“I don’t think I can help you,” he starts, his voice hesitant. “I’m not equipped for this, and apparently, neither are you. This is bigger than us, Billie. Don’t you see that? Doesn’t Peter?”
I shake my head once, not about to give up now. “I left campus yesterday and headed straight to the hospital to see my sister one last time before I went back home.”
His brows furrow. “You’re going back to the States?”
His question lights me up inside. “You said I had to goor—Never mind. That’s not important right now. What’s important is that Peter was there. We got into an argument. And then … he spilled his guts.”
Connor leans against the building as I launch into a new story, giving him all the details from last night. Isla’s list of the llamas from 1998 and all of the familiar names. Peter’s story about the ten-year reunion and George Canterbury and how he’s my biological father.
At that, Connor’s eyes widen in what could be shock or alarm—hard to say which.
“You’re aCanterbury?” he asks, and yeah, it’s definitely shock. “That means Freddie is …”
“My cousin. I know.”
“But I guess the question is, doesheknow? And if he does … If Isla told him …” Connor runs a hand through his hair, shaking his head a bit. Maybe trying to shake loose everything he thought he knew about his friend’s family in order to make space for this new information.Make space for me, a hopeful part of my brain supplies. But I know better. I can’t confuse Connor’s interest in finding out what happened to Emily with forgiveness. Just because he seems to have found a temporary break in his hurt and anger doesn’t mean he’s ready to forget what I’ve done.
“I think Isla was trying to find a reason to bring me here,” I tell him, sharing the revelation I came to last night after my talk with Peter.Dad. Trying to overwrite my feelings about Peter Vale is like trying to erase old computer code and input new commands on top of it. I’ve spent so long thinking about him one way. Realizing I was totally wrong … doesn’t suck as much as I thought it would. I guess if you’re going to be wrongabout something, thinking your dad was an uncaring asshole for most of your life is a nice one to have been wrong about.
“She knew I was struggling. I feel like the worst sister in the world admitting this, but I’d been pulling away from her for the past year, and I wasn’t exactly subtle about it. Things had gotten so difficult at home, and every path I tried to take led to a dead end. It crushes me that while I was trying to pull away from her, trying to insulate myself from seeing my sister’s star rise, she was here, trying to raise me up alongside her. And it might have gotten her hurt. Emily, too, Connor. I don’t totally understand how, exactly, but I’m so,sosorry she got caught up in this.”
Shock ripples through me when Connor pulls me in for a hug, fierce and firm, like he can’t help himself. I melt into him for a moment, savoring the feeling of his strong body so close to mine. He lets me go far too soon, and I immediately miss him. His warmth and strength and his delicious, soapy boy smell.
“It’s not your fault, Billie. Lying from the second you arrived on campus? That’s on you. But Emily’s death? You don’t carry the blame for that. I won’t let you. Look what guilt did to your mum. And from what your dad told you, George’s death wasn’t her fault, either. For fuck’s sake, he was threatening topush her off a cliff. From where I’m sitting, your mum, and you, and Isla, and even Emily are all victims of selfish men making selfish choices.” His tone is bitter, the grimace on his face full of disgust, though none of it is directed at me.
I stare at him in silence, my heart turning over itself and my stomach fluttery in the best way. This boy doesn’t blameme or Mom for what happened to his sister, though I’m more and more sure that our history—and the minefield of secrets it hides—is the reason Emily is dead. Instead, Connor’s anger is aimed at the men who did this, and oh my gosh, I love that. Because his fury is warranted. Mom has been wronged for years, and so have I, through her. It’s not fair.
But no one has ever said life is fair.
“We need answers, Connor. Figure out how the ’98 llamas and George’s death connect to what happened to our sisters.”
“How?” Connor asks.
“We need to find Freddie.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Freddie has been a ghost on campus since his dad’s arrest, but getting him to meet with us was easy. Connor sent him a text:I know what you’re going through, man. Let’s talk about it.
It worked. They agree to meet by the cliffside tree, which I suggested not for the drama but the potential stress Freddie might feel returning to the scene of the crime. But was there a crime at all? A seed of doubt took root in my gut when Dad told me what happened to George and Mom. None of that was premeditated, which definitely doesn’t absolve George from being a murderous little shit, but it frames my mother’s actions as self-defense. And a crime committed in the name of self-defense isn’t a crime, is it? Though Julian was right and I’ve binged my fair share ofLaw & Ordermarathons, I don’t have the faintest clue of the answer. Where’s the spirit of Olivia Benson when you need her the most?
Connor and I trek out to the cliff in silence. We wait for Freddie under the tree, our thick coats doing little to protectus from the fierce wind whipping inland from the sea. It batters us even though we’re sheltered beneath the branches, and I’m shivering. From the cold air, yes, but nerves, too. Gale-force anxiety matches the frantic weather.
My body knows a storm is coming.
The tree we stand beneath has been a steady presence in my life for as long as I can remember. A place of utter destruction not just once but twice. I’d love to banish this tree from my existence entirely, but unfortunately, that’s not going to happen anytime soon.
“What if he doesn’t show?” I check my phone for what feels like the hundredth time. Freddie is a solid ten minutes late.
“He’ll show.” The confidence in Connor’s voice is reassuring, and he checks on me with a frown. “You’re literally shaking.”
“It’s cold.” I shrug. “And I’m nervous.”
His face softens. “I’ve got you, Billie. You’re not in this alone anymore, okay?”
His words offer some reassurance. I’m tempted to throw myself at him—for emotional support, sure, but also for basic shared body heat—when I spot a figure headed toward us. His steps are unsure and a little wobbly. When he draws closer, my nerves kick into overdrive.
It’s Freddie.
