“What are you doing?” Pierce looks at me like I’m the one who’s lost it.
“Getting changed. We’re going home. We’re going to find Liam, and the three of us are going to figure this shit out. Together. Like we should have from the beginning.”
“Just like that?” Pierce asks, incredulous. “I tell you I might have killed someone, and you’re just… fine with it?”
“I’m not fine with any of it.” I pull a T-shirt from my bag. “Not with you lying to me for all these years. But most certainly I’m not fine with you lying to yourself about this either.”
“But I killed…”
I grab Pierce by the shirt and pull him up close to me.
“I swear to fucking god, Pierce, if you say you killed Reed one more time, I will slap you upside the head.”
“Kinky.” The corner of his mouth ticks up just slightly, like he doesn’t know if he is allowed to be so bold with me.
“I’m pissed off. Don’t be cute and make me kiss you.”
I kick my discarded gear into my locker and slam it closed. Grabbing my bag, I head for the exit.
Pierce has to jog to catch up.
Chapter forty-nine
ASH
Mykeysticksinthe lock like it always does, forcing me to pound on the door frame. I give Estelle an apologetic smile and say a prayer that the rickety stairs can hold us both. My brain feels wrapped in cotton. I am so tired. Bella said I could “process” it all later, but I don’t know what that means. My fingers tremble slightly as the lock finally gives.
“Sorry,” I mumble as the door swings open. “It’s not much. Kinda messy.”
Estelle steps in behind me, and I cringe knowing she’s seeing the wobbly table, the pot on the stove that still has ramen in it, and my pathetic excuse for a nest.
“It’s all good, Babe.” She touches my elbow and drops the tote bags she brought with her in the middle of the room.
“Are you sure Papa won’t show up?” I ask, chewing on my lip, not knowing where to start.
“Tony says he’s sleeping it off in his car at the Hangman. But let’s not chance it.”
Beckett’s house might be a little boring, but it’s cozy and warm, where real people live. Tia’s condo is stylish like her. Closets full of designer clothes and throw pillows that are great for decoration but not for napping. It looks like a magazine room, but it has family photos everywhere. I don’t even have one picture of Reed. This place? It’s garbage.
Estelle doesn’t comment on the shabby, hand-me-down-ness of this place. She simply opens her oversized tote bag and pulls out a duffel.
“Essentials only,” she says, unzipping it with a decisive yank. “Clothes, toiletries, anything you can’t replace. We can get you whatever else you need later.”
The matter-of-fact way she says this makes something twist in my chest. “How long am I staying with Tia?”
Estelle pauses, her expression softening just slightly. “Let’s focus on getting your things first. Worry about timelines after.”
I nod and move to the plastic three-drawer organizer that holds most of my clothes. My fingers sift through the meager collection, a few pairs of jeans, a handful of T-shirts, the single nice sweater I got on a half-off special at the thrift store. I begin pulling items out, trying to be selective, but Estelle steps in and just scoops everything up.
“You’re not a clothes horse like Tia. Let’s take all of it,” she says. I jump to hold the duffel open as she wrangles the mass in.
“Did you sleep at all?” Estelle asks as she helps fold a worn flannel shirt. I feel like she’s making conversation to distract me.
“No.” I don’t elaborate. My brain hasn’t kicked into gear yet. The lack of sleep and emotional whiplash have left me foggy, running around like a zombie.
“Bathroom stuff,” Estelle prompts when I stand staring at the drawer for too long.
The bathroom is barely a closet. I snort, trying to picture Beckett in here. He’d have to duck his head and bend his knees. I gather my toothbrush, the half-empty bottle of shampoo, and deodorant. There’s not much to take. When I emerge, Estelle is carefully wrapping my two coffee mugs in a T-shirt like they are centuries old family heirlooms.
