“I’m sorry, Kans,” he says quietly.
I don’t know what he’s referring to. That he fooled me as Mr. Spock or that I lost the love of my life?
“I’m sorry I couldn’t help you better,” he says now, looking into the crackling fire. It radiates a pleasant warmth, but it doesn’t reach me. My bones feel cold, as if there was a layer of polar ice in my marrow. “I was hurt because you simply excluded me from your life. I was angry with you, Kans. So angry.”
“Is that why you started to either ignore me or yell at me?” I ask bitterly.
He swallows, and out of the corner of my eye, I see him rubbing his hands over his thighs—something he only does when he’s uncomfortable. “Maybe.”
“Have you ever wondered why I stopped speaking?”
“That’s why I invented Mr. Spock. I thought that when you stopped talking to me, you might tell him—a stranger who knows nothing about you and has nothing to do with this family. But you never revealed much to him either.” He looks at me with his warm, dark brown eyes, and only now do I realize how much I’ve missed him this last year—how far we’ve grown apart, and that it was partly my fault.
“How bad was it, Kans?” he asks softly.
“Bad,” I answer tonelessly, feeling my throat constrict at the memory of Kensington. It seems so far away, and yet just the thought of it brings pain and physical tension. I see myself from a bird’s eye view—a girl being pushed around like a punching bag, dunked in buckets of water, and held down. Out of habit, I press my nails into my palm, but I consciously stop the gesture and instead grasp the signaling device. “They pushed me, beat me... held my head underwater in buckets in whatever storage room they could find.” I force myself to reply, sounding emotionless as if it hadn’t happened to me but to someone else. “I constantly had bruises all over my upper body.”
James blanches. I suspect he’s just realizing the connection between my choice of clothes and the torture. “I didn’t do anything to them, but they never left me alone...” Because of Chester. Because he wanted something from me that I wouldn’t give him. At least, I was strong enough for that.
James’ eyes are moist. Repeatedly, he shakes his head and then reaches for my hand, but I pull it back. Somehow, that’s still too much for me.
He looks at me, concerned. “Why didn’t you tell us? We could have helped you.”
How do you tell someone that you were ashamed? That you were embarrassed by always being the victim—being weak and unable to defend yourself? And I was always afraid that they wouldn’t believe me.
I peer into the fire. “I wanted to jump, you know...” I fiddle with River’s much too big black sweater. It still smells of him and feels like him—a gentle touch against my skin. “I wanted to do it at Old Sheriff, but River stopped me...”
“Oh, Kans.”
“I couldn’t take it anymore. They, well...” I pause. No, I can’t tell him.
“Kans, tell me, please! What else did they do? What happened?” My brother’s voice rises, growing angry, as if he already knows.
I swallow and shake my head. No, I won’t tell him. I can’t.
The fire crackles, and suddenly, there’s a loud ruckus at the hotel entrance. James and I turn at the same time and I spot the Davenports, well, Chester, his father, and an older man. Maybe Chester’s grandfather, the senator from Minneapolis he used to brag about.
I immediately stand. Chester is the last person I want to see right now, and it would also eliminate the awkward conversation.
James also stands as Clark Davenport waves him over from the reception desk. “Wait here, don’t go away. I want to continue this conversation.”
Not me. I nod anyway and pray that Chester doesn’t come over. I feel his gaze sticking to me like syrup, but I’m distracted by my phone vibrating.
River!With my heart pounding, I pull the phone out of my pocket, glance at the display, and disappointment pierces my chest like a rock shard. It’s not a message from River but Zozoo.
My fingers are shaking. With a lot of luck, River has contacted him. Maybe he knows something.
With a thousand thoughts plaguing my mind, I follow the signs to the ladies’ room and leave the pompous foyer. At the end of a wood-paneled corridor, I reach the toilets and disappear inside. It’s a luxury version where the cubicle walls extend from floor to ceiling. The anteroom is tiled in green and gold, and everything sparkles as if it’s been polished to a high gloss. I glance around. All the cubicle doors are wide open, and no one is here, so I can make a phone call in peace. I’m about to tap the number I’ve saved when the heavy door is shoved open.
It’s Chester.
In shock, the phone slips out of my hand and lands with a clatter on the tiled floor.
“A message from your new lover? Mr. Asher Blackwell?” He briefly checks the room and closes the door. “You know, I have no idea which one of you is crazier.” With that familiar gleam in his eyes, he approaches me step by step, and all my words are lost as if someone had sucked them out of me. “You’d better tell us everything you know. My dad isn’t a particularly patient man, and you lied to him.”
I want to push past him, but the old fear inside me paralyzes my legs.
“None of what happened at Kensington had to happen. It was your fault. I would have protected you, but you didn’t want me to.” He laughs as if he’s genuinely amused. “The wonderful Kansas Montgomery... A sack of rice in China is more interesting than you.” He pushes me roughly into the stall, making me stumble and crash into the wall. A stabbing pain shoots through my shoulder. I want to react, but he’s faster. He grabs me by the neck and presses me angrily against the cold tiles. “I have no idea why I wanted you.” He kicks the stall door shut and locks it with his free hand, without loosening his grip on my throat. “I have no idea what Tanner wants from you. Or you from him.” He bends down to me from above until his face is close to mine. It seems inflated and huge, like a floating helium balloon.
