Chapter Twenty #2
“I need to talk to you.” Panic flashes through me when he stands. Is he already leaving? “Please, Connor. I need you to listen to what I have to say.”
“I think we’ve talked enough.” He starts to leave, and I chase after him as we exit the dining hall. I grab his hand the moment we’re outside, and he lets me drag him around the other side of the brick building to a more private spot.
That he lets me take him there is another good sign, right? I’ve never been a superstitious person, but I guess it’s true what they say—any port in a storm.
He lets go of my hand and turns to face me, his arms crossed in pure defensive mode. “You’ve got five minutes.”
I take a deep breath and launch into the story of how I ended up at Wickham.
His expression never shifts as I explain my background, my mom’s dependency on alcohol, how resentful I became of Peter and Whitney and especially Isla.
How I loved my sister in spite of it all, but I still couldn’t deal.
Until Peter called me that one fateful day and said he needed me to help him figure out who tried to kill Isla.
“I did this for Isla, and for myself,” I tell Connor, my voice cracking.
“I didn’t expect to fall for you when I came here.
I had one mission, and you became an … unexpected and welcome surprise.
I understand that you’re angry with me, and you have every right to be.
I want to give you time to decide whether or not you can forgive me.
You deserve that—the chance to figure out if you can feel about me the same way I feel about you, knowing what you know now.
But Isla is almost out of time, and I desperately need your help.
If not for me, and if not for Isla … then for Emily.
Because she deserves justice. They both do. ”
The entire time I’m speaking, his expression never changes. Not even a flicker of emotion in his eyes, nothing. His face is like a blank wall, his stance stiff. But now? In this moment, after I’ve told him why I came here and that he matters to me?
His eyes are a little softer, and he drops his arms to his sides. His jaw is still firm, his mouth still pressed in a hard line, but he doesn’t look quite as angry as he did when he first saw me in the dining hall.
“I don’t think I can help you,” he starts, his voice hesitant. “I’m not equipped for this, and apparently, neither are you. This is bigger than us, Billie. Don’t you see that? Doesn’t Peter?”
I shake my head once, not about to give up now. “I left campus yesterday and headed straight to the hospital to see my sister one last time before I went back home.”
His brows furrow. “You’re going back to the States?”
His question lights me up inside. “You said I had to go or—Never mind. That’s not important right now. What’s important is that Peter was there. We got into an argument. And then … he spilled his guts.”
Connor leans against the building as I launch into a new story, giving him all the details from last night. Isla’s list of the llamas from 1998 and all of the familiar names. Peter’s story about the ten-year reunion and George Canterbury and how he’s my biological father.
At that, Connor’s eyes widen in what could be shock or alarm—hard to say which.
“You’re a Canterbury?” he asks, and yeah, it’s definitely shock. “That means Freddie is …”
“My cousin. I know.”
“But I guess the question is, does he know? And if he does … If Isla told him …” Connor runs a hand through his hair, shaking his head a bit.
Maybe trying to shake loose everything he thought he knew about his friend’s family in order to make space for this new information.
Make space for me, a hopeful part of my brain supplies.
But I know better. I can’t confuse Connor’s interest in finding out what happened to Emily with forgiveness.
Just because he seems to have found a temporary break in his hurt and anger doesn’t mean he’s ready to forget what I’ve done.
“I think Isla was trying to find a reason to bring me here,” I tell him, sharing the revelation I came to last night after my talk with Peter.
Dad. Trying to overwrite my feelings about Peter Vale is like trying to erase old computer code and input new commands on top of it.
I’ve spent so long thinking about him one way.
Realizing I was totally wrong … doesn’t suck as much as I thought it would.
I guess if you’re going to be wrong about something, thinking your dad was an uncaring asshole for most of your life is a nice one to have been wrong about.
“She knew I was struggling. I feel like the worst sister in the world admitting this, but I’d been pulling away from her for the past year, and I wasn’t exactly subtle about it.
Things had gotten so difficult at home, and every path I tried to take led to a dead end.
It crushes me that while I was trying to pull away from her, trying to insulate myself from seeing my sister’s star rise, she was here, trying to raise me up alongside her.
And it might have gotten her hurt. Emily, too, Connor.
I don’t totally understand how, exactly, but I’m so, so sorry she got caught up in this. ”
Shock ripples through me when Connor pulls me in for a hug, fierce and firm, like he can’t help himself.
I melt into him for a moment, savoring the feeling of his strong body so close to mine.
He lets me go far too soon, and I immediately miss him.
His warmth and strength and his delicious, soapy boy smell.
“It’s not your fault, Billie. Lying from the second you arrived on campus?
That’s on you. But Emily’s death? You don’t carry the blame for that.
I won’t let you. Look what guilt did to your mum.
And from what your dad told you, George’s death wasn’t her fault, either.
For fuck’s sake, he was threatening to push her off a cliff.
From where I’m sitting, your mum, and you, and Isla, and even Emily are all victims of selfish men making selfish choices.
” His tone is bitter, the grimace on his face full of disgust, though none of it is directed at me.
I stare at him in silence, my heart turning over itself and my stomach fluttery in the best way.
This boy doesn’t blame me or Mom for what happened to his sister, though I’m more and more sure that our history—and the minefield of secrets it hides—is the reason Emily is dead.
Instead, Connor’s anger is aimed at the men who did this, and oh my gosh, I love that.
Because his fury is warranted. Mom has been wronged for years, and so have I, through her. It’s not fair.
But no one has ever said life is fair.
“We need answers, Connor. Figure out how the ’98 llamas and George’s death connect to what happened to our sisters.”
“How?” Connor asks.
“We need to find Freddie.”