I know, I know, the hazards of profiling someone based on assumptions, but still… his sweater and shirt crumpled and looking like they recently spent a healthy chunk of time on a floor is out of character for him.
There’s also a new, faint but pink blotch on the edge of his sharp jawline. Not quite a hickey, but give it a few more minutes. And I should know because it’s almost exactly where I have set my mouth in times past.
Oh.The realization hits like a solid fist to the gut. Carter’s doing the walk—drive?—of shame this morning.
Even though I suspected it earlier, the confirmation sends my heart plummeting, like a speeding elevator burning out the last of its worn-out brakes.
But he still came to get me. That has to mean something… right?
Yes, he’s a decent person who truly wants to be friends. Just as he said last night. Get over yourself, Jocasta. We have bigger concerns.
“Come here,” he says, gathering the fabric up and holding it for me.
I should absolutely pull away, take the sweater, and put it on myself. I don’t need his help. But instead, I let him lean over me and guide the sweater into place.
I brace myself for the waft of unfamiliar perfume trapped in the folds. But it just smells like him, pine and citrus, with a hint of spilled beer. Probably from Happy’s. I still don’t know exactly when he left, what he saw.
And it doesn’t matter. None of this matters. Lennie isdead.
No. Murdered. By someone like me. Because of me.
Reality is settling in, bringing two disparate worlds crashing together. Beecher—the one I chose. And my father’s—the one I’ve fought so hard to stay out of.
It feels both impossible and like something I should have been expecting all along.
Carter tugs the emergency blanket down to my waist, pulling the sweater against my chilled and damp skin. The knitted material still holds the warmth from his body.
I wrestle myself into the sleeves and then wrap my arms tight around my quivering middle.
But he pulls my left wrist away, catching my hand in his. His larger thumb works the inside of my palm while his fingers rub against mine. “It’s like trying to restore circulation to ice cubes,” he says.
Warmth, painful and raw, works its way through my fingers, thanks to his ministrations. But it also rises somewhere beneath my chest, a bubble of heat and gratitude, something a little too close to… actual feelings I shouldn’t be having. Especially right now.
I pull my hand out of his. He lets it go, reaching for my right hand, to do the same thing presumably.
“Lennie’s dead,” I say, my voice crackling with barely contained emotion.
Carter freezes mid-motion.
“Her body…” My throat closes off abruptly, and I have to take shallow breaths until the tightness eases. “She was on the ground under my… window. This morning,” I say as evenly as I can.
He pulls back to stare at me.
“And the police think I had something to do with it. Like I… pushed her.” There’s no point in trying to hide their suspicion of me. Because he’s certainly going to find out anyway. If Morales hasn’t already tracked back Carter’s number from her phone, shemost certainly will soon. But just saying the words makes me feel like two yawning pits have opened up, one in my stomach and one at my feet. And I don’t know which one is going to get me first, turning me inside out or pulling me down.
Carter shifts in his seat to face me. “They think you did what?” he demands. “That’s ridiculous.” Bright spots of color rise in his cheeks. “You wouldn’t do that.”
I want to be comforted by his belief in me, his knowledge of my character, but that’s a little tough when there’s so much he doesn’t know about me.Can’tknow.
I lift a shoulder in a mute shrug. I don’t know what else to say. Actual guilt or innocence in the human justice system doesn’t really count for shit for the Old Ones and those of us who are stuck in their orbit. If someone, one of my pseudo-cousins, wants to keep playing their game and make Detective Morales believe I killed Lennie, they will find a way to do it.
“Can you please take me back to Branwick? I need to find clothes, my phone.”Figure out what the hell to do next. And talk to Chessa who’s probably freaking out.
She likely arrived home after her run to find complete chaos… ambulance, police cars, rumors of a dead body, and her friend/roommate hauled off in handcuffs. Completely reasonable to panic in that scenario, even for non-prelaw students. I squeeze my eyes shut with a grimace.
When I open my eyes again, I find Carter watching me intently, his expression indecipherable. His gaze clashes with mine, and I feel that silentpulltoward him, the one that has always existed between us. As if we are connected in some way that transcends the various obstacles between us—TA/student, calm rationalizer/impulsive hothead, human/whatever I am.
“I am so sorry, Jocasta,” he says, his voice heavy with emotion.
