KAISER

Daisy leaves me standing by the side of the road, empty and crushed for maybe an hour or more. She finds a cab and escapes, leaving my heartless body staring back at her with no words to describe how sorry I am. Even I would abandon myself after everything.

I have no idea.

If only I knew what she was going through. If only I had listened to her that second time by the elevator. But I was wrapped in anger, in search of vengeance, and I didn't realize Daisy was hurting.

That explains the result of her medical test.

Fuck.

She was staying in the same apartment as me, yet instead of helping her, supporting her as I'd promised since we were four, I broke her even more. I'm a disappointment.

All those years, I had no idea her father was taken away from her. I was unaware, my parents neglected to tell me the truth. They said the Estebans were going through some hardship, but they didn't explain any further. Up to now, no one has. They scratched out and erased anything that had to do with Daisy, thinking it would ease my pain.

All I wanted was a simple explanation for why my best friend didn't go to school that day, why she didn't return home like always.

It was so fucking simple, but they stole it from me, and they have no intention of letting me know. I lived in pain and discomfort for years, and for fuck's sake, no one thought I deserved answers?

They let me do unforgivable things to the girl who needed comfort. They made me hate her for something she had no idea about when she was filled with nothing but pain inside.

Shit, I'm a stupid person.

I stand still, a thousand thoughts in my head, from day one and everything I've done to hurt Daisy. I feel disgusted. My stomach churns. I want to throw up.

It takes hours before something even more striking hits me in the chest, and there are her words playing again.

"I came back for you. I came back for Cuppy. Your house was locked. I found the army green backpack your dad gave you that week by the doorstep. I assumed you went somewhere. I couldn't wait; we were out of time, and our flight was about to start boarding. But I left my hairband in there. Perhaps it could replace the goodbye we missed."

She came back for me. She did come back for me. If only I hadn't run away from the cops, we would've had our goodbye.

The more I digest everything, the more I realize I'm more to blame than she is.

I climb into my Lamborghini and make my way to the house. It's going to be a long drive to my parents, but I'll take years or my whole life driving if it means getting my old stuff intact. I have to find that backpack. It must be somewhere around the house. Mom said she got everything of mine packed up from New Jersey when we moved back to California.

Daisy left her hairband in my backpack, which I never cared to ask for since I returned home with Cuppy that day.

She tried.

She even wrote to me. She tried to reach me through the mail. She tried to reach me through the mail.

She said it got to Riley instead. What the fuck?

Now confusion and stress crowd my dismayed mind. I have to push myself to see clearly as I take different roads to Sacramento.

It feels like choking, not being able to have everyone in one place. The need to turn back to Palo Alto and get Riley to explain is so strong I can barely breathe.

I hit the wheel and rub my weary face every two or five seconds.

How in the hell did my letter get to Riley? We might not have had phones at the time, but if there's one thing I know, it's that Daisy and I recited our house addresses. There's no way she must've mistaken it for a different one.

Even foggier, I met Riley three years ago, but Daisy said she wrote to me during those early days after she left.

This is so mind-racking.

I waste no time on the road. I follow short paths. I don't care to follow the legal way when I escape traffic and cross residents' landscapes until I find myself heading through the gate of my parents' enormous house.

Yes, you can picture it: the one with canopied trees along the marbled driveway, light posts lined up around the circular driveway, and a huge fountain sitting at the foot of an extraordinary stone masonry building. Of course, that's my parents, all chasing the luxury of life.

All they claimed some months ago was peace and retirement. Then suddenly, I heard my dad was running for state politics. How great, right?

Shaking off thoughts of my parents and their lack of parenting education, I make my way through the holy door that reveals an active house with trained housekeepers, one of whom offers to take off my leather jacket.

Oh, that must be the reason I felt so heated driving here. With the Californian weather and a leather jacket on a tense person, one could easily pass out. However, I don't give the man the satisfaction he gets doing his job as a jacket-taker—if that's even a thing. I jerk away and shoot him a warning glare.

"Where is my father?" I ask loudly. The question isn't meant for anyone in particular.

"He left for a business meeting," a lady answers timidly.

Perfect. The asshole always puts his work over his only child.

"And my mom?"

"She's having tea with Mrs. Gonzalez and some board members."

To hell with Mrs. Gonzalez and company. My mother is called my mother for a reason. If she could bring me into this world, she must know I have a lot of demands, which can arise even in the middle of some board members' tea party.

I stride further into the expansive house. If I hadn't lived here for a year, I wouldn't know how to get through this maze they call a house. My parents have a taste for anything extravagant.

When I reached my mom's dining parlor, I burst in, drawing every set of eyes on me.

"Kaiser?" Mom articulates, stunned. "Kay, baby, you're here."