“College?” I don’t know why I feel the need to clarify.Maybe because the opportunity has seemed so far outside my reality, she might have saidwe must have a serious discussion about what color unicorn you want to ride in your magic princess parade.Her words light the tiniest flicker of hope in my chest, but I don’t let it grow into an all-out blaze. Disappointment is an ice bath on the coldest day of a brutal winter. No sense inviting it in. Better to keep my expectations low.
“Wherever you want. You can of course return to the States, but I have some wonderful contacts at—”
To hell with low expectations.
I leap out of the chair and wrap Whitney in a massive hug, probably squeezing her petite frame too hard, but I don’t think she minds. She returns the embrace with a ferocity I don’t expect, almost like she’s holding both of us together when we’re at risk of flying apart. We cling to each other, the steady beeps from the machines hooked up to Isla the only sounds beside the hiccupping gasps I try, and fail, to contain.
“Thank you. Just … thank you.” I tighten my arms around Whitney’s waist, and she lets me. Just stands there and takes it, as if she’s enjoying this, and I firmly believe she does. She wants to help me. Wants to take care of me.
I love it. More than anything, I appreciate it. Whitney doesn’t have to do this for me—didn’t have to do any of the things she has for me since I arrived here—but shewantsto. I’m not about to take that for granted, and I won’t let my sister, either. When she wakes up, I’m never letting Isla complain about Whitney again.
As I pull away from Whitney, I catch myself. NotwhenIsla wakes up, butif. The reality is devastating, but I need to faceit. I must resolve Isla’s case and clear her name. It’s why I came here, and yesterday’s revelations have brought me closer than ever before to understanding the truth.
Even if the worst comes to pass—and I can’t think about that, not right now—Whitney and Peter—Dad—deserve resolution. They deserve to know the truth. They’ve been great parents to Isla, and for that alone, I owe them.
“Your sister is a fierce hugger, too,” Whitney says, halting the cascade of thoughts waterfalling through my mind.
“Yeah? I don’t … I don’t really remember that. Or much. We were in touch a lot until the past year, when I … I pulled away. Things were really hard at home and …” I trail off, too full of self-loathing to get the words out.
The touch of Whitney’s soft palm on my arm is somehow full of understanding.
“She knew—knows—how much you love her. In fact, I don’t think she’ll be surprised at all to learn you dropped everything to come over here and help her. She’ll think it’s just the most natural thing in the world to find you here when she wakes up. I’m sure of it.”
…
Iuse the shower in Isla’s hospital room and get dressed, then climb into Peter’s car, which he left behind for me. I tell Lurch we’re headed back to Wickham. He keeps sending me curious looks in the rearview mirror, but he doesn’t say anything.
Neither do I. I’m too nervous about returning to campus.What if Connor holds true to his threat and exposes me to everyone? Would he really be cruel enough to do that? Not that the truth can hurt me personally, but it could definitely ruin my plans. Pressing just as heavy on my heart is guilt over the way my secrets hurt Connor. Our night together in the greenhouse glimmers in my memory like a mirage. I want so badly for it to be real, but it feels like that time belongs to someone else—someone who hadn’t betrayed the boy she’s falling for. I wonder if it feels unreal to Connor, too, when he looks back on our time together. We got so close, but all the time, I wasn’tme. Not completely. That’s got to hit Connor where it hurts the most, especially after so many of his friends refused to stand by him during all this stuff with his dad. Then I come along, somehow dodge his defenses, and proceed to completely abuse his trust.
Nice going, Billie.
I’ve lost Connor; I’m sure of it. But knowing it solidifies my already firm resolve into something so heavy, it could keep my feet grounded on the surface of the moon. If I figure out what happened to Isla and Emily, I’ll at least be able to give Connor and his family some peace. It’s the very least I can do after everything he’s been through, everything I put him through.
A parting gift for the boy who deserved better than Belinda Winters.
Hell, he deserved better than Billie Vale, too.
Traffic is light in London thanks to the early hour, and when we arrive at Wickham, I know Connor will be in the dining hall. The moment we pull into the drive, I’m opening the car door and running across campus, ignoring the strangelooks from the handful of students up and about at this hour. I’m too intent on finding Connor to worry about anyone else.
I enter the dining hall out of breath, frantically searching the room for his familiar, beloved face. I find him sitting alone at a table with his head bent over his phone and AirPods in his ears. I approach slowly, my stomach twisting into knots, protesting the breakfast sandwich I inhaled earlier. He doesn’t notice me until I’m practically looming over him, and when he lifts his head, a grimace spreads over his face that leaves me a shaky, nerved-out mess.
“What are you doing here?” He plucks an AirPod from his ear, the weariness in his voice giving me the slightest bit of hope.
“I need to talk to you.” Panic flashes through me when he stands. Is he already leaving? “Please, Connor. I need you to listen to what I have to say.”
“I think we’ve talked enough.” He starts to leave, and I chase after him as we exit the dining hall. I grab his hand the moment we’re outside, and he lets me drag him around the other side of the brick building to a more private spot.
That he lets me take him there is another good sign, right? I’ve never been a superstitious person, but I guess it’s true what they say—any port in a storm.
He lets go of my hand and turns to face me, his arms crossed in pure defensive mode. “You’ve got five minutes.”
I take a deep breath and launch into the story of how I ended up at Wickham. His expression never shifts as I explain my background, my mom’s dependency on alcohol, how resentful I became of Peter and Whitney and especially Isla. How I loved my sister in spite of it all, but I still couldn’t deal.Until Peter called me that one fateful day and said he needed me to help him figure out who tried to kill Isla.
“I did this for Isla, and for myself,” I tell Connor, my voice cracking. “I didn’t expect to fall for you when I came here. I had one mission, and you became an … unexpected and welcome surprise. I understand that you’re angry with me, and you have every right to be. I want to give you time to decide whether or not you can forgive me. You deserve that—the chance to figure out if you can feel about me the same way I feel about you, knowing what you know now. But Isla is almost out of time, and I desperately need your help. If not for me, and if not for Isla … then for Emily. Because she deserves justice. They both do.”
The entire time I’m speaking, his expression never changes. Not even a flicker of emotion in his eyes, nothing. His face is like a blank wall, his stance stiff. But now? In this moment, after I’ve told him why I came here and that he matters to me?
His eyes are a little softer, and he drops his arms to his sides. His jaw is still firm, his mouth still pressed in a hard line, but he doesn’t look quite as angry as he did when he first saw me in the dining hall.
