Page 144

“So, it was Lily?” Harris asks softly. “LaBlanc’s daughter was the girl in the papers?”

They kept her name out of it mostly, I knew.

Swallowing down the bile creeping up, I nod. “Yes.”

Sahara steps closer and I almost flinch. “Why don’t you tell us what happened?”

I shake my head. “You already know. LaBlanc told—”

Harris shakes his head then. “LaBlanc has allowed his daughter around you since they got here. He knew you were here. I may be going gray but I’m sharp as a tack. I see how you and Lily look at each other, how you interact together—at LaBlanc’s house, at practices, in storage closets, at the gala.”

Sahara laughs and smiles. “You’re like magnets.”

“So,” Harris speaks softly. “Tell us the real story.”

The words are suddenly hard to come by. At eighteen I felt like I was choking on them, desperate to let them out. Now, here beneath their too-soft gazes and gentle, understanding expressions, the words are almost gone. Scraping them back up from where I buried them almost four years ago, I start to explain.

About that night.

I start with hearing the front door close, leaving out the fact that Lily and I were both naked and suddenly terrified that her dad had come back early. He missed our graduation to go into the city with a few of his old teammates, but we didn’t care. It meant I was going to get to stay the entire night, to see her wake up in the morning.

It felt like such a stupid, small daydream. But it ended up being the last time I stepped foot in the LaBlanc mansion.

I don’t remember what they said, what clothes we were all wearing in the confrontation on the bottom of the stairs. I don’t remember if they wanted money or valuables or just to hurt me. I barely remember what Zac and Jansen wanted.

What I do remember is the noise. I remember a lot of yelling, but Lily’s screams were the worst. Hers were long and loud, and she kept putting her hands over her ears. It wasn’t until one of them came away bloody I realized anything else was wrong.

I barely remember the fight. How long it was or what Jansen hit first. I just remember panic. Fear like I’d never felt, because I could smell the alcohol on my foster brothers’ breath, see the redness of their eyes and scent the weed on their clothes. Drunk, high and probably on something harder than grass. We barely knew one another. One of them was new and the other one hated me. And there was a part of me that understood that anger, the pain that came with it.

But Lily was there, and Jansen—or maybe it was Zac, I can’t recall—had the upper hand. Me on my back and him straddling my waist, hitting me so hard I could taste the blood just as much as I could see it. I remember seeing the glint of his rings, thinking about how they looked like mine and for a split second we could have been real brothers. It was stupid and my head was already messed up.

But then Lily tried to push between us, and he hit her. Hard. I think the first hit was meant for me, but something tipped him, and he went for her again.

I heard her head hit the concrete and for a moment, I truly thought she was dead.

They must have, too, because they tried to hightail it out of there, leaving me behind with Lily in my arms, blood on her lips and across her hair. Then, red and blue lights flashing—one of the neighbors had called the cops when they heard Lily screaming.

Then, they took us both to the hospital. I wouldn’t let go of her, arms locked around her slight form, until they agreed to let us go in one ambulance.

“No one would listen to me,” I say, shaking my head and rubbing at my eyes. “LaBlanc showed up and fixed everything, like he always does, but told me Lily didn’t want to see me anymore. That I’d . . .” My voice shakes. “That I’d scared her.”

I shrug. “Maybe I did.”

“Did you see her again?” Sahara asks.

I nod. “I couldn’t leave without checking on her. I had to just make sure she was okay.” My hand lifts to my eyebrow where my most prominent scar is. “She kept touching her lip, telling me we matched. She didn’t seem scared or upset with me, but . . . It freaked me out. Seeing her there, in that bed, cut up and bloody still, bruises over her face and arms where she’d gotten hit.”

I still wake up with nightmares about that night.

“But LaBlanc was the only person I had in my corner. Everyone in that damn house said I probably did it; my foster parents wanted me out because I was eighteen anyway. The guys—my foster brothers—they stuck together and told any news outlet that would listen their version of what happened. The NHL team rescinded their offer. I didn’t have anything or anywhere to go. I didn’t—”

I try to fake a cough through the sob sawing its way out of my throat.

“LaBlanc showed up when I got kicked out. Drove me to his house. I thought he was gonna let me stay with them. For a second, I was sure I’d been wrong. That maybe he cared. God, that sounds pathetic.” I shake my head. “But it was just for him to show me the paperwork. The restraining order. That Lily didn’t want to see me, because she wasn’t sure who hit her, and she was scared. But—I didn’t . . . I didn’t—”

“Toren,” Sahara says, her voice trembling as she steps closer, arms out. “Love, you didn’t do anything—”

I shake my head, shoving back from the table. “Just stop. Stop being so nice to me. It doesn’t matter— I hit Rhys, didn’t I? I’m exactly what LaBlanc said I am.”