Be With Me

by Jessica Cunsolo

Genres: YA Mysteries & Thrillers; YA Romance

Synopsis

Jessica Cunsolo’s With Me series continues with Jason and Jackson Parker who are all grown up now and ready to follow in their brother Aiden's footsteps.


Sisters Siena and Gia Amato have just moved to King City. On their first night in town, Siena is almost run over by the devastatingly handsome Jason Parker who’s trying to evade arrest after getting caught drag-racing by the police. While the circumstances of their meeting are less than ideal, Siena can’t deny the instant attraction she feels for him—even if it goes against every one of her “good girl” instincts. When a classmate goes missing and Siena’s life is endangered, she and Jason are thrust together. Suddenly, the stakes are even higher, and more than their hearts are on the line.


Jessica Cunsolo’s trademark blend of romance and mystery will appeal to fans of Aiden and Amelia’s story as well as new readers.

 

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Release date: January 10, 2023

Publisher: Wattpad Books

Print pages: 331

Sample

PROLOGUE

No one warns you how much blood there will be when you stab someone in the neck. But unless an artery was hit or today is the exception, there is a gory, horror-movie amount of blood seeping out of Stan Roven’s neck. It’s splattered all over me, my white work uniform, the mattress, the carpet.

My younger sister, Gia, gazes up at me from where she’s cowering against the headboard, bruises already forming on her tan skin.

“Siena,” she gasps, wiping at the splash of blood on her face with a shaky hand. “He . . . I . . .”

“It’s okay,” I shush her, approaching the slumped body on the bed. He’s lying facedown on the mattress Gia and I share, his neck hanging over the edge, causing the blood to drip onto the carpet.

Gia wraps her arms around her legs, hugging them to herself and trying to hold together the torn edges of her shirt. There’s barely any blood on her. “Is he . . . ?”

“Dead,” I confirm. Living in this sleazy building on the wrong side of Los Angeles means we always tried to be careful, especially with the number of strangers regularly traipsing through our apartment, so we kept a large kitchen knife in the bedside drawer for emergencies, though we never really thought we’d have to use it. Now that same knife is sticking out of Stan’s neck.

Gia shudders, her tiny body seeming even smaller than usual. “He just . . . burst in here from the party. I tried fighting him off, I swear.”

“It’s all right, Gia. Everything’s going to be fine.” I think I’m in shock. I don’t feel scared or panicked or petrified. I feel numb. Numb mixed with hatred for Stan Roven and what he was trying to do to Gia—a fifteen-year-old girl barely a quarter his size—before I walked in. Outside the walls of our measly ten-by-ten bedroom, Aunt Julie’s party rages on. It’s a wonder none of our neighbors ever call the cops on us, but they’re probably here too, probably just as high as our aunt.

“What do we do?” Gia whispers, still staring at Stan’s pale face like he might start swinging at her.

“Stan?” Aunt Julie’s voice is right outside our bedroom door. “Where did you go?”

Gia’s panicked eyes meet mine, and I know I have to keep Aunt Julie away from this room, at least long enough to give me time to think.

I grab a cardigan that’s escaped the gore and put it on over my shirt, wrapping the ends tight against myself before slipping into the hallway.

“Siena!” Aunt Julie exclaims, a baggie of cocaine dropping to the floor. “You scared me. Have you seen Stan?”

Yes. He’s dead on my bed with a knife sticking out of his throat.

At my blank look, she sighs with impatience. “Did he leave? Did you insult him? You know he was about to give me my big break! The one I’ve been waiting for forever!”

She plucks the baggie she dropped from the floor and gives it a little shake as if to make sure it’s all still there. “I’ll finally be famous for something other than being Florence Bowen’s sister . . . what’s that on your chin?”

I furiously wipe what I’m sure is blood away. “Nothing,”

I say, wrapping the cardigan tighter around me. I just need to get her out of here. I’m not sure what I’ll do next, but dealing with Gia is my first priority, and I’ll figure out the rest later.

Her bloodshot eyes go from my face to the white carpet on the floor. “What’s that?” she asks, pointing at the deep-red liquid seeping from under the door.

“Nothing!” I exclaim quickly, but she pushes past me into the room before I can stop her, and gasps at the sight.

Gia freezes where she is trying to sop up the blood on the carpet, and Aunt Julie’s face turns white. She stumbles until her back hits the wall, and she grasps at it as if trying to stay upright.

“No,” she says, shaking her head rapidly. “What—this can’t be real.” She blinks rapidly, trying to clear off whatever drug-induced fog is wrapped around her brain.

Gia jumps up and I scramble to her side, wrapping my arm around her and pulling her close.

Gia’s voice trembles as she speaks. “Aunt Julie . . . he was—”

“Save it.” Aunt Julie holds up her hand. She refuses to look at the body sprawled on the bed. “As your mother’s sister, I thought I had seen it all, but this . . . Florence never did anything like this.”

Tears form in Gia’s eyes, and she clings to me harder.

“But . . . Siena was . . .” Gia can barely get the words out as tears stream down her face. “It was . . .”

“Self-defense,” I finish for her.

Aunt Julie holds her arms out toward us, like she’s preparing for us to pounce at her. Keeping her back against the wall, she slides toward the door. “I’m calling the police,” she says, sniffling and rubbing her nose with the back of her hand. “I did your mother a favor when she dumped you here so she could flounce around LA doing God knows what, but this is too much. I can’t do it anymore. I don’t care if you’re able to track Florence down for long enough to convince her to take you back or not, but you’re not welcome here anymore.”

My heart drops. She’s kicking us out? She’s the only family we have left since Mom dumped us here five years ago. I’ll deal with the consequences regarding Stan, but Gia has nowhere to go.

“Aunt Julie, please—”

She cuts me off. “No, Siena.” She stands in the hallway now, still refusing to turn her back to us. Behind her, the party continues, everyone too drunk or high to care about what happened to Stan or their host. Aunt Julie points at me as she retreats. “You may have your father’s last name, but you’re your mother’s daughter through and through, even worse than her.” And then she’s gone.

Gia bursts into tears and crushes my rib cage with her grip. “I’m scared,” she blubbers. “I can’t—I can’t lose you. I can’t survive in—”

“Hey, it’s okay,” I shush her, tucking her hair behind her ear. My voice is strong and confident despite the frantic beating of my heart. “We’re going to be okay. I’m going to take care of you, just like I always do, okay?”

She nods and shivers between quiet sobs, releasing her grip just long enough for me to slide a sweater over her torn shirt.

I don’t know how long we stand there, with me whispering reassurances in Gia’s ear as she clings to me.

Long enough for Aunt Julie to clear the apartment of people and drugs. Long enough for her to call the cops. Long enough for them to arrest me for killing Stan Roven.

ONE

The modern two-story house in the middle of the suburbs couldn’t be any more different from the drab gray cement walls of the detention center where I spent the last three weeks. I stare at it from the sidewalk, a backpack containing my favorite belongings dangling from my shoulder. The house looks like it’s straight out of a movie, the place where the pretty girl next door would live, and where she’d fall in love with the hunky football player who never noticed her.

There are flowers lining the walkway, recently mowed grass, and an actual welcome mat, although it doesn’t make me feel welcome.

The house belongs to my dad. The same dad who forgot to pick me up from the airport. I don’t know why I’m surprised; he’s forgotten about my existence ever since he walked out on us when I could barely walk. But for some reason, despite knowing almost nothing about the man except that he was alive somewhere, I thought he’d show up. I also thought he’d answer my call, but he let me down there too, so I had to Uber here.

After Aunt Julie washed her hands of us, I spent countless nights wondering if Gia and I would be split up in foster care. So when the lawyers told me Dario Amato was taking us in, I was shocked. Hell, I thought the odds of Mom coming back from wherever she’s off galivanting were higher. The man hasn’t sent me so much as a birthday card in fourteen years, and he’s opening his house to us? I don’t know why he’s stepping up to be a father, now of all times, but I don’t care. Anywhere Gia and I can be together is good enough for me.

I stare at the pretty house that’s so at odds with where I pictured my father living. I don’t want to go in yet; I can’t bring myself to move toward the front door. The thought of stepping inside the house nauseates me. I just need some fresh air; ever since being released, I can never get enough fresh air.

After leaving us, Dario moved back to King City, the town where he grew up, the town where he met Mom.

It’s so quiet here. I can literally hear the birds chirping, and a neighbor a street over mowing his lawn. How long has it been since I’ve just had quiet? Not on our block in LA, where there always seemed to be shouting, sirens, and other activity throughout the day and night, not in the detention center, and definitely not inside our apartment, since Aunt Julie loved having people over. The silence makes me uneasy.

It’s going to be better here. It has to be better here.

Gia’s in there somewhere. I haven’t seen her since they hauled us off in different police cars, but the lawyer told me she was released almost immediately and sent to live with our dad. This has been the longest I’ve gone without seeing her, and the

monitored phone calls I’ve had with her just weren’t the same as being with her, especially after what happened.

My phone vibrates in my back pocket, and I pull it out to see a missed call from an unknown number.

“Hey!” a voice calls, taking me so off guard that I drop my phone on the sidewalk.

A girl around my age is standing on the neighbor’s driveway. Even with dark circles under her eyes, she’s so well put together and perfect looking. Her long hair is dyed a dark auburn and curled in loose waves. She’s even dressed impeccably, like she’s getting ready for a runway show at five on a Friday night.

“I saw you from my window.” She points at the second floor of her house. “You’ve been standing there for a while.

You must be Gia’s sister, Siena. She talks about you a lot; I feel like I already know you.”

I edge closer to her, placing her from Gia’s phone calls.

“Are you Lily? Lily Liu?”

She smiles and crosses the grass separating us to stand with me. I don’t know how she does it, considering she’s in red stilettos, but she traverses over the uneven grass and gravel with such grace it seems like her feet aren’t even hurting and her ankles aren’t at risk of twisting.

She must realize my train of thought because she waves me off. “It doesn’t come naturally, trust me. Lots of practicing in heels at summer modeling camp. It got a lot better once I grew out of my awkward braces and gangly limbs stage.”

Modeling camp makes sense. Gia told me Lily wants to be famous, and once her parents found out where Gia was from, they grilled her about every famous person they could think of, as if everyone from LA knows all the celebrities.

Lily eyes me, and I’ve never felt more disheveled and unkempt than right now under her scrutiny. “You don’t look much like Gia. You’re poutier and not as tan. And your hair is pink.”

My face must turn as pink as my hair. “Only the ends,”

I say, holding my hair up as if she can’t already see it. “Gia was bored one day, so she dyed my hair pink and then did hers to match.”

She did a good job too. The pink blends into the blonde, so it doesn’t look like there’s a straight line of pink going across the bottom half of my hair. It’s growing out now, and the pink is super faded.

Lily’s lips purse. “Gia doesn’t have hair. Or she does, but it’s shaved short in a pixie cut.”

I didn’t know Gia shaved her hair.

My phone, still on the ground, vibrates, and I grab it, groaning when it’s clear the screen is shattered. But after dusting it off, I breathe a sigh of relief when the screen lights up, showing I have another missed call from the same number. The phone works, but

the top fourth of the screen remains black. Annoying and inconvenient, yes, but still usable.

“Are you starting school with us in two days?” Lily asks.

She’s pretty chatty considering this is the first time she’s met me, and after hours of isolation and travel, I can’t decide if I find her friendliness welcome or annoying.

“Yes. I’m going to be a senior at King City High.” The same high school my parents went to way back in the day.

Lily’s face lights up. “No way! Me too! Listen, there’s a party tonight. Warren is throwing it as a ‘goodbye summer’ thing. You need to come! I can introduce you to my friends so you know people when you start on Monday.”

“I don’t know . . .” I mumble.

“Siena?” a voice calls. A woman in her late thirties rounds the garage and comes into view. “Siena!” she repeats, coming right up to me. “I thought I heard you out here. I called you a few times to ask when your plane landed, but you’re already here! Your dad told me you were coming in today, but not what time.”

I blink at this woman I’ve never met before. She must be Stella, my father’s younger sister. I never knew I had another aunt—a zia, to be exact—but Gia said she’s nice enough.

She reaches out as if she’s going to throw her arms around me but then hesitates. She reaches out again as if to shake my hand but then stops herself. She settles on patting me on the shoulder, and I force myself to remain still.

“Um, hi . . . Zia Stella,” I say, the words sounding weird even to me. “I just took an Uber here.”

She frowns and finally drops her hand from my shoulder. “Next time call me. You have my number, right?”

Technically I do now since she called me, so I nod. I wonder if it’s just as weird for her to suddenly have two teenage nieces. Gia says she comes around to Dario’s a lot to check in even though she works weird hours as an ER doctor, and that she doesn’t have any kids.

“Hey Stella,” Lily says, surprising me. I forgot she was here. “I was just inviting Siena to a small get-together tonight with my friends. Don’t worry, it’s nothing crazy; you know my parents would never let me go anywhere that could get out of hand. Is it okay if she comes?”

Zia Stella’s eyes light up. “Of course it’s okay! Thank you for extending the invitation, Lily. It’ll be good for you to meet some new people, Siena.”

“Shouldn’t I ask Dario . . . ?” I start, but Zia Stella waves me off.

“Oh, no bother,” she says, her tone turning apologetic.

“He’s at a friend’s house watching some game. He won’t be back until late, so I’m sure he won’t mind if you go out.”

Her words shouldn’t bother me, but they sit heavily on my chest. He knew I was landing today, Zia Stella even confirmed it, and he couldn’t even pretend to want to meet his daughter for the first time in years?

The garage to Lily’s house opens and a woman calls out to her, followed by some shouting in Chinese. Lily winces and turns to her house. “I’m coming!” she shouts before turning back to me. “Sorry, I have to get to a dress fitting.

It’s just a small shoot, but my agent told Mom this one could be the one that kick-starts my career, so she’s been riding my butt about it.” She pats under her eyes to get rid of the nonexistent mascara smudges.

“It’s all right,” I say to Lily as a BMW backs out of her garage, and Zia Stella steps closer to say hi to Lily’s mom.

Lily grabs the phone from my hand. “Let me put my number in your phone. Oh shit. You need a new phone.

What’s your passcode? I’ll add myself to your contacts.”

I’m too stunned to do anything other than give her my passcode and watch her enter her contact information. I take the phone back from her and text her my name like she asks.

“Siena Amato,” she recites from my text, presumably saving my number when she taps the screen. “I’ll text you when I’m heading out tonight. Be ready around eight thirty.

But anyway, I’ve got to go.” She surprises me when she leans in and wraps her arms around me. I’m about to return the hug but freeze when she says into my ear, “I know you’re Florence’s d

aughter, and I know what happened in LA. I overheard Gia talking to your aunt about it.” My blood runs cold in my veins. “But don’t worry,” she continues, “I won’t tell anyone you killed a guy; it sounds like he deserved it.”

She pulls away from me, and my arms hang uselessly at my sides as I stare at her. I can’t read her face, can’t tell what she’s thinking.

“So happy you’re here.” She smiles, then struts over to her car. I can do nothing but watch her go, rooted to the spot as my heart pounds.

“That was nice of her,” Zia Stella says as she rejoins me, completely oblivious to the tension in my body. “It will be nice for you to make some friends.”

I focus on a pebble on the sidewalk, too distracted by Lily’s declaration to pay attention to Zia Stella’s words.

“Right.”

“I’m going to order pizza for dinner,” Zia Stella says, breaking the awkward silence. “What do you want on it?”

“Anything’s fine,” I force out.

I don’t bother telling her I don’t feel like eating anyway.

How can I when my stomach’s in knots, and my throat feels like I’ve swallowed rocks?

I don’t want to be known for what happened with Stan, and I don’t want to be known as the daughter of Florence Bowen, a B-list actress who’s in the media more for scandals and arrests than her movies. I just want to be normal, want people to see me as Siena Amato, not part of the media circus that followed my arrest. The media only really cared because I’m Florence’s daughter, and any scandal relating to her is prime clickbait. The only good thing about being seventeen is that everything the media said was “speculation” and from unnamed sources and couldn’t be proven since I’m a minor and the courts can’t release my name. However, it doesn’t help that the

“unnamed source” was undoubtedly Aunt Julie, happy to share how fucked up her niece is, how I’m just like my mom. No doubt she’s waiting until I turn eighteen to get her name in the papers and claim her fifteen minutes of fame. I wouldn’t be surprised if she wrote a book about me and Mom. She tried to write one about Mom before but didn’t have the patience to sit and write more than a few incoherent chapters. Now that there’s renewed interest in Florence Bowen, she might stop snorting cocaine long enough to pull it together. But I don’t want that legacy to follow me here, and I don’t want that for Gia either.

“Zia Stella,” a voice calls, followed by the front door slamming. “I thought you said we were going to be late . . .” The words trail off as Gia comes into view, freezing as she sees me.

It’s only been weeks, but it feels like forever since I’ve seen her. Her hair really is different—it’s a classic pixie cut now, with the sides shaved and short, sideswept bangs, and it looks so good o

n her heart-shaped face.

She stands there, staring at me for a moment, before she breaks into a sprint and launches herself into my arms.

Her tiny frame throws me off balance for a moment before I steady us and return the tight hug.

“You’re back!” she exclaims, “I thought Zia Stella was leaving for the airport later?”

“There was a communication mix-up,” I say because Zia Stella is here, and I don’t want to bad-mouth her brother right in front of her.

Gia pulls back and gently twists a strand of my hair in her fingers. “Well, I’m so happy you’re here. I’ve missed you.”

She glances up at me with her big brown doe eyes, and all the things left unsaid pass between us. I know it’s been hard for Gia, and I can’t imagine what she’s been going through without me here to talk to, without anyone really to talk to since her girlfriend broke up with her, citing long distance, though Gia was brief when telling me about it over the phone.

“I missed you too,” I say, scanning her. If it’s possible, it looks like she’s even smaller than the last time I saw her.

I hold her an arm’s length away. “Have you been eating?”

Gia’s never been much of a cook, so if I didn’t make something for us at Aunt Julie’s, she’d eat cereal and Pop-Tarts for every meal.

I glance at Zia Stella, but she smiles reassuringly at me as Gia answers, “Yes. And we’re ordering pizza for dinner when I get

back.”

“Get back? I just got here, where are you going?”

Zia Stella answers for her. “Gia’s weekly therapy session was rescheduled to today, but we only agreed because we thought you’d be flying in later.”

“Oh, no, that’s all right,” I amend quickly. “You just reminded me that I’ll probably need to check in with Anusha anyway.”

Zia Stella nods and checks her watch. “But Gia is right, we are going to be late. Siena, why don’t we help you get settled inside so you can get ready for your little party with Lily? But we can all sit together for dinner when we get back so we can catch up.” She gestures for me to give her my backpack, but I hesitate. She continues, “I hope you like your room. I decorated it the way I think you’ll like based on what Gia’s told me. Your dad basically gave me free rein to do whatever I wanted, so I may have gone a little overboard.”

“Wait, party?” Gia asks, looking between the two of us excitedly. “You were here for like two seconds, and you’re already invited to a party? Is it Warren’s? It’s supposed to be awesome, can I come?”

Since when does Gia get excited over a party? “Um, no, no party for either of us,” I tell her, looking back at the house I’m going to be alone in for the next hour or so, and my throat feels like it’s closing.

I was only in the detention center for three weeks while custody was being sorted and the case was analyzed, but it felt like an eternity before I was acquitted on a “self-defense of others” clause. It helped that there was a record of other girls—young girls, like Gia—who came forward with charges against Stan Roven. It strengthened my case and made me feel less terrible, less guilty about what happened.

For a while there, I really thought I’d be stuck in prison for the rest of my life. It terrified me, but for Gia, I didn’t regret it. When I got out and breathed in the fresh air, I swore to myself I would steer clear of any and all things that might land me there again. I wouldn’t litter; I wouldn’t speed if I ever got my license; hell, I wouldn’t even jaywalk. Anything to avoid getting arrested and hauled off to jail, I’ll do. I never ever want to set foot in a police station or jail again. I never want to be trapped without fresh air ever again.

I finally hand my bag to Zia Stella. “Actually, is it okay if I go for a walk before dinner?” I ask, already stepping away from her.

“Yes, of course, you don’t need to ask! I’ll bring your stuff in,” she says quickly. “Gia, let’s go grab our things so we can head out.” Zia Stella reaches out to me like she’s going to hug me then freezes like before. This time, she settles for a stiff pat on the top of my head like I’m a golden retriever, then peels Gia off me when she gives me one last hug.

I watch them walk into the house for just a second before turning and aimlessly wandering down the street.

Zia Stella’s being all awkward and weird around me. Is she acting like that because she has no idea how to behave around a niece she’s never met before? But she seems normal with Gia. Maybe she’s scared of me? Is that what I can look forward to for the rest of my life when people find out what happened? How will the kids at school react when they find out what happened and who I am? Lily knows, which means it probably won’t be long until everyone knows. Being Florence Bowen’s daughter isn’t easy, but it’s even worse when you’re living in the town she grew up in, the town that remembers her.

I shake my head as I walk. I can’t think about that right now. I just want to walk and enjoy the cool breeze and smell of the pines.

I don’t know how long I walk, but eventually I find a trail leading into a forest. I’m not exactly dressed for a hike or particularly fond of hiking, but I follow the trail anyway.

I have no idea where I am or how long I’ve been out here, but it’s getting dark. Storm clouds are moving in, and I swear the mosquitos have been treating me like an all-you-can-eat buffet. My legs are tired, my breathing is labored, and my Converse aren’t offering my feet the same support that real running shoes would’ve. And to make things worse I’ve been picking random directions when the trail splits into two, so now I’m really turned around. I don’t even know what time it is because the top of my phone screen is black.

There’s a break in the trail, so I push through the thick trees, ignoring the branches scraping my skin, and finally emerge on a dirt road.

There’s nothing around except the road and more pine trees and the steady chirping of cicadas. The sun is setting behind the dark clouds, and a fat raindrop hits my nose, making me flinch.

I wonder if Dario has thought about me, if he knows I’ve arrived, if he wants to get to know me, like I stupidly was kind of excited to meet him. I even put on makeup for him before getting on the plane, because for some reason it was important to me to make a good impression. But if he couldn’t even be bothered to be home when I got there, then he’s not setting the bar high in terms of what I can expect from him. I try not to be sad about that. There hasn’t been a single adult in my life who has ever cared—or tried—to have a relationship with me and Gia, so it’s nothing new, but this was supposed to be my fresh start, and I hadn’t been able to help being naively excited.

I continue walking in the middle of the deserted, muddy road as I open the GPS on my phone to figure out where I am. The drizzle has turned into a real rainstorm, and I’m completely drenched. My hair hangs in clumps in front of my face. My white tank top sticks to my skin, and my jean shorts are stiff and incredibly uncomfortable. I try to shield my phone from the

downpour, but it’s pointless. I can’t see anything, and my phone isn’t reacting to my touch as I try to type in the app.

Thunder rumbles overhead right as my foot slips out from under me. My arms cartwheel and my phone flies from my hand as I land hard on my back, just barely avoiding slamming my head.

I groan and lie there, not bothering to get up as my head pounds and my back aches. If this isn’t an omen about how my new life in King City is going to go, ...