11
The sound of the front door wrenches me from Bram’s trance.
I stand up quickly, like I’m shaking a spider off my clothes. Fortunately, the foyer is one room over, so Henry can’t see that it’s actually his brother I’ve batted away.
“Hey!” I say brightly the moment he enters the room.
Henry glances up from where his gaze was planted on the floor, and his brows knit together. His eyes drift from me to Bram, to the mugs side by side on the table, and then back to me again. “Hayden. What are you doing here?”
“I texted you,” I say somewhat defensively, even though I’ve come over unannounced a million times before.
“Oh.” He frowns and tugs his phone from his pocket. “Sorry, it was on silent. I needed to think.”
“That’s okay. Do you have a minute to talk?”
“Of course,” he says without meeting my eyes. He’s still upset about earlier, which means he’s really going to hate what I have to tell him now.
Bram stands, taking his mug. “I just remembered I’ve got a thing to do,” he says, tipping his head in the direction of the staircase. “Later, Phil.”
“Later.” I keep my voice light, waiting until he’s really gone to take a seat.
Henry slumps against the couch and removes his glasses to rub at an eye. He’s starting to look sleep-deprived. “You and Bram had a little coffee date?”
I laugh, the sound forced. “Sort of. He was attempting to shake me down for information on the case.”
He sits up straighter. “And did you ask him? About Kennedy?”
“Oh,” I say, feeling stupid. “I didn’t, sorry. I thought we’d agreed there was no way it could’ve been him. Did you talk to him?”
Henry’s gaze shifts to the coffee table and then over to the staircase. “Maybe I shouldn’t say.”
“I can’t exactly help you guys if you don’t share anything.”
He runs his fingers through his hair, then leans forward with his elbows on his knees.
“I asked him, just to put it out of my mind, once and for all. At first he looked angry that I even suggested he might be over Mariana. But then he got this strange look on his face. Almost guilty? And he admitted that he might’ve had feelings for someone he shouldn’t have. ”
My body heats so fast, I look straight down into my mug. “So you think it was Kennedy?” I ask.
“No,” Henry whispers, too quickly. “Of course not.”
“Because if it was,” I say, treading carefully, “it would look really bad for Bram.”
Henry purses his lips in thought, one hand fiddling with his frames. “Are you sure Lydia already told the cops about Kennedy seeing someone?” he asks, desperation in his blue-green eyes. “Maybe it’s not too late to change her mind.”
“She said she already told them,” I say. “I’m surprised the cops haven’t asked about it.”
Henry blows out a long puff of air. “Oh, they will. The good news is that at least now, we’ll see it coming.”
“Unfortunately, that wasn’t what I came to talk to you about,” I admit.
“You know how I asked you about Adam and Dr. Russo earlier? Well, after my chat with Adam this morning, I couldn’t get something out of my head.
” Henry’s eyes go to my foot, which bounces in agitation.
It takes all my concentration to still it.
“He was so angry with Dr. Russo,” I continue, “that he said he wasn’t sorry the man lost a daughter. ”
Henry’s eyes widen. “Adam said that?”
I nod. “I know, if I hadn’t heard him myself, I probably wouldn’t believe it either.
” I debate sharing what I learned about Dr. Russo’s investment, the quarrel that may have driven him.
But I decide against it, not wanting to pile onto Henry’s list of problems. The last thing he needs to worry about is his parents’ financial situation.
“We both know that after the accident,” I say, “Dr. Russo likely led that campaign against you guys with the school board. Only I don’t think he stopped there. ”
“What do you mean?” Henry asks.
“I think he spread rumors that Adam had something to do with Mariana’s death on social media, maybe even to the press.
” My hands are starting to shake, and coffee sloshes around in my mug.
I lean forward to set it on the table and pull up the social media post on my phone, filling Henry in on my findings, including how Dr. Russo may have failed Adam from a medical standpoint.
“I didn’t know any of that,” Henry says, gaze downcast as he hands my phone back. “I must’ve been too worried about my own name being thrown around. I tried to stay off social media. This does explain a lot.”
“But Henry,” I say, wincing, “it’s also a motive.”
His mouth falls open. “You can’t actually think Adam would murder Kennedy Russo to get back at her father.”
“It doesn’t matter if I believe it or if it’s true, Henry. It matters if the cops find out that Adam blames Dr. Russo and has a reason to want to hurt him. There’s no better revenge than taking away someone’s child.”
“That’s just sick,” he says.
“Murder is just sick. But if it turns out Kennedy really had a secret boyfriend, and it was Adam… ” I shake my head. “Well, then…”
“We’re screwed.”
I want to tell him no, it’s not that bad. But sugarcoating this isn’t going to help anyone.
“Hayden,” Henry says, inching closer to me on the couch. “This is exactly the kind of information I needed. Thank you for telling me, and thank you for not going to the cops with it.”
There’s something odd about the way he says it. The words slide over me, sticking to me like a fine layer of sand on skin. Making me feel dirty.
But I look at Henry with his messy hair and neatly pressed polo shirt, and I know I must be overthinking things. Especially now, as he looks at me with those tired eyes like I’m the only person in his world.
“So,” I say, sensing that we both need to switch to a lighter subject, “Bram says you’re actually going on the student council retreat?”
He shrugs. “We haven’t received approval from the school. Just from Mr. Fuller.”
“Why does the school need to sign off?”
“Because of the other parents,” he says bleakly.
“As soon as they find out we’re spending two nights in the same cabin as their precious offspring, they’re going to freak out.
In which case the school could take our side, since we haven’t even been officially named persons of interest. Or the school could prohibit us from attending to keep the peace.
” He throws a hand up. “And to keep more than four people on the list of attendees.”
“This is complete bull,” I say, though the frame from the security footage pops into my head: that navy-blue hoodie with the letter A trailing behind Kennedy Russo.
“I’ll talk to Mr. Ortega myself. You guys need student council for college applications.
How can he let you sacrifice your futures for—”
Henry reaches for my hand, taking it in his.
I’m so stunned, I forget what I was rambling about.
I try to swallow, but my throat is dry. He’s trying to shut me up; that’s all this is.
And it obviously worked. I open my mouth to apologize, but he’s smiling at me with one side of his mouth, and I can’t remember how to speak.
“What would I do without you?” he asks, letting out a soft laugh.
He moves his free hand over, cradling mine between the two of his.
Excitement and panic clash in me, but then warmth settles in my stomach.
I’ve imagined this moment since I first developed a crush on Henry, back when we were eleven years old.
And now that it’s actually happening, I can’t tell what he’s thinking.
Is this a we’re good friends holding hands moment? Or is it something else?
He lifts a hand to brush my hair off my forehead, tucking it back behind my ear. And when his fingers move to my cheek, I’m so still, I’m not even breathing. His fingers slide down to my chin, and his eyes slide down too, resting on my lips.
I’m getting the strong feeling that this is something else, especially as he angles my chin with his gentle touch and leans close enough for me to feel his warm breath on my neck.
But a thump sounds, and our heads wrench apart.
A crash. Glass shattering. And then, an unearthly moan.