Chapter 21
Hadley
Savannah Cole was a cool traveling companion.
That was genuinely surprising. Not because I doubted her as a person, but because the idea of Savannah and me being in the same room was alien.
I didn’t move in her circle of friends, which I was learning fast; she didn’t really have any.
I didn’t have friends because, well, as I told Savannah, people sucked.
I had a few friends. A handful from high school, ones I was happy to DM on Messenger, ones who never pushed for a meetup.
I had a couple of exes I was still friendly with, but I never understood all the drama over an ex.
If it wasn’t working, it wasn’t working.
If they cheated, they obviously weren’t right for you.
I didn’t cry over breakups.
Savannah was just . . . different. She wasn’t open, but she also wasn’t so guarded that conversation with her felt stilted.
She told me that she and her dad attended many dinners and functions, and I quickly understood that’s how she became so skilled at the art of conversation, but she wasn’t false.
Mature definitely, until you mentioned her boyfriend, then she became a giggling girl, but other than that . . . she was cool.
I liked her.
I wasn’t sure I liked that.
We were discussing movies. She did not accept that The Empire Strikes Back was the best of the Star Wars movies. She thought — and as she said it, I tasted bile — that The Phantom Menace was, because it was, and I quote, fun.
We’d been debating it for the last twenty minutes. But we were getting closer to Mary’s neighborhood, and I needed my game face on. “Okay, so we’re about five minutes out,” I said, changing the subject.
Savannah drummed her fingers on her thigh as we turned down a narrow side street lined with old brick walk-ups and front porches decorated with mismatched chairs.
“This is where she lives?” Sav asked.
“Apparently,” I muttered, triple-checking the address.
“Looks like the kind of street where someone definitely has a cursed doll in the attic.”
I glanced at her. “That’s comforting, thank you.”
“I’m just setting expectations.”
I glared at her again. Savannah grinned. God help me, I really did like her company.
We parked. I stared at Mary’s house. The last time I’d been here, I was a roommate with a friend. A friend who’d betrayed me in the worst way possible, and I hadn’t seen her since.
Sav looked between me and the house. “Is there a story I need to know?” she asked quietly.
“No.” I opened the car door. “Let’s go.”
We walked up the path, and before I even had a chance to hesitate, Savannah knocked before I could change my mind. We waited; Savannah must drive Dante insane, because where he was renowned for being patient and calm, she was already knocking on the door again.
I heard footsteps, and I shuffled my feet nervously on the porch.
The lock clicked, and then the door opened to reveal Mary Chance — same sharp cheekbones, same statement eyeliner, and an expression that said, ‘I expected the apocalypse before I expected you.’
Her eyes flicked from me to Savannah.
“Hadley?” Mary looked confused. “Is that . . . Why are you here?”
“Hi,” I said, putting on what I hoped was a friendly smile and not my please-don’t-kill-me smile.
Savannah stepped forward, sunshine incarnate. “Hi, Mary! I’m Savannah Cole.”
“Cole?” Mary asked flatly. Her eyes flicked to mine. “As in Dean Cole?”
“Yes.” Savannah didn’t even blink.
Mary gave me a look that said ‘we’d discuss this later,’ and then she stepped aside. “And if I close the door?”
“The doorbell seems to work. I’ll just keep ringing it.”
She held my stare, then her shoulders slumped. “Come in, I guess.”
Her front room looked like a creative explosion — books piled everywhere, half-drunk iced coffees, three laptops, and a corkboard full of newspaper clippings that definitely weren’t for interior décor.
Some things never changed, I guess. We sat when she pointed to the sofa. Mary didn’t offer drinks. Or snacks. Or politeness.
“So,” she said, crossing her arms, “what do you want?”
Savannah shot me a ‘your circus’ look. I reached into my bag and pulled out the old draft of the Sterling article.
Mary didn’t touch it, but her jaw clenched even tighter. “Wow,” she said softly. “What the heck are you digging up, Hads?”
“Hadley,” I corrected coldly. “You recognize it?” I asked, already feeling triumphant.
She snorted. “Of course I do. I wrote half of it.”
Savannah’s eyebrows shot up. “You?”
“Yeah.” Mary stepped back, eyes flicking between us. “I was the editor and acting sports editor. Well . . . briefly. Until I wasn’t.”
My stomach pinched. “Because of this?”
“Because of this,” she confirmed. “That was the year I learned how journalism works in college life.” Her voice sharpened. “It doesn’t.”
I swallowed. “Mary . . . I need to know what happened. The redactions. The sudden shutdown. The—”
“No.”
I was prepared for this. “I’ll never mention you told me.”
“I don’t care.”
We held each other’s stare. I didn’t break eye contact. “You owe me.”
Her huff of disbelief was loud. “That’s a low blow, Hads.”
“At last, we agree,” I murmured. I watched her face flush, and she looked away.
“Mason Sterling?” she guessed.
I nodded.
Mary sighed like she’d been holding that name close for a few years.
“Look, I don’t know much,” she said, lowering her voice. “The official story was an academic review. Behavior monitoring. Some vague ‘internal decision’ that meant nothing.”
“I know the public version,” I said. “I want the real one.”
Again, she hesitated. “Why? This is old news.”
“Not to me.” I held her stare. “I found more. I think he ties it together.” I looked over at her corkboard.
“I uncovered some things . . . They took my blog.” I glanced back at her, and she was still watching me.
“Some friends found things, and Mason was mentioned. I found Sterling’s name.
There’s a cover-up, Mary, I know it. He’s the one common denominator. I need to know why.”
“And you thought I would be the one to uncover the cover-up?” she asked skeptically. Her gaze swept us both. “You must be really stuck if you came to me.”
I could see Savannah out of the corner of my eye, and even though I didn’t know her well, I now knew her well enough to know she was desperate to ask why.
“I’ve got time.”
Mary studied me for a moment. Then, to my surprise, she softened. “You’re still the same, you know,” she said quietly. “Always chasing the story no one wants you to have.”
I opened my mouth — to apologize, to defend myself, to move on from the two years of unresolved resentment between us — but she waved me off.
“Forget it, just listen.”
I shut up.
Mary took a seat across from us and leaned forward. She rested her elbows on her knees, her voice low. “There was a girl,” she said. “She filed a complaint about sexual misconduct. Not through the police, she was too scared for that. Through student conduct.”
My heart thudded. “She named Mason Sterling?”
“No.” Mary shook her head. “She didn’t name anyone on record.”
Savannah frowned. “Then how did Mason get—”
“Targeted?” Mary offered. “Because rumors filled in the blanks. She’d been seen with him, at a . . . party, I think it was.” She frowned. “Yeah, at their stupid athletic building.”
“The common-room parties?” Savannah asked.
“Yeah.” Mary was back to studying Savannah. “I don’t understand why you’re here.”
“I’m helping Hadley.”
I didn’t say one word to suggest otherwise. “What happened?” I asked her.
Mary shook her head. “The department panicked, and Mason was the one they said was the guy.”
“He wasn’t?” I asked her, and when she shrugged, a cold line traced down my spine. “So you’re saying he didn’t do it?” I asked.
Mary hesitated. “I’m saying,” she said carefully, “I never saw evidence he did. And I saw a lot. I was able to read the complaint draft before admin yanked everything.”
“Draft?” I echoed.
“Yeah. The girl tried to write it three times. Every version was different. She was scared. Confused. Something happened to her — absolutely.” Mary’s mouth pulled flat.
“But . . .” She paused and sighed. “I don’t know if there was more than one incident.
Or if she was pressured. Or—” She shook her head.
“I don’t know. The story disappeared. I got told to drop it. So I did.”
I watched her. “You suspected something, though.” I narrowed my focus on her. “What is it?”
Mary licked her bottom lip. “I don’t think she knew who hurt her.”
Sav and I exchanged a look. If she didn’t know who hurt her, then anything that came after was, at best, educated guesswork.
“And Mason?” I pressed. “What did he say?”
Mary laughed, but there was no humor in it. “They pulled him before we could even reach out.” She shook her head in disgust. “He was gone before the rumors started.”
Pulled him. Not questioned. Not defended. Not given due process. Just gone.
“So, he could have been innocent?” Savannah asked softly.
Mary’s gaze flicked to mine. “Or he knew something,” she said. “Something they didn’t want talked about. Something bigger than one accusation.”
My skin prickled. Bigger? Like . . . systemic?
Mary leaned back. “I know you, Hadley. You didn’t come here to clear Mason’s name,” she said shrewdly. “You came because you think there’s still something happening.”
I didn’t deny it.
Mary sighed. “What else do you want from me?”
“I need the original draft of what was supposed to run. The script she wrote — if you have it.” I held her stare. “I know you keep things. You’re a hoarder. And . . . I need her name.”
She watched me. Really watched me. Then she shook her head. “I don’t have the script. My draft’s gone too. Admin made me delete it. Twice. Then they deleted my access altogether, and suddenly I wasn’t sports editor anymore.”
“But you remember,” I said.
“Enough to tell you this,” she said quietly. “Let it go. They wanted this buried. They did a lot — a lot — to make it disappear.” Her gaze darted between Savannah and me. “Keep it buried.”
A warning that settled into my stomach.