I stare at her, fury and disbelief colliding in my veins. “You’re asking me to stand on the other side of a wall while you sit with him? After tonight?”
Her eyes glisten, stubborn as hell through the tears. “I’m not asking. I’m telling you this is the only way we’ll know. The only way he’ll talk. The only way I’ll get any sense of closure from this. I need to see my parents. I need to grieve them. But… I need to do this first.”
I slam my palm against the wall beside her head, close enough that the towel trembles against her chest. “You’re fucking playing with fire, Summer.”
“I know,” she whispers. “But you’ll be there. Won’t you?”
The answer is already carved into me. Of course I will. I’ll be outside that door, close enough to count every lie in Harrow’s throat, close enough to break his jaw the second he tries to twist her again.
Chapter 21
Make Him Talk
Summer
My clothes are still damp from the towel I peeled off too soon, hair dripping down my neck, soaking patches into the fabric. The cold crawls over me as we step outside, but I barely feel it—my body’s too heavy, too numb.
Jacob stalks ahead, shoulders rigid, fists flexing like he’s still tasting Benny’s blood in his knuckles. He doesn’t look back at me once.
I’m halfway across the driveway when headlights flare down the drive.
My chest seizes.
The car jerks to a stop, gravel spitting beneath its tires, and then both doors fly open.
Constance is out first, Adelaide right behind her, and they’re both crying.
“Summer!”
Constance’s arms wrap around me so tight I nearly lose my footing. She smells like lavender and coffee, warm and safe, and it cracks something open in me I thought was already gone. Adelaide presses in from the side, clinging like she can anchor me by sheer force of touch.
Tears spill hot down my cheeks. My throat burns as I choke onthem, my sobs heaving into their sweaters until I can’t tell whose arms are whose.
Constance rocks me gently, whispering broken apologies. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I’m so, so sorry. I can’t believe—oh God, Summer….” Her voice fractures around my name.
Adelaide’s smaller hands squeeze mine, her own shoulders shaking. Her eyes are swollen, her face blotched red.
“We came as soon as we heard. We didn’t even think—we just had to get to you.”
I can’t answer. My voice is gone. All I can do is clutch at them, fists tight in Constance’s sleeves, body collapsing against theirs like they’re the only thing keeping me standing.
For one fractured second, it almost feels like I can sink into them. Like maybe I’m still a woman who can be held by friends and soothed back into herself.
Constance lifts her head and notices Jacob. She stiffens, though she doesn’t let go of me. Adelaide glances too, her expression faltering, but neither of them says his name. They don’t have to. The weight of him is already heavy enough in the air.
Constance cups my face in her hands, forcing me to look at her. Her own cheeks are streaked with tears.
“We’re here now, Summer. You don’t have to go through this alone.”
I nod weakly, even as my gaze slides past her, back to him. And he sees it. Of course he does.
My sobs slow, thinning into tremors that wrack through me. Constance squeezes me tighter, Adelaide kissing my damp hair like she can will me back into safety, but my feet shift without meaning to. One step. Just one step out of their arms and closer to him.
Constance’s breath catches, jagged enough to pierce. Adelaide’s lip trembles, eyes filling again.
I can’t meet their gazes. I can’t bear the disappointment there. So, I keep my eyes on him. Always him. And when I move fully out of their embrace and toward the truck, I hear Constance let out a sob that feels like betrayal made flesh. But I don’t stop. I can’t.
Constance wipes her face with her sleeve, still clutching at my hand like she doesn’t want to let me go.
