Why did he let me crash here after what I told him?
He kicks the door shut, tosses a set of keys and keycard onto a desk, then sets the cupholder and bag down on a table before pulling out a chair. The moment he starts to lower himself into the chair, his gaze collides with mine. He startles and then releases an unsteady breath.
“You’re awake.” Before I can respond, he shakes his head. “Well, obviously.” He hesitates before cautiously making his way to the bed. “How are you feeling? I have coffee and breakfast sandwiches that are super greasy and good for hangovers.”
“I…” My voice is all scratchy, so I clear it while I sit up in the bed. “You got me breakfast?”
How is he even okay with being in the room with me?
He nods, a crease forming between his brows. “I got breakfast for all of us. Why do you seem surprised by that?”
My mind is heavy with billowing fog that’s refusing to let me see clearly, so maybe I am missing something.
Fuck, what if I dreamt telling him?
“Did we… Did we talk last night?” I ask, raking my fingers through my long brown hair.
The spark of rage in his eyes gives me my answer.
“We did. And I’d like to talk to you more about it, now that you’re sober.” He pauses. “If you’re okay with that.”
I stare at him, unsure what to say or do next. “Why aren’t you freaking out on me right now? Or arresting me? You’re just being nice…”
The corners of his lips quirk for some reason, but the moment is a whisper of a breath before it fades into nothing.
“There you go calling me nice,” he mumbles, then sighs as he sinks onto the bed. For a moment, he stares at me, his gaze so searingly intense it takes all of my willpower not to squirm. “I know you feel guilty about what happened, but it’s not your fault, Aves.Youneed to know that.”
“How can you say that?” I hug my arms around myself. “I kept what happened a secret for years. How is that not on me?”
“You went through a traumatic event, and your mind blocked most of it out to protect you. And it had to do that because the people who were supposed to protect you failed you.” He reaches out as if to tuck a lock of my hair behind my ear, but thenwithdraws, probably remembering my twitchy reaction toward being touched. “You were young, scared, and alone, and your parents used that to their benefit. And I want to know why.”
I wet my chapped lips with my tongue. “Do you think they had something to do with it?”
He carries my gaze. “Do you?”
I want to shake my head. I want to lie. I want to do everything I can not to face that thorn of doubt that’s been lodged in my side since the day my mother locked me in the basement after I confided in her what happened in the woods—when I told her we needed to send help for Camilla and Zoey. Although at the time, I wasn’t aware Zoey was there.
In the end, she never sent help.
She did nothing but lock the truth away. That truth being me.
“I don’t know.” I pick at my chipped fingernail polish mostly to distract myself from his penetrating gaze. “They may have, but they might’ve only been aware that Trystan was part of it. They could’ve been protecting him.”
Silence stretches between us, and it feels endless when in reality, it’s probably a few heartbeats.
“You said last night that you weren’t positive it was Trystan,” he finally says. “But that you had this feeling it was him.”
I blow out an uneven breath. “It’s hard for me to see most of the details when I try to remember that day. Most of the images are hazy, and the voices are murmurs. It’s like I’m trying to see and hear everything through a cracked mirror, if that makes any sense. And not everything is connected. There are holes in my memories. Although lately some of those have started to fill in, and that’s why I…” I trail off.
“Why you realized Zoey was there,” he finishes for me, his voice cracking.
I nod, guilt clenching my chest. “I’m so sorry. That had to be hard for you to hear.”
“It was,” he admits. “But that doesn’t mean I didn’t need to hear it. All those years thinking she overdosed, but the truth is, I don’t think I ever fully believed the story the police told my parents.”
“Evidently Clover didn’t either,” I utter, recalling the words in her diary about how she was looking into Zoey’s death.
“I know. I wish she had told us back then. Perhaps she’d still be alive.”
