Early mornings.
Close-ups of Kayla’s arms with marks shaped like fingers.
Dark bruises along her ribs.
Discoloration across her back.
Places I had never seen because Kayla had become very good at hiding them.
My stomach dropped.
“Kayla,” I whispered. “Is this real?”
Steven immediately started talking.
“She plays sports. Those could be from anything. This is crazy. I spent hundreds of dollars on tonight. I already booked a limo.”
Not concern.
Not fear.
Money.
Then Reese reached into her pajama pocket.
She pulled out her little pink recorder.
The same one she used for her pretend radio shows.
She pressed play.
Steven’s voice filled the bathroom.
He was laughing with someone.
Talking about the afterparty.
Talking about getting Kayla drunk.
Talking about putting something in her drink so she couldn’t fight him or leave.
