‘We should call the police,’ he says.
A laugh burst free, and I stifle it.
‘Kat—’
‘And tell them what? That someone is threatening me because I killed a man when I was eight years old and hid the body in a well on my parents’ estate?’ I sit up slightly and look at him. ‘That the bones have been there for fourteen years and no one knows because I told the only witness to go home and pretend he wasn’t there?’
‘You were a child,’ he says. ‘Both times. It’s not like they can charge us for it now.’
‘The law,’ I say, ‘is the least of my worries. Imagine the newspapers. The podcasts. People picking it apart in the comment sections. Child killer.’ I close my eyes. ‘My mother would never recover from the headlines.’
‘Your mother is not the priority here.’
‘I know. But it’s not just her. It’s you. Any investigation would find you. Would find everything that happened in that cottage. I won’t drag that out into the light for strangers to pick over. Not your history. Not what was done to you.’
He’s still.
‘That’s not your decision to make,’ he whispers.
‘Maybe not. But I can decide whether I go to them.’I touch a hand to his chest. ‘I’m not going to the police. Not yet. Not unless there’s no other option.’
‘Alright.’ He gives in while reaching up to tuck a strand of my hair behind my ear.
‘Alright?’
‘I don’t like it.’ Tucking his arms around my waist, he pulls me flush to his chest.
‘Your flatmate’s gone for a while, right?’
‘Yeah, but I won’t be on my own much, you can be here, right?’
‘You won’t be on your own at all. Pack a bag.’
I furrow my brow.
‘You’re coming to mine for the week. While she’s gone.’
There’s a little flame of fight that flickers in my stomach, but I quench it. He’s letting me in, and I want to know more about his life.
‘Okay,’ I say.
His mouth opens and closes before breaking into a smile. And fuck, his smile devastates me. I didn’t realise how much I’d missed it.
‘Give me ten minutes.’ Sliding off his lap, I pause, and turn back to him, pulling his face to mine and indulging in another long, slow kiss.
‘I’m so fucking glad the mask is gone, but keep it…you know…for the odd time I need to be ravaged by my heart eyes.’
Liam looks bemused as I go to my room and pull myholdall from under the bed. I chuck in some clothes. Charger. Toiletries and a handful of makeup. A brush. I pause at the desk drawer, open it, and admire the small collection of heart-shaped stones.
I take one from the drawer and turn it over in my hand. They are a memory of all the times in between, when we were waiting for the universe to bring us back together.
Liam is cleaning out the mop bucket and sink when I go back, binning the soiled sponges and turning off the sockets.
‘I’m ready,’ I say.
Without asking, he takes my bag from my hand and hands me my handbag and keys.
‘He’s not going to stop,’ I say, as we reach the door. ‘Is he?’
