“A friend of ours,” he says, his eyes narrowing on me.
“Thomas Freese? Another one of yourElitefriends?”
The split second of hesitation is the only indicator of his surprise. “Yes,” he says in a reluctant voice. A muscle twitchesin his jaw, but he doesn’t look away. “We were idiots. Teenagers give themselves stupid names.” He pauses, then goes on, “Nora knew I liked her, but she and Tommy were always on and off. I thought Tommy was probably the father, and she didn’t want me to be upset.”
“I suppose it’s technically possible that Thomas Freese was my father.” I swallow before speaking again. “But when she died, my mother left behind the claim that she was sexually assaulted.”
Silence. Terrible, horrible silence. Even Aiden’s hands have tensed on my shoulders; I’m barely breathing as I wait for Lionel’s reaction.
But he seems to have frozen—not to ice but to stone, his eyes wide, his face draining of color. Even his gaze is unmoving, glued to me.
“That,” he says stiffly, “is not possible. She would have told me. She would have told us.”
“Maybe,” I say, “if she knew who had done it. But she didn’t. It happened at your home,” I go on, tracking every twitch of his muscles, every fleeting emotion that passes through his eyes. “Here, in this house.”
Oh my goodness. I didn’t think of it like that before this very second. I am sitting in the home where I was conceived, where my mother was attacked.
My stomach turns as bile rises in my throat, and I slap my hand over my mouth, forcing deep breaths in and then out until I’m positive I’m not going to hurl all over this man and his fancy desk.
Then I go on. “From what I’ve cobbled together, she was here with you, Thomas, and Cam Verido. It was the summer after your senior year, shortly before the three of you left for school. That night she was drugged and assaulted. She learned she was pregnantseveral weeks later.”
“In my—” Lionel says, and it sounds like he’s choking on his water once more, only he hasn’t taken another drink. “In my home?—”
“I believe so, yes.” I blink several times, trying to push back the tears that burn in the corners of my eyes.
And then Lionel erupts out of his chair—he stands so suddenly that I jump, and from behind me, Aiden’s hands tighten on my shoulders.
“We would never,” Lionel says through gritted teeth, bracing white-knuckled hands on the edge of his desk and knocking over his glass of water. It empties quickly all over his desk, staining folders and papers and pooling under his keyboard, but he doesn’t seem to notice. “None of us would ever have done that.Ever.”
The truth hits me then as his eyes blaze down at me: this man loved my mother. It’s plain as day.
Did he love the woman she became, sad and broken, whose best still wasn’t enough? Because that’s the unfortunate truth about my mother: she tried. I really think she did. And she loved me. Butloveandtrying hardwere not enough.
Sometimes those things are not enough.
And is love more than the sum of its parts? If you lose all the parts of yourself that someone fell in love with, will they still love you?
Is there a love that says simplyI love you because you exist?
I don’t know. I don’t know any of that.
But I think…I think I believe Lionel.
“Fine. In that case, what was my mother’s relationship with Rocco like?”
“With—withRocco?” he splutters.
I nod. “Your brother has a lot of feelings about you. But I’m not sure I believe what he’s told me.”
Lionel pushes off his desk,standing up straight and rolling his eyes. It seems like he’s taking a second to collect himself; he runs his hand through his hair and takes a few deep breaths before returning to his seat. Only then does his gaze return to mine, studying me and every now and then jumping up to where I know Aiden is standing behind me.
Finally he speaks. “I am not, strictly speaking, agoodman,” he says. He sounds tired. “But I can guarantee that I am nowhere near as evil as my brother likes to claim, and Icertainlyam not a rapist.”
“Then tell me about Rocco,” I say softly.
“Your mother didn’t like Rocco,” he says. “He made her uncomfortable. So I never let him hang around us. I kept him away.”
“He made her uncomfortable?” I say, my pulse jumping. “How so?”
