"Yes." I stood up and crossed the room, the nausea rolling through my stomach. "That's exactly what we agreed."
"It didn't feel like enough."
"It wasn't about enough. It was about trust." My voice was rising despite myself. "And now Braden's at a party calling you my boyfriend—"
"He doesn't know what he's—"
"—telling me we've got some secret and he's going to find out what it is—"
"He's fishing. He doesn't actually know anything."
"He knows something. Because you gave it to him." My voice cracked on the last word. "I had to stand on that porch and use the family rivalry. The Lockwood garbage. Thirty years of my father's bullshit. Because I had nothing else. Because you put me there."
"I went after him for you," Liam said, as he got out of the bed and stepped towards me.
"I didn't ask you to."
"You didn't have to."
"That's the problem. You decided. Without me."
"I was trying to—"
"What? Protect me?" I crossed my arms. "I don't need you to protect me. I need you to listen to me."
The tension in his face turned to remembrance. Like he'd heard those words before from someone else.
"You're right," he said.
"Don't do that."
"Do what?"
"Agree with me so I'll stop being angry."
"It's not—I'm telling you you're right."
Liam's face softened but for some stupid reason I didn't. It was my chance to level with him but something inside me took advantage of the opening.
"Then why did you do it?" My voice went up. "If you knew—if you knew before you walked out to that parking lot—why?"
Not good.
"Because I was scared!" he said, louder than either of us expected, and a look on his face that proved it.
We both paused, then he continued. "Because someone has a photo of us and I don't know who they are and I can't—I don't know how to be scared without doing something. I don't know how to just sit there."
"So you made it worse."
"Yeah. I made it worse."
Silence. Both of us breathing hard.
I should have stopped there. He'd admitted it. He was sorry. I could see it in his face—the remorse, the exhaustion, the specificpain of someone who knew they'd failed the person they cared about.
But the shame from earlier was still burning in my chest. So I did what I was taught. I went deeper. Found the place where I could draw blood.
"You know what I think?" I said. Quieter. The shift in my voice—from anger to something colder, more precise—was a weapon I'd learned from my father. I hated that I knew how to use it. "I think you went after Braden because you've already decided this ends."
