She rolls her eyes.
“Why were you in a private room?”
She blinks hard and laughs. “Of course, you know about that.”
“Are you going to answer the question?”
Her eyes narrow. “Are you going to stop being an asshole?”
I take a breath and let it out slowly. “I’m trying.”
“Mal…” She bites her lip and sets the glass of water on the coffee table. “Your sister…” She takes a deep breath and shuts her eyes, as if trying to regain her thoughts.
“Just tell me,” I say, trying to keep my voice gentle despite the building pressure in my chest.
“How often did you talk to her?” she asks.
Now, I’m the one who looks away. My eyes land on the picture frames and stay there for a moment. Me being a terrible brother wasn’t what I wanted to discuss tonight, but that’s the root of this, isn’t it?
“I’m not asking because I’m judging you,” she adds softly, with sympathy in those beautiful brown eyes of hers I don’t deserve.
“Not as often as I should have,” I say.
“I’m not sure what she had to say about me, if anything, but I can’t imagine it was good?—”
My light laugh cuts her off. “I found her journal. It’s one of the reasons I knew to look into Titus. Most of the entries are about you and how incredible you are.”
The pain in her eyes is unmistakable, but she looks away, biting down on her trembling lip. I clench my fists to restrain myself from reaching for her.
“We didn’t speak for months before that night,” she says quietly, bringing her eyes to mine. She must see the shock on my face, and the way my eyes widen when she adds, “Livie hadn’t spoken to her in a year. I…” Her lip trembles again, but she bites down on it quickly and continues.
“I failed her that night, and every night after.” She bats away stray tears and clears her throat. “In the very beginning, I came to the same conclusion as you. Surely, it couldn’t have been an accident, and even if it was, who was with her? I asked, and asked, but then your parents made us sign those papers and?—”
“What papers?”
She shrugs. “An NDA of sorts. We weren’t allowed to speak about Mallory or post anything. I had to remove any posts she might have appeared in, even if she was in the background.”
I sit back, processing that information. It doesn’t surprise me. It’s the Barlow way, after all. Everything we do involves contracts.
“Can I ask you something?” she asks after a quiet moment. I stare at her, waiting. “Who was Blair Lowell to you?”
My stomach turns. “How do you know about her?”
In typical Josslyn fashion, she’s searching my face for answers she won’t find. After a moment of her scrutiny, I set my elbows on my knees and glance between my legs, eyes on the blue and white area rug. I refuse to let this be the reason she walks away from me. If she does, I will fuckingmurderTate Foster and bury him in an unmarked grave.
37
FINN
“Was she your girlfriend?” she asks.
I take a breath. “It was complicated, but no, not really.”
“Did you love her?” she asks, her voice so soft, I almost miss the question.
My head lifts and I meet her eyes. “Why are you asking me about her? What did Tate say?”
“He…” She licks her lips, and I realize she’s scared of what my reaction will be. I nearly laugh.
