“What’s going on?”
We stare at her wordlessly.
Her attention fixates on Brendan. “Brendan, what do you have to talk to Lana about?”
Brendan avoids her scrutiny, eyes fixed firmly on me. I swallow, not wanting to be in the middle of what is or isn’t happening between them. No one offers an explanation. It’s like we’ve all stepped on landmines and are afraid to move.
“Lana?” she pleads.
I can only look back mournfully. She shakes her head in disbelief.
“I get it. You can’t say anything because it’s a secret. So many fucking secrets!” Her voice grows louder as she talks. “If we can’t trust each other, then what the fuck?” She focuses on Brendan again. Her words said through gritted teeth. “Brendan. This isn’t protecting me.”
He still refuses to look at her.
Her eyes become glassy, and her voice breaks. “You promised.”
Brendan visibly flinches but otherwise remains unmoved.
Ashton spins and rushes away.
I spit out in disgust. “You don’t love her.”
I never found love. Never. Even when I lied to myself and believed I had.
I race after Ashton as she weaves through the Court. I’m panting and can’t keep up. But this time, I know where she’s going.
By the time I arrive at Screaming Point, she’s releasing her heartache so loudly, I think she may crack the sky. I stand back, while she expels every breath until her legs give out and she falls to her knees, sobbing.
“I want to hate him,” she bellows, wrapping her arms around her waist like she’s trying to hold herself together. “I want to hate him so much.”
I slowly approach and kneel next to her, carefully touching my hand to her back like I might break her. She leans into me, and cries escape so violently that they pierce my heart. I hold her the best I can.
I don’t tell her it’ll be okay. I don’t diminish her pain. Her hurt. Her anger. I allow her to feel every single emotion that pours out through her tears. That shakes with her racking sobs. She owns her feelings, and I won’t be the one to pacify them away. They belong to her.
I can sense the moment she eases back into herself and returns to being present with me. I allow her to pull away but take hold of her hand to let her know I’m still here with her. That I’m not going anywhere for as long as she needs me.
Ashton breathes in deep and releases the last of it, allowing it to be carried away on the wind that gently brushes past us, like it knows it’s holding something sacred.
I finally see her. My friend. Free of the facade she’s been wearing all week. Maybe her entire life. The person she’s been suppressing with her vape or shots of tequila.
The truth is, she is broken. But strong. Angry. Yet resolute. She has a story, and from the vulnerability shimmering in her blue eyes, I know she’s ready to tell it.
“He’s always been there when I’ve needed him. He promised to protect me. That’s why he’s so angry about what happened at the barn—it reminds him of the time he couldn’t. The time someone hurt me and he was too late to stop him.”
My throat tightens. I knew in my gut what last time meant. I just wished it weren’t true.
Ashton’s voice is quiet, but I hear every word.
“We were at a club for my friend’s sixteenth. Her parents reserved the VIP section for her. It’s the only way they’d let us in, to keep us separated, away from the bars. But we still snuck in drinks. Parker was there. He’s friends with her older brother. And he brought Brendan with him. We talked. And I liked him instantly.”
I press my lips together, resolving not to make a face.
She notices and laughs weakly. “I know; you don’t get it, but I … see him. And he accepts me.”
She pauses to take a breath, preparing herself. I want to tell her she doesn’t have to say it. That I know. But I also want to allow her to be heard. So she knows that her story is safe with me. Without fear of judgment. Or shame.
“This other guy was there. I don’t know if he was invited or someone snuck him in. But he made it into the VIP area with us and would feed us drinks from the bar. He kept trying to talk to me, but I …” She shivers. “The rest of my friends thought he was so cute and charming. I knew he wasn’t right. I could feel it.”
Her deep blue eyes connect with mine, a tear rolling down her cheek. “He put something in my drink. I knew something was off when I could barely stand. I went to the bathroom to throw up. And … he followed me.”
I close my eyes, trapping the tears. I squeeze her hand.
“I don’t remember,” she chokes. “I don’t remember, Lana. Do you know how awful that is? To not remember while wishing to forget?”
I shake my head, unable to find words. Because there aren’t words to erase this.
“I have flashes, like … I’m outside my body. And sometimes, I try to convince myself it didn’t happen.” She swipes under her nose. “But I see her … her cheek pressed against the tile. I hear her … crying, begging and saying no over and over again. And I hear him … breathing. Grunting.” She struggles with the words. “Saying in her ear … ‘You wanted this.’ ”
I cover my mouth to contain the gasp. No, no, no, no, no.
In a distant daze, Ashton fixates on the water. “Brendan found me. Had one of my friends stay with me in the bathroom while he called the ambulance. He brought Niall to the hospital with him. I’m not sure why exactly. But for some reason, he knew he could help.”
I’m listening, but I’m not. I hear what she’s saying, but I’m trapped in a place when those same words were said in my ear. A time before this happened to her. The moment I could have stopped him from ever hurting someone else, but … I remained silent. I let him go. I gave him permission to do it again.
“He’s dead. Morgan Wolfe. Was stabbed in an alley that night. They say it was a mugging. But … I call it retribution. I just wish I’d been the one to do it.”
I close my eyes, tears running like rivulets down my cheeks. “I’m so sorry. Ashton, I’m so, so sorry.”
She faces me with a small, soothing smile. “Oh, Lana. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
But I did.
She pulls me into a hug, and I silently beg for her forgiveness as I cry within her embrace. When I pull back, I can’t meet her eyes. Instead, I gaze out at the lake and feel the wind against my cheeks, reminding me of all the heartache it has carried away with our screams.
Both screaming the same name.
I walk Ashton back to the dorm and leave her in the shower while I go to French. But I don’t retain any of it. I think the teacher is lecturing about paying attention, except I can’t understand anything she’s saying.
“You wanted this.” It replays in my head over and over. Accompanied by Brendan’s words the night I was in his room, “I would have killed him myself if someone hadn’t already.”
“Maybe you did,” I murmur while walking back from class.
Like Ashton said, I want to hate him, but I don’t. Maybe, just maybe, he’s beginning to make sense to me. And just as I think that, I know it’s not true. He knows so much. And he’s lying about almost all of it.