I don’t know if it’s because Sebastian has somehow made me feel safe in a way I’ve never felt before, or if I’ve just become numb to the idea that the same person who killed my parents wants me dead too.
Either way, the fear that used to sit in my chest all the time is quieter now.
Aside from that weird text message and finding Savannah, nothing has really happened recently to set my nerves off. I wish I knew if they were connected. Sebastian called me when he got out of practice this morning to make sure I woke up in time for class, which was really cute. I told him I was coming here to do some research on my parents’ murders. He didn’t ask any questions, which I was grateful for because even giving him that much information was hard for me. He just seemed to get it, to understand what I needed without prying.
I lean closer to the screen, scanning another article. There’s something here. I know there is. I’ve been combing through these same records for years, and every time I come back to them I feel like the answer is right in front of me.
I just can’t see it.
There was a suspect at one point named Mitchell Colletti, but he had two children and a wife at home who vouched forhim. No further investigation was done, and he actually ended up suing a local newspaper for running a picture of him and his family when covering the story. I suppose someone who had the money to follow a ten-year-old girl around the world trying to kill her probably wouldn’t take the time to sue a newspaper over a photo.
I’m so focused on the screen that I barely notice the chair scraping across the floor in front of me until someone drops into the seat across the table.
I glance up.
Nathan McGuire.
LIVY
The rugby player Sebastian absolutely demolished during that first game I went to flashes me an easy grin like we’re old friends.
“Livy, right?” His accent is different from what I expected because I can’t exactly place it. It seems like he’s trying to sound Irish, but something else is bleeding through. I think I’m just a suspicious person and little things like that stick out. The bottom line is that St. Killian is made up of a group of people from all over the world. We’ve all had different upbringings and experiences. He might just be like Kalen and Juniper, never staying in one spot for too long.
I nod politely, though my brain is already half turning back toward my laptop.
“Yeah, hi,” I finally say. I don’t ask his name or let on that I know who he is. The fact that he and Sebastian don’t get along is enough for me not to engage with whatever he wants from me. He leans forward slightly, resting his elbows on the table like he’s planning on settling in.
“I was hoping I’d run into you around campus,” he says, and I inwardly cringe. He better hope Sebastian doesn't see or hearany of this because I suspect he’s not the good natured ‘my girl can have guy friends if she wants’ kind of guy.
I don’t look up at him, which is probably rude. I also don’t throw my head back like I need to smoke a pack of cigarettes like I think Kalen would in this situation, so I feel like that’s balance.
Kalen doesn’t actually smoke, he just looks like he needs a whole carton to take the edge off every time I see him.
When I don’t look up or acknowledge Nathan, he starts chatting almost immediately, something about practice and classes and how he’s seen me walking to the library quite often. This gets me to look at him, because why is he watching me so closely? He tells me that he’s new to St. Killian too, and he was hoping we could bond over that. I try my best to look busy, but my mind is racing. This is so freaking awkward. Where is Juniper when I need her to chase this guy off?
Eventually he asks, “You coming to the next rugby match?”
I glance up again.
“Yeah. Sebastian invited me.”
If anything, that seems to amuse him instead of deterring him.
“Well, I know seeing your pretty face in the crowd will definitely help me play better.” I stop typing and just look at him because there’s no way that actually works on girls on this campus.
The one-sided conversation keeps going, and my hope of getting any actual progress done today slowly fades into nothing. After a few minutes, I start packing my laptop back into my bag, hoping the hint will be obvious.
Nathan doesn’t take it.
Instead, he launches into a story about a rugby party he’s hosting this weekend at the Ruck House and that it’s going to be bigger and better than any of the hockey parties.
I want to jam something in my ears so I don’t have to listen to this anymore. Instead, I open my mouth to excuse myself when a whispering voice interrupts us.
“Um, dear…are you Livingston?”
I turn.
The main librarian is standing beside our table, clutching a bouquet of flowers.
