“What do you mean?”
He lifts his chin so that we’re eye-to-eye when he grants me a clenched smile. “I went to find Saint at his place in Malibu. I’d wanted to kill him, you know, for that shit he pulled on you.”
“Guess you were disappointed when he wasn’t there, huh?” I murmur, nausea swimming around the pit of my stomach as I remember Saint’s revelation about what he was doing with Laurel while his dorm burned.
A little furrow forms between Liam’s brows. “I never said he wasn’t home.” When my breath catches, he tilts his head to one side, his scowl deepening. “He was fucked up and drunk and ready to fight, so I figured I’d give the bastard exactly what he wanted.”
This is all news. Big news. Saint hadn’t mentioned a damn thing about a confrontation between the two of them. He hadn’t even said anything about them being together, just that Liam was alive and that he’d spent the evening in bed with Laurel.
The idea of Liam standing up to Saint on my behalf is flustering.
The idea that Saint might have lied about his alibi is even more unnerving.
I take a few deep breaths to calm myself, but I still stutter out, “A-and did you fight him?”
“He deserved it, but no. I didn’t.” He sounds pissed about that fact, and my pulse picks up speed as he clenches then unclenches his hands. “Fucker got a text and bolted with his Dad’s driver twenty or thirty minutes after I got there.”
Was that text how Saint had found out I’d been taken in? He’d left Liam to come find me? Or maybe it was the text that had landed him in Laurel’s arms.
Since I don’t know what to do with any of this information, I blurt out the question that’s been haunting me since I returned to Atlanta.
“Do you know who died in that fire? I’ve been following the news, but I haven’t…” My voice trails off because I’m scared of the answer, but I have to know.
Liam’s expression tightens, but he slowly nods his head. “Yeah. Finnegan, Saydi Marlow, and the junior she was sleeping with. The school’s supposed to be making an official announcement before Christmas.”
The memory of Finnegan and Jon Eric pinning me against the wall makes my skin crawl, but even he didn’t deserve to die that way. None of them did. “I’m so sorry.”
“Why are you apologizing?” he demands, closing some of the space between us so that only half a tan cushion is all that separates us.
“Because…”
Another hush falls between us, but this one is weighted with the significance of death. It’s uncomfortable, growing more so with each passing second, and I feel like I’m suffocating in the thick quiet.
“Mal, I know you didn’t do it,” Liam whispers at last.
My heart stutters and a broken breath escapes my lips, but his words don’t offer me much comfort. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.” Though I tried my best to hold it in, bitterness drips from my voice. “Sucks no one else thinks the same.”
He blows out an exhale. “There’s still two or three percent that don’t think you did.”
“Wonderful.” I chuckle, but there’s no humor in it. “Did you know what Saint and Laurel were going to do to me?” I ask suddenly.
If he says yes, I’m fucking done with him.
“No,” he firmly answers, shaking his head. He slides closer. Now, only a quarter of cushion remains between us. “I had no fucking idea. If I had, I swear to God I would’ve stopped them.”
I study his face intently, searching for any sign of dishonesty. There’s so much about Liam that I don’t know, but one thing is for certain: he’s not as good of a liar as Saint.
And my gut is saying he’s telling the truth.
Your gut told you to fuck Saint Angelle, my inner voice points out.
I grit my teeth and tell it to go away.
“I did warn you about him,” Liam is saying in a low voice when I focus my attention on him again just to realize that now, he’s so close that our knees touch, his expensive denim against my flimsy sweatpants. He bends his face close to mine. “I warned you he’d ruin your life.”
“You did.”
More silence, but I’m not going to even bother to try and break it this time. This conversation is draining me dry.
“So, what are you going to do next?” he asks in the softest tone I’ve ever heard from him.
“I’m withdrawing from Angelview and finishing school here in Atlanta.”
The words tumble from me before I can stop them. Whatever. He was going to find out eventually when I didn’t show back up after winter break.
He sucks in a breath and a beat passes before he snaps, “Are you fucking kidding me?”
When I don’t immediately answer him, he tucks his finger beneath my chin and forces my attention up so that our eyes lock. Mine narrow into tight slits. “What do you think?”
He shoots to his feet, and I follow him. I’m not about to be at a disadvantage with him.
“Don’t do this, Mallory,” he growls, pacing the narrow space between the coffee table and the TV. “You can’t just quit.”
“Are you serious?” I hiss. “After what they did to me, after that fire, do you really think I’m going back to that hellhole? I can’t go back now. I can’t—”
He reaches out and grabs my shoulders, pulling me close to him as he gazes down at me. “Leaving would be a mistake. Please, if you leave—”
“I don’t give a shit what you think.” I shake from his grip and march toward the door. Turning the knob, I open it and give him my best death glare. “My mind’s made up. I appreciate you coming to check on me, though God only knows how you got my address, but I think it’s best you leave.”
He squares his jaw, looking like he wants to argue further, but he doesn’t. He lets out a frustrated snarl and storms my way. Shoving the screen door open, he turns his brown eyes down on me before stepping outside.
“Quitting means he wins. Is that really what you want? Do you really think that will make anything better?”
I flinch as a strange sense of déjà vu wafts over me at his words, which are so similar to what that note said.
Before I can question him about his meaning, or really even string two words together, he slams through the door, stalks across the porch, gets into his rental car, and peels out of the driveway.
6
After Liam’s visit, winter break flies by so quickly, I swear it gives me whiplash.
Carley and I have a great time catching up and spending as much of our time together as we can. We celebrate Christmas with a big dinner with her two older brothers and their families and gifts, and New Years at home with sparkling grape juice and crab legs. The only real blight to the weeks together is the handful of times I catch Carley staring at her phone, her brow furrowed, chewing her lip in agitation. She eventually confesses that she’s worried she hasn’t heard from Jenn.
“What if she’s in trouble?” she’d asked one night over popcorn and her all-time favorite 90s rom-com.
I did what I could to comfort, pausing the movie in the middle of the scene where the undercover journalist posing as a high school student accidentally gets high on pot brownies, to assure her, but I’m not sure I was able to completely put her mind at ease. Still, she didn’t let her worries ruin our time together. When break ended, and it was time to return to school, I was going to miss our nights, since she worked so many day shifts.