“Dude, where the hell have you been?” Cleo whispered in a normal voice.

“Eric was trying to find you,” Devon added. “What’s going on? Are your parents locking you away in some attic somewhere?”

Maya glanced past them nervously. She swallowed and backed toward a hedge at the edge of the patio, making sure to stay safely shielded behind Devon and Cleo. “They’re going to send me away to have the baby,” she whispered. “One of those homes for pregnant girls. St. Mary’s. It’s in Montana.”

Devon couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Were the Dovers really that unsympathetic? Didn’t they have any compassion at all? It sounded like something out of some bad Dickensian novel, not the way any normal family would deal with a teen pregnancy in the 21st century. “What about Eric? Are they pressing charges?”

Maya bit her lip. “They’re going to stay out of Eric’s trial. Leave that to the Hutchins family. They think the baby will …” Maya trailed off as she rubbed her hands up and down her belly. “They think the baby will help heal things. Get rid of the bad blood between the families. Bring us closer.”

Cleo hiccupped and frowned. “You mean, the Dovers
want
to
get in bed with the Hutchinses? I thought you all hated each other. I mean, minus you and Eric. But the rest of you. And if they’re sending you to Montana, how is that going to help?”

Devon cringed slightly. Cleo probably shouldn’t go for a refill.

Maya shrugged. “Honestly? I think they just want me in a safe place until the baby arrives. Away from distractions and worry. Away from Eric, too. I mean, I can’t imagine what my parents feel about Eric, especially now, after Hutch …” She caught Devon’s gaze, then turned back to the lump under her dress. “But the fact remains that this baby carries both families’ blood. My dad thought—”

“Maya, we’re leaving,” C.C. Tran interrupted.

Devon had no idea how long Maya’s mom had been standing right behind her. It didn’t matter; the message was clear. Maya was not to associate with her old friends anymore.

Maya ducked her head. “Sorry, guys. I gotta go.” She squeezed Devon’s hand. C.C. shot a disapproving glare at both Cleo and Devon before sinking her manicured nails into Maya’s upper arm and whisking her quickly from the garden. Maya almost tripped as she struggled to keep up. After another quick handshake with Bill Hutchins, the Dover men hurried after them, vanishing back into the house.

“What do you think is really going on?” Cleo whispered to Devon. “This can’t be about kissing and making up, can it?”

The answer hadn’t even occurred to Devon until she saw those final handshakes. There was no warmth in the gestures. No offering of condolences for a bereaved son over the loss of his father, no hint of gratitude for a baby on the way, nothing
personal
. They were the cold handshakes of a deal.

“This is about business,” she murmured, almost to herself.

“What do you mean?” Cleo asked.

“What’s Maya’s dad’s company do again?”

“Dover Industries. Pharmaceuticals. Like, in a big way,” Cleo
said. She grinned and hiccupped again. “Why do I get the feeling that calling my stockbroker would be a good idea?”

“This isn’t about uniting the two families,” Devon said. “It’s about uniting TerraTech and Dover Industries. Because there’s no way that would have ever happened while Reed was alive.”

In the days following Reed’s funeral, Maya didn’t respond to any of Devon’s texts or emails. Devon had been expecting radio silence, obviously. And she had to hand it to the Dovers: instead of slinking away in disgrace, they were figuring out a way to use the unborn Hutchins-Dover child as a white flag between the families. Or were they figuring out a way to use Maya as a Trojan horse? Would the baby somehow destroy the Hutchins family and secure the Dovers’ power over some business merger?

Did it even matter?

Devon lay in her bed, relishing the last cozy moments under her comforter before classes that morning. She wished that she could somehow fill the queasy pit in her stomach with that same warmth. What was Bodhi up to, surfing? At his computer? Thinking about her? Thinking about the fact that he was now a multimillionaire?
They hadn’t spoken since the funeral. Of course they hadn’t. Bodhi had always loved Reed like a grandfather, and now Bodhi had proof that Reed felt the same way about him. But that kiss …

Maybe he’d just been seeking solace where he could find it. Like he kept saying, Devon’s problems were a welcome distraction, a lot more pleasant than worrying about Reed. Maybe it had been a onetime thing. Maybe he’d changed his mind. Her thoughts returned to the training Mr. Robins had given her last year:
If a subject obsesses about what they can’t control, gently remind them of what they can control, and emphasize its importance
.

Right. She couldn’t control Bodhi’s feelings any more than she could control the rain that had landed for the winter, or the frigid wind that came with it. If he wanted to get in touch, he would. Same with Maya.

T
HE NEXT WEEK WAS
a blur of Keaton routine: falling asleep mid-homework, waking up to the patter of rain, pulling on her mud-encrusted boots. She’d run through the rain to class, run to the dining hall for meals, and run back to her room to deal with yet another avalanche of assignments. At least she
could
control her GPA.

Wednesday night, Mrs. Hadden pounded on her door. “Eleven
P.M.
! Lights out!”

Devon jumped. She realized her yellow highlighter had been hovering over the same page in her US history textbook for the last twenty minutes. Okay, she was done. Unfurling herself from the pretzel position on her bed, she shook out the pins and needles running up her calf. She slipped out of her jeans and threw them onto her closet shelf.

A slip of white paper peeking from one of the back pockets caught her eye. She plucked it from the pocket. Dr. Hsu’s prescription for Vericyl. Devon still hadn’t mentioned it to her mom; she hadn’t even had a real conversation beyond, “I’m fine, and you?”
since their icy phone call about Devon’s snooping into the scholarship.

But even with parental consent, Dr. Hsu was taking a risk writing out prescriptions for Keaton students. She’d only been at the school for a month. And with the rampant prescription drug abuse that had been uncovered last semester, it was surprising that she’d offer a new medication as a solution.

Once Ms. Hadden’s footsteps faded, Devon flipped open her laptop and did a search on Vericyl. The site came up instantly: images of young women of various ethnicities laughing together at a coffee shop, a family sitting at the dinner table, the mother looking especially happy and calm over her roast chicken dinner. The fine print at the bottom of the screen caught Devon’s attention.
FDA Approval pending. ©Dover Industries, USA
.

Devon stared at the words. How many times had she seen the Dover, Merck, Pfizer, and Lilly brands and thought nothing of it? But the Dover on this antiseptic webpage was the Dover family she knew. The living, breathing, pregnant Maya, C.C. Tran—who was so famous for marrying Edward Dover, Junior, that she didn’t need to add the “Dover” to her last name—and Edward Dover, Senior The same Edward from Reed’s journals who had arrived on the hillside with young Reed and Francis Keaton already scheming to make his fortune.

Was it a coincidence that Dr. Hsu was prescribing a Dover drug? It
was
one of the big pharmaceutical companies. Maybe Dr. Hsu was trying to play up the trauma angle and increase Devon’s paranoia by deliberately prescribing a Dover drug, knowing that Devon would draw one of those silly “connections …”

Devon groaned. Score, Dr. Hsu. Devon had just nailed a textbook example of paranoid thinking and post-traumatic stress. Maybe she
should
think about calling her mom and taking this prescription to Nurse Reilly. If there was a pill that could stop her from posing questions of her own whirling brain, she’d be all for it.