“Hey,” he greets Brendan. When he notices me, he comes over and wraps his arms around me, holding me tight. I don’t react, the concern surprising me. “How are you? Do you know what happened last night? Who drugged you?” He steps back and inspects my face, like all of the answers are there.
“I … uh … no,” I respond brokenly. Because as much as I was convinced it was Vic, I can’t be sure now. Not after talking with Joey and seeing the messages.
“Lance, will you stay with Ashton for a few minutes? I want to ask Lana some questions without Ashton overhearing us.”
Lance glances between us. I know he hates being left out—the disappointment evident on his face. “Yeah, sure.”
Brendan peeks out through the cracked opening. Then he strides across the hall to the service elevator. He waves a card over the controls, and the door opens. I follow him, not at all surprised he has access to the elevator.
He doesn’t look at me while we’re in the elevator. I examine him in our silence. He looks like he’s on the verge of falling apart. I’ve only ever seen him composed, like he’s prepared for a photo shoot. So seeing him barely holding it together is disturbing.
When the elevator doors open, Brendan covertly scans the hall and then grabs my arm, pulling me after him. We swiftly cross the hallway and enter the Quiet Room. There isn’t anyone inside, thankfully.
“What the hell happened last night?” Brendan demands as soon as the doors click shut. His voice is rough, laced with anger. “Who did this to her?”
I watch his jaw twitch as he waits for an answer.
“Um … I don’t know. I was drugged too, remember?” I sit on the worn leather couch, gripping my aching head.
“Right. Sorry.” Brendan blows out a breath, rubbing the back of his neck. “What do you remember?”
“Not much, really.” I struggle with what to tell him because none of it feels real. “I thought … I thought it was Vic, but I don’t really know who did this.”
“Vic?” Brendan says this like he’s doubtful. He begins pacing in front of the fireplace. “What would he want with Ashton?”
“To get to me. I swore I heard him say that she was supposed to be me. That I was the reason for everything that’s happening.” I pull my knees up to my chest, wrapping my arms around them.
“Everything in what way?”
“I’m beginning to question if I really heard him or if it was the drugs. It was just before Joey found me, so he would’ve noticed Vic if he was really there. Joey swears he’s in Berlin. So maybe … I just thought it was him.”
“I can find out.” He looks a million miles away, like he’s only half here. Brendan collapses onto a wingback chair and covers his face with his hands. “Did anyone touch your drinks?”
My back straightens. I’m ready to tell him I’m not that stupid. That I never let anyone handle my drink, except … I did. The only beer I drank, and only half of it, was given to me. “Yeah, um … but I don’t think he did it. He was drugged too.”
“Who?” Brendan demands, glowering at me suspiciously, like this is all my fault. And a part of me inexplicably feels like it is.
“His name is Sawyer. He’s taking summer classes at Printz-Lee. Maybe Joey or Grant can check on him. He didn’t look so good when I left him to find Ashton.”
“Yeah, he’s not my priority,” Brendan snaps.
I roll my eyes at his dismissal. “He may know something, Brendan.”
Brendan closes his eyes and inhales deeply to take this in. “Then who did she leave with? Or did you imagine that too?”
“A guy in a leather jacket … I’m pretty sure.”
“Pretty sure?” Brendan scrapes his fingers through his hair. He forces a breath through his nose, fighting for composure. “What the hell does that mean, Lana? Did someone take her or not?”
I close my eyes and try to picture him. I remember feeling like the trees were closing in around me. Ashton’s blouse fluttering in and out of view. And there was a guy, holding her by the arm, forcing her deeper into the woods. I open my eyes and connect with Brendan. “Yes. There was someone leading her away. But I don’t know who he was.”
His fists clench. He looks like he may scream or tear the room apart—or both.
“I know you care about her, Brendan. So why are you pushing her away?”
“Don’t,” he warns in a low rumble.
I ignore his warning. “How do you know her? What happened between the two of you before coming to Blackwood?”
“She’s none of your business.” There’s a hardness in his eyes that puts me on guard.
“She’s my friend!” I am so fed up with his evasiveness; I want to hit him over the head. “And you haven’t been honest with me about anything! Not her, the Harrisons, or even why you’re really here. You tell me that I have answers for you. But if you want my help, then I need to know the truth!”
“No, you don’t, Lana,” he responds coolly. “You only want to know. There’s a difference.”
I release a frustrated grumble. Technically, he’s right … maybe. But without knowing the truth, it’s impossible to say what’s necessary and what isn’t.
I blow out a breath, trying to appeal to him rationally. “You don’t think it’s strange that you and I have been connected pretty much since birth? That we have the same lawyer? Potentially the same father? And now we’re both at the same school? Doesn’t this feel a bit set up to you?”
“Fine. I’ll tell you about my connection to the Harrisons,” he concedes with a bite. “But not Ashton. Leave her out of this.”
I cross my arms. “Fine.”
“I know them from Nantucket. It’s kind of obvious. I thought you would’ve figured it out by now. It’s not a very big island, and the Harrisons are too interesting not to know.”
“Are you friends with them?” I ask in disbelief.
Joey and Lance don’t seem like they can stand to be around Brendan—not that I blame them.
He shrugs. “Not really. I’d get things, just like I do here. Parker would come to me for information—where the parties were. Who to get drugs from. I’d hook him up with alcohol. Introduce him to other connected people. It became more of a partnership than anything.”
“And what did you get out of it?”
“Access. To the scene. To people. And … well, money. I wasn’t doing it out of the kindness of my heart, no matter how noble you think I am.”
“That’s Lance,” I remind him with a smirk.
“Whatever,” he says dismissively.
“Are you still partners?” I ask, exaggerating his word choice. Because if I’m right, he and Parker, and probably one or two others, are the organizers behind The Point parties. Making their partnership much more important to me.
He studies me for a second, his eyes tight. “What does that mean?”
“Off the island. Maybe … in Sherling? You provide tech for his underground clubs?”
Brendan scoffs. “That has nothing to do with you either.”