Sophia confronted me unflinchingly after overhearing my phone conversation with Peter. It goes to show that pretendingproblems don’t exist doesn’t make them go away.
No. Ignoring them only makes your problems worse.
For the past few minutes, all of these thoughts rocketed through my mind, bolstering me with strength as I stepped closer to the cliff’s edge. I knew I needed to remain calm and wait for my opportunity.
Wait for Freddie to underestimate me. Or, more accurately, overestimate himself.
He doesn’t see me coming, doesn’t expect me to spring toward him at the last second. I leap onto him like a tiger taking down my prey. Once I get inside the reach of that branch, I bend down low, then explode upward, ramming my shoulder into Freddie’s chest and knocking him to the ground.
I go with him, using my momentum to roll both of us away from the edge. Freddie is yelling, but I remain quiet, containing my strength as I wrap myself around him like a feral koala. There’s no way I’m about to let him go. That cliff has taken enough from me, and I’m not about to let it take away Emily’s and Isla’s justice. I’m not going to let it take another life, either—even if that life belongs to a piece of shit like Freddie Pembroke.
Freddie is howling his displeasure as he struggles to get away from me. He manages to roll us again, so the bulk of his weight presses me down into the scrubby grass and makes it hard to breathe, but I tighten my grip. I’m hanging on for dear life—mine and Isla’s. I can’t let go, can’t let him get away. I have his arms pinned tight to his sides, my legs wrapped around his hips, my ankles locked together behind his thighs. I’ve learned a thing or two about facing problems head-on, but I’ve always known how to ride out a storm. That’s all I havedo now:hold on.
Red and blue lights streak across the landscape, and I hear footsteps pounding toward us. I glance over to see the police car parked only feet away from us, along with an ambulance. I nearly sag with relief, though I still don’t let go of Freddie.
We’re going to be saved.
“Billie!” I hear Sophia’s cry, filled with worry and devastation. She’s running toward us with her parents right behind her, but one of the police officers halts their progress as the other one jogs toward us.
Without hesitation, the officer grabs the back of Freddie’s coat and pulls him off me. The man has his handcuffs out already, and he yanks Freddie’s wrists together to pull them behind his back. I collapse into the grass, my limbs heavy as lead and my breath coming in great, heaving gasps. I never take my eyes off of Freddie, who curses and thrashes but is no match for the officers—there are two of them now. I collect myself enough to stagger to my feet, silently watching as the officers drag Freddie to the police car.
Sophia pushes past the other officer and comes to me, wrapping me in a quick, full-bodied hug before she pulls away. She keeps her hands on my shoulders as she scans me from head to toe. “Are you all right? Well, obviously you’re notall rightall right, but are you injured?”
She pulls me back into a hug before I can answer, her embrace gentle but all-encompassing. I close my eyes as I slip my arms around her. We cling to each other for a long, quiet moment as chaos erupts all around us. I open my eyes in time to see two paramedics run to where Connor is lying on the ground. They kneel on either side of him, speaking intones as they begin to check his vital signs.
I disentangle myself from Sophia’s hug. “I want to go to him.”
She keeps her arm around my shoulders and steers us toward where Connor is laid out. He’s not even sitting up, his long body sprawled across the ground, and my heart cracks wide open in my chest.
“He was hit in the arm with a heavy branch,” I tell a female paramedic as we draw closer. My voice shakes, and I’m scared. I witnessed what Freddie did to him, and the damage could be severe. “I think I heard a bone break? And … he was hit in the side of the knee, too. He fell when it happened. I—” My words are cut short by a dry heave that doubles me over. Remembering the sounds of impact—branch to knee, branch to arm—turns my stomach something fierce.
The EMT checks in with her partner before rising and coming to me. “We just gave your friend something for his pain. Once we finish splinting his arm, we’ll head straight for the hospital. Can you tell me what happened to you?”
She looks in my eyes with a flashlight while I start reciting, in fits and starts, what happened. She continues to check me over, looking in my ears and nose, palpating my head for bumps, putting gentle pressure down the lengths of my arms.
“Did you hit your head? Lose consciousness?”
“No, nothing like that. But can I—Can we go with him? With Connor. His name is Connor—”
My father materializes out of nowhere, heading straight for us. His face is etched with worry, and I swear he has new wrinkles. And am I losing my mind or is he also grayer at his temples? This poor man. The entire ordeal has probably agedhim considerably in a short amount of time.
“We’ll follow you to the hospital,” he tells the paramedics, his voice gruff. “I’ve already called our family doctor. He’ll be waiting for us—waiting formy daughter—when we arrive.”
My knees buckle at hearing my dad claim me as his daughter in front of everyone. I’m grateful Sophia’s got a hold of me or else I’d probably collapse. He’s never done that before. When our gazes meet, I see all the concern in his eyes. I want to go to him and give him a hug, but Headmaster Harrington approaches at that exact moment, so I remain by Sophia’s side. The two men shake hands before speaking to each other in hushed tones. I turn away to check on Connor, only to see he’s awake.
I break away from Sophia’s hold and run—okay, half stumble—to his side. Falling onto my knees, I carefully brush a few stray dark-brown strands of hair away from his forehead. He cracks his beautiful gray eyes open wider, though his lips remain pressed in a pained grimace.
Relief shoots through me at seeing him awake.
“You’re a difficult girl to impress,” he murmurs.
I frown. “What do you mean?”
“I get taken out by a drunken Freddie wielding abranchof all fucking things, and then you charge at him like a linebacker.” He tries to shake his head but winces as if the movement hurts. “Unbelievable.”
“Try not to move too much.” I drift my fingers across his cheek, savoring how warm his skin is despite the chilly wind whipping around us still. “And what do you know about linebackers? Does the King let you watch football?”
“Ha. Ha,” he deadpans, and the relief I feel knowing hecan still laugh in such a chaotic, dark moment is a balm to my aching soul.
