49. Juliette
JULIETTE
I wake up to my mother screaming.
It’s an odd noise, and it takes me a few seconds to recognize it for what it is. I’m not sure I’ve ever heard her expel so much emotion before, so having it as an alarm clock is a jolt to my system.
Jerking upright out of bed, I glance around, my first thought being that maybe she knows Roman was here last night. Maybe he’s still here.
My hand immediately reaches next to me, but the bed is cold, like he’s been gone for hours.
There’s a piece of paper on my pillow that looks like it was torn from my notebook, and I grab it, smiling because he left me a note.
I love you. I’m sorry.
I’ll sketch you into every corner of the world and paint you across the sky.
-RMO
P.S. Don’t trust Frederick.
My smile falters.
My brows pull together, and I read the note again, slower this time.
The “I’m sorry” sits heavy in the center, like it’s bleeding through the page.
I think back to how he was last night.
The way he touched me like he’d never again get the chance.
The way he stared at me like I was the most beautiful piece of art.
The way he kept confessing his love and begging me to remember.
My stomach turns. He was saying goodbye. And he was apologizing for it.
The paper trembles in my hand, and I crumple it up, throwing it to the side as my heart rips from my chest like his words have claws.
And now he’s not here . Like everything he promised means nothing.
Another wail from my mother brings me back to the present, my mind narrowing like tunnel vision, and I throw back the covers and slip out of bed.
I’m just at the door to my room, about to go investigate and see what the hell is going on, when it swings open, Beverly storming in with wild eyes, rimmed red around the edges.
“Bevie,” I gasp, throwing a hand to my chest. “What is it? What’s happened?”
She looks behind her, and my mother’s sobs come up the curved staircase, as though she’s in the foyer.
Beverly shuts the door behind her and rushes to me, fingers gripping me tightly as she drags me across the room and into the closet.
She doesn’t speak, and when we get there, her lips press together, all the color drained from her face as she rummages through my clothes, pulling odds and ends out for me to wear.
“Bevie,” I try again.
And again, she ignores me.
“Beverly!” I snap, rushing forward and physically stopping her from moving any more. My hands cover hers, and I expect her to be trembling from how panicked she seems.
But she’s not.
Foreboding trickles down my spine, and I have a terrible feeling that whatever it is has to do with Roman.
He came here last night to say goodbye.
I bat the thought away, my heart feeling like it might disintegrate into dust if I think about it for too long.
“What’s happened?” My eyes spring back and forth between hers, trying to see some truth in her tear-stricken face.
She opens her mouth, and her head shakes slightly. “It’s Ty—Tyler, child.”
My chest squeezes. Did he tell everyone about Roman and me? My face heats, and my heart pounds out an anxious rhythm.
“What about him?” I can barely get out the words.
Beverly stares at me for one second.
Two.
“He’s dead.”
My brows furrow as I try to process her words.
“No,” I say. “That’s impossible.”
Beverly gives me a pitying look and wipes a tear away from her own cheek before she goes back to ripping my clothes apart, like she’s trying to pack a bag for me.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
I should be feeling some emotion, but I can’t believe her words. They don’t feel real, and she has to be mistaken.
My mother’s scream reverberates in my memory, and my stomach cramps.
“No,” I say again. And then I’m moving, bounding forward and jerking Beverly’s hands roughly from where they’re in my dresser drawers. “No,” I repeat. “You tell me what’s really happening right now.”
Her lips roll together.
“Where is Tyler?”
Her gaze widens like she can’t believe I’m about to make her say it again.
“Where is he!” I half yell.
Beverly jerks back from the noise and then moves in closer. “He’s dead, Juliette.”
I stumble back from her, my hand pressing against the deep throb in my chest.
It isn’t possible. Not Tyler. He was fine last night…a little unhinged, maybe, and a lot mad, but nothing that would lead to his death .
“Child,” Beverly starts, moving toward me and pressing her hand to my cheek, forcing my gaze to hers.
I hadn’t even realized I was staring at the ground.
Shaking my head, I grip her fingers in mine and hold them against my face. “Don’t call me that. I’m not a child.”
Sorrow flashes in her gaze, and maybe I should be crying. Half of me expects the tears to form any second, but whether it’s from shock or disbelief, I’m just…numb.
“Tell me how it happened,” I say. “How long has everyone known?”
“I assume your parents knew last night; they never came home,” she whispers, and her hand drops, picking up the discarded clothing and shoving it into my hands. “But we have to get you out of here.”
My brows furrow, and I shake my head again. “I’m not leaving, Bevie. Not if Tyler’s gone, I can’t—” The words lodge in my throat, and my hand flies to cover my mouth so I don’t scream or sob or… something .
“He told everyone about you and that Montgomery boy,” she says slowly. “Lance knows. Your mother knows. Everyone knows.”
I grit my teeth, wrapping my head around what she’s telling me, but it just doesn’t make any sense. “He wouldn’t.”
But I know even as I say it that he would.
A sick sense of dread trickles down my spine. “How did he die?”
Beverly looks at me with pity, and it makes nausea rise in my throat. “It was Roman, Juliette.”
My world stops. “You’re…you’re sure?”
Now tears do well. For Tyler. For Roman. For all that could have been, being smashed to pieces in front of my eyes.
My breathing grows rapid, and my vision narrows until the corners darken, and it hurts to take in air.
“No, it couldn’t have been him. He wouldn’t—he wouldn’t do this.”
But I remember the blood on his shirt. The apology in his eyes. The goodbye in his touch.
He wouldn’t.
Beverly sits me down on my bed, and I blink.
Funny. I hadn’t even realized we had moved from the closet.
“It wasn’t him,” I repeat like a mantra. “Are we even sure Ty is gone? What if… What if…”
“Shh.” Beverly grabs me and pulls me to her chest, and I break apart in her arms, finally crying for Tyler, for Roman, for this mess that seems to be getting worse instead of better.
“He wouldn’t do this,” I say again. “He—he loves me, Bevie.”
She pats my arm and pulls back, staring me dead in the eye. “All men lie, Juliette. All men cheat. They’re all wicked.”
“Not him.” I shake my head vigorously.
I may not know much, but I know my heart. And I know his. Maybe he’s a Montgomery, but he wouldn’t hurt me this way.
But he knew , my mind whispers.
When he came to me last night, a sense of urgency in his touch, maybe he knew that Tyler was gone. And he didn’t tell me.
“I have to talk to him.” I shoot to a stand, and Beverly rears back.
She scoffs. “You will not talk to the man who killed your cousin.”
“You don’t know he did that,” I say through gritted teeth, anger infusing every piece of me. “And it isn’t as though Tyler would have been welcoming him with open arms. If there was a fight, I’m sure Roman wasn’t the instigator. He wouldn’t.”
But Tyler would.
My heart pitches in my chest, diving into my stomach and bleeding out at my feet. I feel like I’m betraying Tyler for even thinking the words, but in the same breath, I’m betraying Roman if I don’t .
“Juliette.”
“I need to speak to him, to… Is he in jail? Have they arrested him?”
She shakes her head and breaks her gaze from me, like she can’t stand to look at me anymore. “They can’t find him, Juliette. We have to get you out of here, do you understand? Your mother, she… Well, she’s angry. Devastated. I won’t stand by while they decide what to do to you just to get to him.”
“I don’t understand anything about this. Why do I need to leave?”
She leans forward and grips my arm tighter. Sounds from downstairs filter through the hall and into my room, and her gaze goes to my closed door, and when she focuses on me again, she seems frantic.
“Do you trust me, Juliette? I need you to trust me.”
“Of course I do.”
She takes a flask out of her back pocket, and my eyes widen when she hands it to me. “Drink up. It will help with the nerves.”
I open it and sniff it, grimacing. “Ugh, what is it?”
“Stop asking questions and do it.”
Her words feel like a slap against my face, but I listen to her and swallow the bitter liquid.
She sighs in relief after I drink it all down. “I’m sorry, I just…your mother is volatile. Grief makes people lash out in strange ways.”
Realization at what she’s saying hits hard. “You think my own family will hurt me.”
I don’t phrase it as a question.
“I’m not willing to allow you to stick around and find out.” She nods toward my balcony. “I assume you know how to sneak out and climb down the lattice still?”
I swallow again, my mind jumbled and my heart sore. I nod.
“Good. Then you have to go.” She shoves the clothes into my hand. “Change and go now . Someone is waiting down the street for you. She’ll help you get away, just until things calm down.”
“Who?” Confusion runs rampant now, and every nerve ending in my body is on edge, because what she’s saying doesn’t make sense.
But I guess nothing really makes sense right now.
“Someone you can trust.” She moves toward me and presses her hand to my cheek. “I’ll come and find you when it’s safe, and we’ll clear everything up. Together. I won’t let anything happen to you, Juliette.”
“And Roman?” My breath hitches on his name, a pulsing ache spreading from my center through every part of me. “He’ll come looking for me,” I say, stumbling over the words, not knowing if they’re true. “I need to see him. I…I know he didn’t do this, Bevie. I know it.”
Beverly’s jaw tenses, and she nods. “I’ll do my best to find him.”
My arm snags on the shirt as I pull it over my head, throwing it on hastily. “He didn’t do this, Bevie. Trust me, please.”
“I’ll distract them.” She jerks her head toward the door and then reaches out and cups my cheek. “Be safe, Juliette.”
And then I’m gone, out the door, not stopping to think about what I might be leaving behind.